"Yes," answered the girl. She had killed him. The devastations, however, were speedily made good, and, in two years more, it was finished. It was so hopeless to put it to them. He then spoke with a certain fatherly kindliness of the past. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. You did not marry her because you loved her; you did not marry because she might have had money; you did not marry her out of gratitude; you did not marry her because you had to.
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