"
Penelope laughed in a pitying derision.
"Well, let things go on then. But they won't go on."
"No, they won't go on," echoed her mother. "She's pretty enough,
and she's capable; and your father's got the money--I
don't know what I'm saying! She ain't equal to him,
and she never was. I kept feeling it all the time,
and yet I kept blinding myself."
"If he had ever cared for her," said Penelope, "it wouldn't
have mattered whether she was equal to him or not.
I'M not equal to him either."
Her mother went on: "I might have thought it was you;
but I had got set----Well! I can see it all clear enough,
now it's too late. I don't know what to do."
"And what do you expect me to do?" demanded the girl.
"Do you want ME to go to Irene and tell her that I've got
him away from her?"
"O good Lord!" cried Mrs. Lapham. "What shall I do? What
do you want I should do, Pen?"
"Nothing for me," said Penelope. "I've had it out
with myself. Now do the best you can for Irene."
"I couldn't say you had done wrong, if you was to marry
him to-day."
"Mother!"
"No, I couldn't. I couldn't say but what you had been good
and faithfull all through, and you had a perfect right
to do it. There ain't any one to blame. He's behaved
like a gentleman, and I can see now that he never thought
of her, and that it was you all the while.
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