But—no—I cannot take the road which has been paved by the hopes of my one, my only friend! Poor friend—as poor as I!
To be sure you have not yet decided, but what decision would be possible now? I could not live in happiness, while I knew that my dear John was in despair. Even if you should now lift to my mouth the cup of joy—I should not dare to take it!
I am determined. I renounce everything. I beg only for one thing: do not think of me with scorn.
Your devoted
William Cibulka.
“That’s pure Idiocy,” declared Mrs. Nocar, breaking into uncontrollable laughter. Anxiously she looked across at Miss Mary.
“Well—truly!” repeated Mrs. Nocar, and sank back in her chair in meditation.
“Good people—both—anyone can see that. But you don’t know men, Mitzerl! Such nobility does not last; pretty soon men throw everything to the wind and think only of themselves. Let it all rest, Mary. They’ll talk it over together. Rechner is practical, but Cibulka—Cibulka is madly in love with you. Cibulka will surely come!”
Mary’s eyes took on a dreamy expression. She believed her friend, and her friend believed her own words. They were both so honest, so free from suspicion; so unworldly. They would have been deeply shocked, if they had known it was all a well planned joke.
“Let it alone—he will come. They’ll talk it over together!” assured Mrs. Nocar when she went away.