"
She paused, hesitating, then with a shy half-laugh:
"I really believed I was selling myself, Mr. Marlow. And I was proud of
it. What I suffered afterwards I couldn't tell you; because I only
discovered my love for my poor Roderick through agonies of rage and
humiliation. I came to suspect him of despising me; but I could not put
it to the test because of my father. Oh! I would not have been too
proud. But I had to spare poor papa's feelings. Roderick was perfect,
but I felt as though I were on the rack and not allowed even to cry out.
Papa's prejudice against Roderick was my greatest grief. It was
distracting. It frightened me. Oh! I have been miserable! That night
when my poor father died suddenly I am certain they had some sort of
discussion, about me. But I did not want to hold out any longer against
my own heart! I could not."
She stopped short, then impulsively:
"Truth will out, Mr. Marlow."
"Yes," I said.
She went on musingly.
"Sorrow and happiness were mingled at first like darkness and light. For
months I lived in a dusk of feelings.
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