I cannot tell him you will
not accept him before he himself makes the offer."
Agatha did not reply; she could not explain even to her brother all that
she felt. She could not point out to him how very weak--how selfish his
friend was. She could not tell him that his bosom friend would suffer
ten times more from the wound to his pride in being rejected, than from
the effects of disappointed love; but she rightly judged her lover's
character. Adolphe Denot loved her as warmly as he was capable of loving
ought but himself; but were she to die, his grief would be very short
lived; he would not, however, endure to see that she preferred any one
to himself.
"I am sorry for this, Agatha--very sorry," continued her brother; "I had
fondly hoped to see you Adolphe's wife, but it is over now. I will never
press you against your will."
"My own Henri--how good you are to your Agatha. I knew you would not
torture me with a request that I should marry a man I did not love. I
grieve that I interfere with your plans; but I will live with you, and
be your old maid sister, and nurse and love your children, and they
shall love their old maid aunt.
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