"I know it, I confess it," she replied, beginning to weep.
"I can't understand you, Emily. You loved him dearly?" She bowed her head; "and yet refused him with scorn?" She bowed her head still lower. "Why?" I again asked.
"Because," she said passionately, "he seemed so certain I should make a courtesy, and say 'Yes, sir, I thank you.' I suppose he expected I should fall right into his arms the moment he gave me leave. I loved him when he was away, yet there was something in his manner toward me which roused all my pride, and more ugly feelings than I knew I possessed. He showed his love too openly, as if he were sure of success."
"I thought," said I with a smile, "that you wished the one you married to be very loving and often assure you of his love."
"Pooh!" said she, trying to laugh, "that was all my nonsense. I would rather a dozen times, that he would be like Frank. Now he almost worships you; but he is not always talking about it, and showing it in such silly ways." I now began to blush in earnest. "But it is foolish to talk of all this now. The die is cast, and I have no one but myself to blame. I have been thinking it all over, and have brought down my pride to asking his forgiveness for my haughty manner; mind, I say for the manner of my refusal. But it has cost me a hard struggle."
"What made you treat him so the night he called when you were sick?"
"I don't know," she replied, sadly; "I believe I was possessed with some evil spirit. If he had come in an hour earlier, he would have found me humble enough."
"Did you expect him?"
"I half expected he would call," covering her face to hide her blushes. "But my mind was all worked up, and my head ached so, and—and I thought he'd think I was mourning for him. But I've suffered enough for my foolish pride."
"Poor girl!" I thought; "if she knew what I do, she would suffer more." "Emily," said I, rising and taking her hand, "I pity you sincerely; but I cannot help telling you, I think you have been greatly to blame."