I know it is all wrong; this is making me more fearfully unhappy every minute I live.

There is nothing but peril in it; the discrepancy in our ages makes it hazardous--his youth, his overwhelming fortune, my position and means--the world will surely, surely misinterpret, misunderstand--I think even you, his sister, may be led to credit--what, in your own heart, you must know to be utterly and cruelly untrue." "I don't know what to say or think," repeated Geraldine in a dull voice.
"I can't realise it; I thought that our affection for you was so--so utterly different." She stared curiously at Kathleen, trying to reconcile what she had always known of her with what she now had to reckon with--strove to find some alteration in the familiar features, something that she had never before noticed, some new, unsuspected splendour of beauty and charm, some undetected and subtle allure.

She saw only a wholesome, young, and lovely woman, fresh-skinned, slender, sweet, and graceful--the same companion she had always known and, as she remembered, unchanged in any way since the years of childhood, when Kathleen was twenty and she and her brother were ten.
"I suppose," she said, "that if Scott is in love with you, there is only one thing to do." "There are several," said Kathleen in a low voice.
"Will you not marry him ?" "I don't know; I think not." "Are you not in love with him ?" "Does that matter ?" asked Kathleen steadily.

"Scott's happiness is what is important." "But his happiness, apparently, depends on you." Kathleen flushed and looked at her curiously.
"Dear, if I knew that was so, I would give myself to him.

Neither you nor he have ever asked anything of me in vain.