"I don't think we love each other sufficiently for marriage," she exclaimed; "his last letter was so affectionate and so full of kindness that it brought tears to my eyes. I saw the effort under it all. We are making a tragic mistake. We drifted into it. We were such good friends, and we felt, I daresay, that it was our duty to love each other. His family were pleased and so were mine. We seem to have pleased everybody except ourselves. Not that I ever expected the joy and stuff, and inward feelings which one reads of. I am too sensible for that. But I wanted to feel _established_--whereas we are both, in reality, rather upset. I am sure of this." "Perhaps when you see each other----" "Our letters are far more satisfactory than our meetings. I know he is fond of me." "You couldn't doubt that. It is worship." "I can say, at any rate, that I am so sure of his affection that it gives me no pain--not the least--to miss the--the other quality." "My dear, you are not in love with him, or you couldn't be so resigned." "I suppose you are right. I have never told him that I loved him. He has never asked me. Perhaps he took it for granted. As for me, I thought that the respect and esteem I felt would do." Sara shook her head. "Not for us. We are different, I know, but we have hearts. We can suffer, we can endure, we can be resigned, we can be everything except uncertain, or luke-warm. Isn't that true?" "Yes," said Agnes, and she laughed a little. "It isn't my way," she went on, "to talk like this about myself. Yet I can't help seeing that all this keeping silence, and disguising facts from one's own reason, is actually weak. I don't want to be weak. It isn't English. I don't want to be supine. That isn't English either. I want to be just and square all round--in my dealings with others and in my dealings with my own conscience. Papa has always taught us a great deal about individual liberty, and freedom of will. I am beginning to wonder what liberty means." "That's the first step toward a great change." The young girl set her lips, and looked steadfastly before her, as though she would pierce the gathering twilight with her bright and candid eyes. "I daresay you are right. Anyhow, our talk has been a help. When I may seem to lack courage, it is because I lack conviction. Once convinced, I can depend upon myself." "When did these ideas come to you?" asked Sara. "They have been coming for some time. I have been abroad a good deal, and I have been meeting people who make opinions. I never gave in when I was with them, but I must have been influenced." The slight emphasis on the words _people_ and _them_ was too studied to escape Sara's trained hearing. She knew the force of a woman's rhetorical plural. "I believe you have your convictions now, at this moment," she said quietly. "No--not in the final shape." "But you can predict the final shape?" "One more day and then I will decide irrevocably." "Why do you hesitate?"