had given Mr. Thurber a promise which perhaps I could not fulfil. For the first time, the full sense of what I had done came over me, and nearly overwhelmed me. Until that moment I had thought of it lightly, as something which had been said to pass away the time.
After a pause, I remonstrated: "But mine is not an engagement. I told Mr. Thurber that I would try and make up my mind to be engaged to him when he returns."
"You are not kind," said George, turning towards me, and speaking with great deliberation, "to try and blind me. It is mistaken pity on your part. Believe me" (looking at me with earnest kindness), "it is better for me to face the truth; then I shall delude myself with no false hopes,—that would be the most cruel thing of all. I feel sure that you would not have held out this hope to Thurber if you had not intended to do all that lay in your power to bring yourself to love him. A woman like you would not have made that promise thoughtlessly, or fulfilled it carelessly. You must have felt sure that you would succeed. You see" (with a half smile) "I can reason calmly enough about it, and I am not afraid of the truth."
An unutterable sadness came over me. How little, in reality, I fulfilled his ideal! Had I not done the very thing he pronounced me incapable of, viz., given my word thoughtlessly, and fulfilled it carelessly? Never, until that moment, had I owned the truth to myself.
With an inward thanksgiving that George did not know me as I really was, I spoke:—
