"I haven't anything to forgive, Jo," said I. "What you said to me was true, painfully true,--and, being so, for a moment pained me. I should have been much happier to be married, I know; but now I daren't think of it. I have lost a great deal. I have "--'lost _my_ place, _My_ sweet, safe corner by the household fire, Behind the heads of children'; "and yet I do not know that I have not gained a little. It is something, Jo, to know that I am not in the power of a bad, or even an ill-tempered man. I can sit by my fire and know that no one will come home to fret at me,--that I shall encounter no cold looks, no sneers, no bursts of anger, no snarl of stinginess, no contempt of my opinion and advice. I know that now men treat me with respect and attention, such as their wives rarely, if ever, receive from them. Sensitive and fastidious as I am, I do not know whether my gain is not, to me, greater than my loss. I know it ought not to be so,--that it argues a vicious, an unchristian, almost an uncivilized state of society; but that does not affect the facts." "You frighten me, Sarah. I cannot believe this is always true of men and their wives." "Neither is it. Some men are good and kind and gentle, gentle-men, even in their families; and every woman believes the man she is to marry is that exception. Jo,--bend your ear down closer,--I thought once I knew such a man,--and,--dear,--I loved him." "My darling!--but, Sarah, why"-- "Because, as you said, Josey, I was too old; I had seen too much; I would not give way to an impulse. I bent my soul to know him; I rang the metal on more than one stone, and every time it rang false. I knew, if I married him, I should live and die a wretched woman. Was it not better to live alone?" "But, Sarah,--if he loved you?" "He did not,--not enough to hurt himself; he could not love anything so much better than his ease as to suffer, Josey: he was safe. He thought, or said, he loved me; but he was mistaken." "Safe, indeed! He ought to have been shot!" "Hush, dear!" There was a long pause. It was as when you lift a wreck from the tranquil sea and let it fall again to the depths, useless to wave or shore; the black and ghastly hulk is covered; it is seen no more; but the water palpitates with circling rings, trembles above the grave, dashes quick and apprehensive billows upon the sand, and is long in regaining its quiet surface. "I wonder if there ever was a perfect man," said Jo, at length, drawing a deep sigh. "You an American girl, Jo, and don't think at once of Washington?"