"Roma!" exclaimed Eugenia, reproachfully, the tears rushing to her eyes, "how can, you ask me? You, of all people!" "You must tell me exactly what you mean, Eugenia," said Roma, anxiously. "Half confidences are no use in such a case, and I, in return, promise to tell you what I believe to be the exact truth." So Eugenia told her all; more fully even than to Sydney she related the whole history of her hopes and disappointments, her golden anticipations, and the bitter realities in which they had ended. And Roma listened with a gravely attentive face, striving to the best of her power to distinguish between fact and fancy, between Eugenia's actual grounds for unhappiness, and her morbid inclination to exaggerate them. It was not for Roma so impossible as it might have been for many to arrive at a just comprehension of the state of matters, for the character of the one of the two persons chiefly concerned had been long ago gauged by her, that of the other had interested her greatly, and now every word and look and tone assisted her to a fuller understanding of its lights and shades, its beauties and defects. When Eugenia at last left off speaking, Miss Eyrecourt sat silent for a minute or two. Eugenia's heart was beating fast with anxiety. "Roma," she said at last, imploringly, "speak to me, do." "I was only thinking how best to put in words what I want to say," said Roma. "Listen, Eugenia. I would say it was very wicked of Gertrude to tell you what she did, if I supposed that she at all realised what she was doing, or how you would take it. However, don't let us speak of her. I would rather not. She has been very kind to me, and she is more silly and small than malevolent. As to what she told you, it was a mixture of truth and falsehood, but the part that you cared about so deeply was untrue. It is quite untrue that Gertrude's interference separated Beauchamp and me. It was not required. I refused to marry him because I did not care for him in that way in the least, and also because I did not believe, and never shall, that he cared for me either. Even if I had cared for him, I don't know but what my dread of vexing Gertrude, of seeming to repay her kindness by ingratitude, would have been strong enough to stop me; but that was _not_ the reason. I simply did not care for him, except in a sisterly sort of way. And he--he fancied he cared for me, but he never did. It was greatly out of contradiction, and also because my indifference piqued him--he was so spoilt wherever he went, so sought after and petted! But I think I know the worst of him, and you may believe me, Eugenia, that he never cared as earnestly, as _truly_, for any woman as for you. I regretted your marriage, because, matter-of-fact as I am myself, I saw how different you were--I feared there would be sorrow in store for you--I feared Beauchamp would not understand you--but all the same, I never liked him so much as when I found how he _did_ care for you.