a
penny of your money and I not your wife. He did not say a word, and I
supposed it was all right, and never dreamed that I was actually clothed
and fed on the interest of that ten thousand dollars. Father would not
tell me and you did not write. Why didn't you, Guy? I expected a letter
so long, and went to the office so many times and cried a little to
myself, and said Guy has forgotten me.

"Then we went to South Africa--father, mother, and I--went to live with
Tom. He wanted me before you did, you know, but I could not marry Tom.
He is very rich now, and we lived with him; and then we all came to
Europe and have traveled everywhere, and I have had teachers in
everything, and people say I am a fine scholar and praise me much; and,
Guy, I have tried to improve just to please you; believe me, Guy, just
to please you. Tom was as a brother--a dear, good big bear of a brother
whom I loved as such, but nothing more. Even were you dead, I could not
marry Tom after knowing you; and I told him so when in Berlin he asked
me for the sixth time to be his wife. I had to tell him something hard
to make him understand, and when I saw how what I said hurt him cruelly
and made him cry--because he was such a great, big, awkward, dear old
fellow, I put my arms around his neck and cried with him, and tried to
explain, and that made him ten times worse. Oh, if folks only would not
love me so it would save me so much sorrow.

"You see, I tell you this because I want you to know exactly what I have
been doing these five years, and that I have never thought of marrying
Tom or anybody. I did not think I could. I felt that if I belonged to
anybody it was you, and I cannot have Tom; and father was very angry and
taunted me with living on Tom's money, which I did not know before, and
he accidentally let out about the marriage settlement, and that hurt me
worse than the other.

"Oh, Guy, how can I give it up? Surely there must be a way, now I am of
age. I was so humiliated about it, and after all that passed between
father and Tom and me I could not stay in Berlin and never be sure whose
money was paying for my bread, and when I heard that Madame Lafarcade, a
French lady, who had spent the winter in Berlin, was wanting an English
governess for her children, I went to her, and, as the result, am here
at this beautiful country-seat, just out of the city, earning my own
living and feeling so proud to do it; only, Guy, there is an ache in my
heart