“Another friend! a lady?”
Carlton bowed his head in reply.
Temple was silent. He knew that Carlton had no relative in his native place except his father. He inferred at once the nature of his connection with the invalid whose situation caused such deep solicitude. He felt a little hurt at the reserve with which he had been treated.
“Perhaps,” said Carlton, rightly divining what was passing in the mind of his friend, “I should have informed you of my acquaintance with Miss Warren. I have tried to do so more than once. My silence has not resulted from a want of confidence, or from a desire of concealing my engagement.”
“I think,” said Temple, “I can understand and appreciate the reason. Does Miss Warren live in your native place?”
“Yes; her parents removed there just two years ago. I became acquainted with her in the course of the first vacation after I entered college. We have been engaged nearly a year. She has recently been traveling for several months in hope of benefiting her health. My father incidentally mentions that her lungs are diseased beyond hope of recovery.”
“What is her age?”
“She was eighteen yesterday. She has seen only eighteen summers, and yet she must go down to the grave.”
“May we not hope that the fears of her friends have led them to overrate her danger?”
“The error always lies in the other direction.”