She shunned him as much as she could; she scrupulously avoided the
opportunity which he anxiously sought; she never allowed herself to be
alone with him; but she was nevertheless sure the evil hour would come;
she saw it in his eye as they sat together at their meals--she heard it
in the tones of his voice every time he spoke. She knew from his manner
that he was preparing himself for the interview, and she also knew that
he would not submit tamely to the only answer she could bring herself
to give him.
"Marie," said she to her cousin, on the Saturday evening, "I am in the
greatest distress, pray help me, dearest. I am sure you know what ails
me."
"In distress, Agatha, and wanting help from me!--you that are wont to
help all the world yourself! But I know, from your face, you are only
half in earnest."
"Indeed, and indeed, I never was much more so. I never was more truly
in want of council. Can you not guess what my sorrow is?"
"Not unless it is, that you have a lover too much?--or perhaps you find
the baker's yeast runs short?"
"Ah, Marie, will you always joke when I am serious!"
"Well then, Agatha, now I am serious--is it that you have a lover too
much?"
"Can any trouble be more grievous?"
"Oh, dear, yes! ten times worse.
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