And I know, Vera, that you will
always do your duty."
And the tears were in her eyes as he left her.
When he had gone she sat down to write her answer to Sir John Kynaston.
She dipped her pen into the ink, and sat with it in her hand, thinking.
Her brother-in-law's words had aroused a fresh train of thought within
her. There seemed to be an amount of solemnity in what she was about to
do that she had not considered before. It was true that she did not love
him; but then, as she had told Eustace just now, she loved no one else;
she did not rightly understand what love meant, indeed. And is a woman to
wait on in patience for years until love comes to her? Would it ever
come? Probably not, thought Vera; not to her, who thought herself to be
cold, and not easily moved. There must be surely many women to whom this
wonderful thing of love never comes. In all her experience of life there
was nothing to contradict this. It was not as if she had been a girl who
had never left her native village, never tasted of the pleasures of life,
never known the sweet incense of flattery and devotion.
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