“Yes, the condition is about to be fulfilled,” repeated he, as if in a dream; then starting, he said, with more animation; “and the fulfillment of this condition then meets your entire approbation?”
He fixed his eyes on her with a piercing glance, under which she shrank and colored. “The choice you would not make yourself, you approve of for your friend, do you?”
“If you think you can make Dora happy, Mr. Huyton, if
that is your wish, your determination, all your friends and hers must approve of your choice.”
“Happy!” repeated he, scornfully, “oh, yes! very happy; as happy as she deserves, and you know how much that is. Tell me now truly,” coming a step closer to her, “would you rather see the object of your idolatry, of your passionate devotion, happy with another, forgetful of your affection; or know her miserable, but constant at heart?”
“Real, devoted affection must wish its object to be happy; it is a very selfish love which can endure no pleasure which it does not share,” said she, gravely.
He seemed to be pondering her words, then answered: “That may be woman’s love; a man’s is different. I do not believe the man exists who would make such a choice.”
“I know you are mistaken,” she said, and her looks told him where her thoughts had flown.
“Answer me one other question,” said he; “I know you can not choose but answer sincerely. Tell me has my intended marriage occasioned you either pain or pleasure?”
She hesitated. Dora’s wild words crossed her mind. Would her answer have any influence on her friend’s fate? could it be that he regretted the grief he had occasioned, and would repair it even now?