"Do not fret about it, Nancy! it is of no—no consequence!—there is no harm done!"
I struggle to say something, but for the life of me I can frame no words.
"It was my own fancy!" she says, faltering, "I suppose my vanity misled me!"
"It is all my fault!" cry I, suddenly finding passionate words, starting up, and beginning to walk feverishly to and fro—"all!—there never was any one in all this world so blind, so ill-judging, so miserably mistaken! If it had not been for me, you never would have thought twice of him—never; and I"—(beginning to speak with weeping indistinctness)—"I thought it would be so nice to have you near me—I thought that there was nothing the matter with him, but his temper; many men are ill-tempered—nearly all. If" (tightly clinching my hands, and setting my teeth) "I had had any idea of his being the scoundrel that he is—"
"But he is not," she interrupts quickly, wincing a little at my words; "indeed he is not! What ill have we heard from him? If you do not mind" (laying her hand with gentle entreaty on my arm), "I had rather, far rather, that you did not say any thing hard of him! I was always so glad that you and he were such friends—always—and I do not know why—there is no sense in it; but I am glad of it still."
"We were not friends," say I, writhing a little; "why do you say so?"
She looks at me with a great and unfeigned astonishment.
"Not friends!" she echoes, slowly repeating my words; then, seeing the expression of my face, stops suddenly.
"Are you sure," cry I, feverishly snatching her hands and looking with searching anxiety into her face, "that you spoke truth just now?—that you do not mind much—that you will get over it!—that it will not kill you?"
"Kill me!" she says, with a little sorrowful smile of derision; "no, no! I am not so easily killed."