‘Are you not his friend?’
‘Is it not sufficient to be yours?’
‘No,—who is against Paul is against me.’
‘That is hard.’
‘How is it hard? Who is against the husband can hardly be for the wife,—when the husband and the wife are one.’
‘But as yet you are not one.—Is my cause so hopeless?’
‘What do you call your cause?—are you thinking of that nonsense you were talking about last night?’
She laughed!
‘You call it nonsense.—You ask for sympathy, and give—so much!’
‘I will give you all the sympathy you stand in need of,—I promise it! My poor, dear Sydney!—don’t be so absurd! Do you think that I don’t know you? You’re the best of friends, and the worst of lovers,—as the one, so true; so fickle as the other. To my certain knowledge, with how many girls have you been in love,—and out again. It is true that, to the best of my knowledge and belief, you have never been in love with me before,—but that’s the merest accident. Believe me, my dear, dear Sydney, you’ll be in love with someone else to-morrow,—if you’re not half-way there to-night. I confess, quite frankly, that, in that direction, all the experience I have had of you has in nowise strengthened my prophetic instinct. Cheer up!—one never knows!—Who is this that’s coming?’