'Of course I meant the first earthly thing,' said Laura; but it was not heartfelt--she knew she ought, therefore she thought she did.
'And so,' proceeded Amy, 'I think if that other is first, it would make you have some other standard of right besides himself, then you would be a stay and help to him. I think that is what he means.'
'Amy! let me ask you,' said Laura, a little entreatingly, yet as if she must needs put the question--'surely, you never thought Guy had faults?'
Her colour deepened. 'Yes, Laura,' she answered, firmly. 'I could not have understood his repentance if I had not thought so. And, dear Laura, if you will forgive me for saying it, it would be much better for yourself and Philip if you would see the truth.'
'I thought you forgave him,' murmured Laura.
'Oh, Laura! but does not that word "forgive" imply something? I could not have done anything to comfort him that day, if I had not believed he had something to be comforted for. It can't be pleasant to him to see you think his repentance vain.'
'It is noble and great.'
'But if it was not real, it would be thrown away. Besides, dear Laura, do let me say this for once. If you would but understand that you let him lead you into what was not right, and be really sorry for that, and show mamma that you are, I do think it would all begin much more happily when you are married.'
'I could never have told, till I was obliged to betray myself,' said Laura. 'You know, Amy, it was no engagement. We never wrote to each other, we had but one walk; it was no business of his to speak till he could hope for papa's consent to our marriage. It would have been all confusion if he had told, and that would have been only that we had always loved each other with all our hearts, which every one knew before.'
'Yet, Laura, it was what preyed on him when he thought he was dying.'
'Because it was the only thing like a fault he could think of,' said Laura, excited by this shade of blame to defend him vehemently--'because his scruples are high and noble and generous.'
She spoke so eagerly, that the baby's voice again broke on the conversation, and she was obliged to go away; but though her idolatry was complete, it did not seem to give full satisfaction or repose. As to Philip, though his love for her was unchanged, it now and then was felt, though not owned by him, that she was not fully a helpmeet, only a 'Self'; not such a 'Self' as he had left at St. Mildred's, but still reflecting on him his former character, instead of aiding him to a new one.