"You shouldn't think of him. There is some excuse for him, perhaps; but there is none for you!"
"I wish you would try to find one," the girl exclaimed, as if she were praying to the Madonna.
"I should be very sorry to attempt it," said the Madonna, with unusual frigidity. "If you knew some one else was thinking of you, would you think of him?"
"No one can think of me as Mr. Rosier does; no one has the right."
"Ah, but I don't admit Mr. Rosier's right," Isabel cried, hypocritically.
Pansy only gazed at her; she was evidently deeply puzzled; and Isabel, taking advantage of it, began to represent to her the miserable consequences of disobeying her father. At this Pansy stopped her, with the assurance that she would never disobey him, would never marry without his consent. And she announced, in the serenest, simplest tone, that though she might never marry Mr. Rosier, she would never cease to think of him. She appeared to have accepted the idea of eternal singleness; but Isabel of course was free to reflect that she had no conception of its meaning. She was perfectly sincere; she was prepared to give up her lover. This might seem an important step toward taking another, but for Pansy, evidently, it did not lead in that direction. She felt no bitterness towards her father; there was no bitterness in her heart; there was only the sweetness of fidelity to Edward Rosier, and a strange, exquisite intimation that she could prove it better by remaining single than even by marrying him.
"Your father would like you to make a better marriage," said Isabel. "Mr. Rosier's fortune is not very large."
"How do you mean better—if that would be good enough?
