Mother won't listen to a word. She says it's nerves. But the
truth is, Miss Lady, I've never been sure; that's what's making me
ill!"
"Have you told him?"
"Yes, and he laughs at me. He may be right, they all may be right.
When I get well I may laugh at myself. But just now it seems so
terrible for the preparations to be going on while I'm lying here,
night after night, fighting down the doubts, trying to persuade
myself, trying to be sure. How can you tell when you are in love? How
do you know?"
Miss Lady's hand that had been softly stroking the girl's thin white
fingers, paused; her eyes sought the open window, and she drew a short
breath.
"Know?" she repeated as if to herself. "How do you know when you are
cold, when you are hungry, when you're tired, when you're lonesome?
How do you know that you want air when you are smothering? Everything
about you tells you, your heart, your mind, your body, your soul. You
can't help knowing!"
"But suppose I don't feel like that! And suppose I should, some day,
for some one else! Oh! Miss Lady tell me what to do! Everybody else is
rushing me on, telling me not to worry, not to be afraid.
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