Then, finding that neither was
possible, she set herself earnestly to thinking the matter out.
William loved her. Extraordinary as it seemed, such was the fact; Mrs.
Hartwell said so. And now--what must she do; what could she do? She
loved no one--of that she was very sure. She was even beginning to
think that she would never love any one. There were Calderwell, Cyril,
Bertram, to say nothing of sundry others, who had loved her, apparently,
but whom she could not love. Such being the case, if she were, indeed,
incapable of love herself, why should she not make the sacrifice of
giving up her career, her independence, and in that way bring this great
joy to Uncle William's heart?... Even as she said the "Uncle William"
to herself, Billy bit her lip and realized that she must no longer say
"Uncle" William--if she married him.
"If she married him." The words startled her. "If she married him."...
Well, what of it? She would go to live at the Strata, of course; and
there would be Cyril and Bertram. It might be awkward, and yet--she did
not believe Cyril was in love with anything but his music; and as to
Bertram--it was the same with Bertram and his painting, and he would
soon forget that he had ever fancied he loved her. After that he would
be simply a congenial friend and companion--a good comrade. As Billy
thought of it, indeed, one of the pleasantest features of this marriage
with William would be the delightful comradeship of her "brother,"
Bertram.
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