She was the more angry because she was full sure that he had not forgotten his old love,--that his heart was not altogether changed.
Had it appeared to her that the sweet words of former days had vanished from his memory, though they had clung to hers,--that he had in truth learned to look upon his Granpere experiences as the simple doings of his boyhood,--her pride would have been hurt, but she would have been angry with herself rather than with him.

But it had not been so.

The respectful silence of his sojourn in the house had told her that it was not so.

The tremor in his voice as he reminded her that they once had been friends had plainly told her that it was not so.

He had acknowledged that they had been betrothed, and that the plight between them was still strong; but, wishing to be quit of it, he had thrown the burden of breaking it upon her.
She was very wretched, but she did not go about the house with downcast eyes or humble looks, or sit idle in a corner with her hands before her.