"He is too good, too noble to have an unwilling wife," she said, but
that did not make it the less hard to tell him so, and when at last
she was well enough to see him, she waited his coming nervously,
starting when she heard his step, and trembling like a leaf as he drew
near her chair. It was a very thin, wasted hand which he took in his,
holding it for a moment between his own, and then laying it gently
back upon her lap.
He had come for the answer to a question put six weeks before, and
Anna gave it to him.
Kindly, considerately, but decidedly, she told him she could not be
his wife, simply because she did not love him as he ought to be loved.
"It is nothing personal," she said, working nervously at the heavy
fringe of her shawl. "I respect you more than any man I ever knew, but
one, and had I met you years ago before--before----"
"I understand you," Thornton said, coming to her aid. "You have tried
to love me, but cannot, because your affections are given to another."
Anna bowed her head in silence. Then after a moment she continued:
"You must forgive me, Mr. Hastings, for not telling you this at once.
I did not know then but I could love you--at least I meant to try, for
you see, this other one----"
The fingers got terribly tangled in the fringe as Anna gasped for
breath, and went on:
"He does not know, and never will; that is, he never cared for me, nor
guessed how foolish I was to give him my love unsought.
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