She did not attempt to explain it
to herself; she was in too great confusion, even if she had been
capable of the necessary analysis. It came, probably, of what her
aunt had told her concerning her cousin's opinion of Tom. Often
and often since, she had said to herself that, of course, Cousin
Godfrey was mistaken and quite wrong in not liking Tom; she was
sure he would like him if he knew him as she did!--and yet to act
against his opinion, and that never uttered to herself, cost her
this sharp pang, and not a few that followed! To soften it for
the moment, however, came the vaguely, sadly reproachful feeling,
that, seeing they were about to send her out into the world to
earn her bread, they had no more any right to make such demands
upon her loyalty to them as should exclude the closest and only
satisfying friend she had--one who would not turn her away, but
wanted to have her for ever. That Godfrey knew nothing of his
mother's design, she did not once suspect.
"Now, Tom, you have seen me, and spoken to me, and I must go,"
said Letty.
"O Letty!" cried Tom, reproachfully, "now when we understand each
other? Would you leave me in the very moment of my supremest
bliss? That would be mockery, Letty! That is the way my dreams
serve me always. But, surely, you are no dream! Perhaps I
_am_ dreaming, and shall wake to find myself alone! I never
was so happy in my life, and you want to leave me all alone in
the midnight, with the moon to comfort me! Do as you like,
Letty!--I won't leave the place till the morning.
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