And she had worse than this to do; she had to encounter Alaric, and to wish him joy of his bride; she had to protect her female pride from the disgrace which a hopeless but acknowledged love would throw on it; she had to live in the house with Alaric as though he were her brother, and as though she had never thought to live with him in any nearer tie.

She would have to stand at the altar as her sister's bridesmaid, and see them married, and she would have to smile and be cheerful as she did so.
This was the lesson which Mrs.Woodward had now to teach her daughter; and she so taught it that Linda did all that circumstances and her mother required of her.

Late on that afternoon she went to Gertrude, and, kissing her, wished her joy.
At that moment Gertrude was the more embarrassed of the two.
'Linda, dear Linda,' she said, embracing her sister convulsively.
'I hope you will be happy, Gertrude, with all my heart,' said Linda; and so she relinquished her lover.
We talk about the weakness of women--and Linda Woodward was, in many a way, weak enough--but what man, what giant, has strength equal to this?
It was not that her love was feeble.

Her heart was capable of truest love, and she had loved Alaric truly.

But she had that within her which enabled her to overcome herself, and put her own heart, and hopes, and happiness--all but her maiden pride--into the background, when the hopes and happiness of another required it.
She still shared the same room with her sister; and those who know how completely absorbed a girl is by her first acknowledged love, may imagine how many questions she had to answer, to how many propositions she was called to assent, for how many schemes she had to vouchsafe a sister's interest, while her heart was telling her that she should have been the questioner, she should have been the proposer, that the schemes should all have been her own.
But she bore it bravely.