"No, no," she said, in a low voice that trembled piteously; "but I can't stop loving him because he doesn't love me. You see, mamma, I've got to love him. Oh, I wish I hadn't! I wish I could thrust him out of my mind!"
"Got to love him!" cried Mrs. Ffolliott. "Carolyn, I'm ashamed of you. I thought you had more spirit. Are you going to whine in this way? Why, I'll—I'll have you shut up! Do you think I'd have gone on like this if your father had served me so?"
The girl did not answer. She was sitting motionless, with her hands lying inertly in her lap.
Mrs. Ffolliott, in the suddenness of this discovery, hardly knew what she did. She grasped her daughter's shoulder and shook it.
"Have some pride!" she exclaimed.
But Carolyn did not resent the words or the touch. She was staring straight in front of her mother, a nerveless droop to her mouth, a touching despair in her whole aspect.
"You are not going to go about wearing the willow, are you? Oh, the scamp! The villain!"
The sharp voice echoed in the place.
Carolyn now tried to rise. She turned indignantly to her mother, her eyes flashing.
"If you call him such names I'll leave the house," she said, firmly.