He would not answer the letter at all. Lind did
not understand. The matter had got far ahead of this clever
argumentation; he would appeal to Natalie herself; it was her "Yes" or
"No" that would be final; not any contest and balancing of words. There
were others he could recall, of more importance to him. He could almost
hear them now in the trembling, low voice: "_I will be your wife, or the
wife of no one. Dear friend, I can say no more._" And again, when she
gave him the forget-me-nots, "_Whatever happens, you will remember that
there was one who at least wished to be worthy of your love._" He could
remember the proud, brave look; again he felt the trembling of the hand
that timidly sought his for an instant; he could almost scent the
white-rose again, and hear the murmur of the people in the corridor. And
this was the woman, into whose eyes he had looked as if they were the
eyes of his wife, who was to be taken away from him by means of a couple
of sheets of note-paper all covered over with little specious
suggestions.
He thrust the letter into a pocket, and hurriedly proceeded with his
dressing, for he had a breakfast appointment.
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