“You did not use that word, I know, but an engagement, Clara, solemnly entered into is equivalent to marriage in the sight of God. You are mine; how can I release you?”
“I see no difficulty in the way whatever. I’m not yours: I only promised to be.”
“Well, are you going to deliberately violate your promise, your solemn vow, which God witnessed? How can you do such a thing? Did you mean what you said?”
“Certainly, I did, but I have changed my mind: I don’t want to marry you.”
“O, Clara, Clara,” he cried in agony, “you crush me into the dust! You do not mean what you say—tell me, you do not mean it. You merely want to tantalize me. Well, dear, do you not see that I cannot endure it? I never could appreciate jokes. Come, you have had enough sport. Be serious, and appoint the day for our marriage.”
“Mr. Edgefield,” she said firmly, “I’m not joking; I’m in earnest, and I ask you to release me from the engagement.”
“Ask God to release you,” cried Ernest wildly, “and see if He will do it. You are mine, Clara. How can I give you up? It would be a sin.”
“O, pshaw!” said Clara contemptuously, “I see no sin in it. I’ll never marry you. Don’t you understand that?”
“I see how it is,” suddenly cried Ernest “that tippling fop has deceived you. You surely would not think of rejecting me for a stranger whose moral character is bad? You are too wise for that. Your father will not permit you to be so foolish.”