“Your fault!” cried Gwyneth, “how? you are not to blame for the fickle temper and the hollow friendship which have cost me so dear. I shall be better now; this is the last moment I shall give to regret; to-morrow I will begin a new life.”
“Then I hope that will in part consist, dear Gwyneth, in letting me know and share your feelings. Do not fear that I shall encourage you to weak expressions of regret for the inevitable past, only do not shut yourself up in that frozen reserve.”
“Am I reserved? am I cold to you, Hilary? I did not mean it. But to talk of the past can do no good. I would rather forget it altogether.”
“If you can: whatever leads to discontent, you ought to forget.”
“So I will: Hilary, I was deceived in him and in her. She has been treacherous, and he was—ah, I can not tell you what he was to me. I thought him all but perfect, and now—” she hid her face again.
“He has much which might have been good in him,” said Hilary, gravely; “much which steady principle would have brought to rich fruit; but his character is marred by his visionary turn of mind; his want of practical, hard-working earnestness, and, too, his high thoughts of himself. He spends his life in dreams of good, and disgust at the faults of others. But he does nothing to remedy the evils which disturb him.”
“You have been disappointed in him, too, Hilary; I have seen it long.”
“I have. I doubt whether Isabel will make him happy; but it is his own choice.”
“No, it is hers, Hilary; she had set her mind on it. I have been their plaything, but I will not be their victim. He will never know what he has cost me.”
“You must not dwell on thoughts of injury or unkindness done you, Gwyneth. Second causes must be forgotten, if you wish to forgive. I was highly imprudent in allowing so much intercourse, and shall not cease to blame myself as the cause of your sorrow.”