"Of what use me talking in this way," she cried. "Marriage, for me, with my foolish ideas, is impossible. I am destined to remain as I am."
My pulse quickened as she spoke.
"And why?" I asked;—for this evening of evenings was one for open hearts and tender feelings.
"It was arranged for me that by this time I should be the wife of a man; and,—God knows,—though I did not love him, I meant to be a true and dutiful wife to him, even when I knew my eternal soul would be bruised in the effort.
"This man was taller than you are, George. Sometimes, in your devil-may-care moods, I seem to see him again in you. I am glad to say, though, the similarity ends there.
"For all his protestations of love for me, for all his boasted ideals, his anxiety for the preservation of his honour as a gentleman, he proved himself not even faithful in that which every woman has a right to demand of the man she is about to marry, as he demands it of her.
"I would not marry him then. I could not. I would sooner have died.
"That was my reward for trying to do my duty."
Her voice broke. "Sometimes, I wonder if any man is really true and honourable."
She covered her face with her hands; she, who had always been so self-possessed.