_I_ shall never marry."
"Never marry!" and the pang at Edith's heart was discernible in
her soft, black eyes, turned so quickly toward this candidate for
celibacy.
"How long since you came to that decision?" asked Grace; and in
tones which indicated truth, Arthur replied,
"Several years at least, and I have never for a moment changed my
mind."
"Because the right one has not come, perhaps," put in Richard,
growing very much interested in the conversation.
"The right one will never come," and Arthur spoke earnestly. "The
girl does not live, who can ever be to me a wife, were she
graceful as a fawn and beautiful as---" he glanced at Edith as if
he would call her name, but added instead--"as a Hebe, it could
make no difference. That matter is fixed, and is as changeless as
the laws of the Medes and Persians."
"I am sorry for you, young man," said Richard, whose face,
notwithstanding this assertion, indicated anything but sorrow.
He could now trust Edith alone at Grassy Spring--he need not
always be bored with coming there, and he was glad Arthur had so
freely expressed his sentiments, as it relieved him of a great
burden; so, at parting, when Arthur said to him us usual, "I'll
see you again on Friday," he replied,
"I don't know, I'm getting so worried with these abominably
tedious lessons, that for once I'll let her come alone.
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