sake, not for hers, that she broke that formal speech.
“You called me so when I was a child, Mr. Kirkwood,” she continued, smiling for all she was so pale. “It sounds as if something had altered. You’re my oldest friend, and won’t you always be so? Whatever you’re going to tell me, surely it doesn’t prevent us from being friends, just the same as always?”
He had not seen her in her weakness, the night before last. As little as he could imagine that, was he able to estimate the strength with which she now redeemed her womanly dignity. His face told her what he had to disclose. No question now of proving herself superior to common feelings; it was Sidney who made appeal to her, and her heart went forth to grant him all he desired.
“Jane,—dear, good Jane,—you remember what I said to you in the garden at Danbury,—that I had forgotten her. I thought it was true. But you know what a terrible thing has befallen her. I should be less than a man if I could say that she is nothing to me.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
“I have asked her to be my wife. Jane, if
