"Yes, dear child, it will pass away in time," her cousin whispered, putting kind arms about her. "He must stay away, and you will learn to be happy again in your work, and, better still, in the one love that can never fail you in this world or the next."
"He is a good man, don't blame him," murmured the poor girl, hiding her blushing face on her cousin's shoulder.
"I will try not; but such selfish thoughtlessness is almost unpardonable. He must not come here any more."
"No, no: don't tell him that! don't let him suspect that I—care whether he does or not. And he enjoys it so much, he is so lonely in his own house."
"Do not fear that I will betray you, poor, dear, unselfish child," Elsie said; "but I must protect you somehow. And, Molly dear, though I believe married life is the happiest, where there is deep, true love, founded on respect and perfect confidence, I am quite sure that it is possible for a woman to be very happy though she live single all her days. There is my dear old Aunt Wealthy, for example; she must be now nearly ninety. I have known her for more than twenty years, and always as one of the cheeriest and happiest people I ever saw."
"Did she ever meet any one she cared for?" Molly asked, still hiding her face.
"Yes: she had a sore disappointment in her young days, as she told me herself; but the wound healed in time."
Enna had seated herself in a low rocking-chair by a window, and with hands folded in her lap was keenly eying her daughter and niece.
"What are you two saying to each other?" she demanded. "You talk so low I can only catch a word now and then; but I don't believe, Elsie, that you are coaxing Molly to behave as I want her to."
"Poor mother!" sighed Molly; "she can't understand it."