She had
declared--thoroughly purposing that her declaration should be true--
that she would never become his wife in opposition to her uncle's
wishes; but he, had he been in earnest, might have said something of
his readiness to attempt at least to overcome his father's
objection. But he had said not a word, and Marie, as she sat upon
her bed, made up her mind that it must be all over. But she made up
her mind also that she would entertain no feeling of anger against
her uncle. She owed him everything, so she thought--making no
account, as George had done, of labour given in return. She was
only a girl, and what was her labour? For a while she resolved that
she would give a spoken assurance to her uncle that he need fear
nothing from her. It was natural enough to her that her uncle
should desire a better marriage for his son. But after a while she
reflected that any speech from her on such a subject would be
difficult, and that it would be better that she should hold her
tongue. So she held her tongue, and thought of George, and
suffered;--but still was merry, at least in manner, when her uncle
spoke to her, and priced the poultry, and counted the linen, and
made out the visitors' bills, as though nothing evil had come upon
her.
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