"
"I hate him!" she retorted impatiently. "An overgrown Irish fool. One
would as well marry a bull calf!"
"But he is as decent as any man I know, and will meet all your purposes
in coming to court in the matter of wealth and station. I don't know that
it is a misfortune for a woman to marry a man she can rule."
"Yes, it is," she answered. "She always despises him. I should prefer one
who would beat me to such a man."
"But if you intend to carry out the purpose you had in coming to court,
you--"
But she interrupted me, speaking slowly, almost musingly: "The purpose I
had, perhaps, but not the one I have. I did not know myself. I did not
know. I doubt if any girl does. I don't want to marry any man."
"Is it because another man fills your heart?" I asked, speaking gently.
"Tell me, my beautiful sister, tell me. I'll find no fault with you. I'll
help you if I can."
I received a sigh for my answer, and another and another, as she walked
by my side, hanging her head. But when I urged her to speak, she raised
her eyes to mine, and there was a cold, angry glint in them as she
asked:--
"Do you mean--?"
She did not mention Hamilton's name, but I knew whom she meant and
answered:--
"Yes."
A long pause followed, during which I was unable to read the expression
on her face, but presently she spoke, her voice trembling with anger or
emotion, I knew not which:--
"I hate him! If he were to touch my hand, I believe I should want to cut
it off! I hate him--that is, I try to hate him.
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