"It was of course a terrible wound to you," said he softly, and stepping up quite close to her, "but not one which you need despair of time's healing; your good sense, your principles must assist you to view the occurrence in its true light. It must not sadden your whole life, or rob you of all pleasure."
"True—but there are other sorrows connected with it—" she stopped abruptly, then went on again, "however I have no right to complain. I have still some friends left—my loss of fortune has not entailed the loss of all those whom I reckoned amongst my friends; though an event of that kind is a good touch-stone for new and untried friendships."
"Can you imagine," cried he eagerly, "that such a circumstance can make the shadow of a difference to any one worth knowing. It is, I own, too, too common—but surely you have not met with such instances."
She shook her head and looked half reproachfully at him: in her own heart, she had felt inclined to charge him with this feeling.
"I should have thought," continued he warmly, "you would have said—at least you would have found it like the words of the old song, that—
"Friends in all the old you meet,
And brothers in the young."
"I believe it is not usual," replied she trying to speak playfully, "to attach much value to an old song—we may consider that as a poetical fiction."
He looked very earnestly at her and said:
"You fancy friends have deserted you, owing to a change in your prospects—do not—allow me to advise you—do not give way to such feelings—they will not make you happy."