Larcom had, that moment, appeared in the vestibule, and received the order.
'I'll sit in the porch, if you will allow me, Dorcas; you must not lose your walk.'
'Then you won't come into the house, you won't drink tea with me, and you won't join me in my little walk; and why not any of these?'
Dorcas smiled coldly, and continued,
'Well, I shall hear the carriage coming to the door, and I'll return and bid you good-night. It is plain, Rachel, you do not like my company.'
'True, Dorcas, I do not like your company. You are unjust; you have no confidence in me; you prejudge me without proof; and you have quite ceased to love me. Why should I like your company?'
Dorcas smiled a proud and rather sad smile at this sudden change from the conventional to the passionate; and the direct and fiery charge of her kinswoman was unanswered.
She stood meditating for a minute.
'You think I no longer love you, Rachel, as I did. Perhaps young ladies' friendships are never very enduring; but, if it be so, the fault is not mine.'
'No, Dorcas, the fault is not yours, nor mine. The fault is in circumstances. The time is coming, Dorcas, when you will know all, and, maybe, judge me mercifully. In the meantime, Dorcas, you cannot like my company, because you do not like me; and I do not like yours, just because, in spite of all, I do love you still; and in yours I only see the image of a lost friend. You may be restored to me soon—maybe never—but till then, I have lost you.'