‘Yes; I did.’

‘Men are not, I think, like girls.’

‘I suppose not,’ said Marie slowly.  ’What liars they are, what brutes;—­what wretches!  Why should he tell me lies like that?  Why should he break my heart?  That other man never said that he loved me.  Did he never love me,—­once?’

Hetta could hardly say that her brother was incapable of such love as Marie expected, but she knew that it was so.  ’It is better that you should think of him no more.’

’Are you like that?  If you had loved a man and told him of it, and agreed to be his wife and done as I have, could you bear to be told to think of him no more,—­...