“She might have been happier had she known of it! Last year she remained entirely alone; and solitude is full of bad things—it is very dangerous, however much one is accustomed to it.”
“Poor girl! But I could not, in honour, suffer a false impression to be formed. As a matter of fact, my family wouldn't hear of the match. There is no denying that they were set on my marrying Agnes.”
At last he had been able to mention her. He leant back and relied on his companion's tact to elaborate the theme.
Pensée murmured—
“Dear Agnes! If there are storms, they won't come from her side. She is of a very elevated spirit——“
He winced, but she continued—
“Generous, sternly honest, greatly esteemed by every one. Neither pique nor passion nor petty feelings could ever influence her mind. She is the most angelic, good woman I ever met—she is one to whom one may complain, and be a bore. She has such utter patience!”
“You would not be impressed by professions, nor am I very clever at making them,” said he, “but you know, by sympathy, that my affection for her is—is the heroic feeling of devotion which has also a kind of exclusiveness——“
He could not finish the sentence.
“It leads you to imagine that you could never survive her loss,” said Pensée gravely. “But need you lose her—as a friend?” Something in his countenance encouraged her to pursue this train of thought. “Agnes has the deepest admiration for your qualities. No doubt, you truly realise the high standard of character which she would hope for in one to whom she gave her love. You have proved yourself worthy to call out her best feelings.”