“She changes the character of them; buries them out of sight; kills them with neglect. Yes, she is false to them.”
“But your case isn't even like that. In these peculiar circumstances the old memories will blend with the new.—And, dear me! he is such a nice man! I don't see how the other could have been nicer. You couldn't find anybody more congenial in tastes and manners, I'm sure.”
“I can't make you understand, dear. Suppose Tom Larcher went away for a time, and came back so completely different that you couldn't see the old Tom Larcher in him at all. And suppose he didn't even consider himself the same person you had loved. Would you love him then as you do now?”
Edna was silenced for a moment; but for a moment only. “Well, if he came back such a charming fellow as Turl, and if he loved me as much as Turl loves you, I could soon manage to drop the old Tom out of my mind. But of course, you know, in my heart of hearts, I wouldn't forget for a moment that he really was the old Tom.”
The talk was interrupted by a knock at the door. The servant gave the name of Mr. Turl. Florence turned crimson, and stood at a loss.
“You can't truly say you're out, dear,” counselled Edna, in an undertone.
“Show him in,” said Florence.
Turl entered.
Florence looked and spoke coldly. “I told you I'd send a message when I wished you to call.”
He was wistful, but resolute. “I know it,” he said. “But love doesn't stand on ceremony; lovers are importunate; they come without bidding.—Good morning, Miss Hill; you mustn't let me drive you away.”