she could be something better
to him!"

Her judgment was soon formed. She condemned Caroline altogether on
Caroline's own showing. In such matters one woman almost always
condemns another. She took no notice of the allusion to Bertram's
harshness; she almost overlooked the generosity with which her
friend had written of the lover who had rejected her. She only saw
Caroline's great fault. How could she have brought herself to talk
with Mr. Harcourt--with a young unmarried man--on such a subject?
And, oh! how was it possible that she could have brought herself to
show him such a letter? She wrote her answer that same night, as
follows:--

West Putford, Saturday night.

Dearest Caroline,

Your letter has made me most unhappy. I almost think that
I have suffered more in reading it than you did in writing
it. You have made a request to me with which I cannot,
will not comply. I can only write to you the truth, as I
think it. What else can I write? How can I frame my letter
in any other way?

But I will acknowledge this, that it is useless for me
to suggest anything to you as to your own happiness. But
there is more than that to be thought of. There is that
which you are bound to think of before that. Whether you
have broken with Mr. Bertram or not, there has been that
between you which makes it your duty in this matter to
regard his happiness as your first consideration.

Dearest, dearest Caroline, I fear that you have been wrong
throughout in this affair. I do not dread your being angry
with me for saying so. In spite of what you say, I know
your heart is so warm that you would be angry with me if
I blamed him. You were wrong in talking to Mr. Harcourt;
doubly wrong in showing to him that letter. If so, is it
not your business to put that wrong right? to remedy if
you can the evil that has come of it?

I feel quite sure that Mr. Bertram loves you with all his
heart, and that he is one who will be wretched to his
heart's core at losing what he loves. It is nothing to say
that it is he who has rejected you. You understand his
moods; even I understand them well enough to know in what
temper that last visit was made. Answer this to yourself.
Had you then asked his pardon, do you not know that he
would have given it you with a rapture of joy? Do you not
feel that he was then at that moment only too anxious to
forgi