“One would like to get a look at him,” she said. “An absolutely faultless being must be interesting to look at.”
“Don’t laugh at me!” cried Martha. “If it were any one but you I could not bear it; but I know you would say or do nothing that could hurt me really. I don’t wish you to understand that I think Harold faultless. He is not. But to one who understands him as I do, his very faults are part of his greatness. They all have their seat in something noble, and to see how he fights to conquer them is a thing that thrills me. He is now off in America hard at work. He has done some quite extraordinary things in electricity, and is absorbed in his career. When I am a little older, and mama gives me up as a hopeless job for society, I am to go and live with Harold, and keep house for him. That is my dream and his.”
“Sooner or later, dear child, you will have to wake from that dream. I do not find it as unlikely as you seem to that you will marry; and even if you should not, your brother probably will.”
The princess was smiling, but her smile faded at the look of tragic pain in her companion’s face. She could see that the young girl had been touched in her heart’s tenderest place.
“No,” she said, with that frown of sadness unrelaxed, “he will never marry.”
“Forgive me again, dear Martha,” said the princess. “Your brother has had some disappointment, about which your heart is as sensitive as his own. I see that, and you need tell me no more. It is good that he has you to comprehend and sympathize with him. It is good that you have each other. If you gave your heart and life to a husband as wholly as you have given them to your brother, he would probably break the heart and wreck the life, and even the right to dream would be taken from you. Living with this brother, whom you love and worship so, whether he deserves it or not, you may have many a sweet and joy-giving dream which no reality would equal. I wish I could make you see how fortunate you are.”
“I care very little for my own happiness,” said Martha, too absorbed to realize that she was saying anything that called for comment. “All that I care for is to give Harold a little comfort and calm. He can never be happy again.”
“He tells you so, dear child, and no doubt he believes it. I tell you it will pass. Men do not grieve perpetually for women. I know them better than you do.”
“You do not know this man. If you imagine that he is like any other man in the world, you are wrong. He could not get over this sorrow and be the man that he is. It is simply a thing impossible to him. Not that he shows it! It has been two years since it happened, and no doubt every one except myself thinks he has recovered. I dare say he wants to have it so, and he’s generally cheerful and bright. Even to me he never says a word, but I think he knows that I understand. At all events, he knows that, though it is the desire of my life to go and live with him, I would never do him the wrong to suppose that I could make him happy.”
“He has, then, it would seem, the same ardent temperament as yours. Dear me! how odd it would be to see a man like that in this