'He has not been very well lately.'
'Is he ill? Oh, Miss Carbury, do tell me. You can understand what it is to love him as I do--can't you?'
'He has been ill. I think he is better now.'
'Why does he not come to me, or send to me; or let me know something? It is cruel, is it not? Tell me,--you must know,--does he really care for me?'
Hetta was exceedingly perplexed. The real feeling betrayed by the girl recommended her. Hetta could not but sympathize with the affection manifested for her own brother, though she could hardly understand the want of reticence displayed by Marie in thus speaking of her love to one who was almost a stranger. 'Felix hardly ever talks about himself to me,' she said.
'If he doesn't care for me, there shall be an end of it,' Marie said very gravely. 'If I only knew! If I thought that he loved me, I'd go through,--oh,--all the world for him. Nothing that papa could say should stop me. That's my feeling about it. I have never talked to any one but you about it. Isn't that strange? I haven't a person to talk to. That's my feeling, and I'm not a bit ashamed of it. There's no disgrace in being in love. But it's very bad to get married without being in love. That's what I think.'
'It is bad,' said Hetta, thinking of Roger Carbury.
'But if Felix doesn't care for me!' continued Marie, sinking her voice to a low whisper, but still making her words quite audible to her companion. Now Hetta was strongly of opinion that her brother did not in the least 'care for' Marie Melmotte, and that it would be very much for the best that Marie Melmotte should know the truth. But she had not that sort of strength which would have enabled her to tell it. 'Tell me just what you think,' said Marie. Hetta was still silent. 'Ah,--I see. Then I must give him up? Eh?'
'What can I say, Miss Melmotte? Felix never tells me. He is my brother,--and of course I love you for loving him.' This was almost more than Hetta meant; but she felt herself constrained to say some gracious word.
'Do you? Oh! I wish you did. I should so like to be loved by you. Nobody loves me, I think. That man there wants to marry me. Do you know him? He is Lord Nidderdale. He is very nice; but he does not love me any more than he loves you. That's the way with men. It isn't the way with me. I would go with Felix and slave for him if he were poor. Is it all to be over then? You will give him a message from me?' Hetta, doubting as to the propriety of the promise, promised that she would. 'Just tell him I want to know; that's all. I want to know. You'll understand. I want to know the real truth. I suppose I do know it now. Then I shall not care what happens to me. It will be all the same. I suppose I shall marry that young man, though it will be very bad. I shall just be as if I hadn't any self of my own at all. But he ought to send me word after all that has passed. Do not you think he ought to send me word?'