“Why, what can the matter be, Mary? It begins well, it ends well?”
“It is the same all through.”
“The same all through! And you crying! Upon my word, Mary, you—”
“Read it.”
Those satirists who claim that nothing can stop a woman’s tongue have never tried the experiment of handing her a love-letter. Over Alice there now came a sudden stillness, chequered only by exclamations of delight,—
“So nice!—beautiful!—too lovely!—A-a-a-a-h, M-a-r-y! Mary, let me read this aloud? A-a-a-h! No? You goose! A-a-a-h, too beautiful,—too sweet for anything!—I declare I shall be heels over head in love with him myself before— Gracious, what a torrent! What vehemence! Do you know, Mary, he almost frightens me? Well, I have read the letter; and now, miss, be so good as to explain what you mean by scaring people so with your white face and red eyes?”
“It is hard,” said Mary, after a pause, and trying to control her voice,—“it is hard to give—up—all—that—love. And such love!”
“Give it up! Are you crazy?”
“Much nearer than you think. I have scarcely closed my eyes for two nights. I feel that I cannot stand this state of things much longer.”
“What dreadful things does he believe, Mary?”