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Updated: May 15, 2025
"If I knew that I loved any one. If I had ever loved any one as Pamela loved Mr. Brunwalde, I should be like Pamela," she said. "I should never love any one else." From that time she fancied that Priscilla Gower liked her better than she had done before; at any rate, she took more notice of her, though she was never effusive, of course.
It was during her one visit to London, under this relative's patronage, that Pamela had met Arthur Brunwalde, and it was through her that the match had been made. But when Arthur died, and she found that Pamela was fixed in her determination to make a sacrifice of her youth on the altar of her dead love, Lady Throckmorton lost patience. It was absurd, she said; Mr.
Lady Throckmorton will never invite us, I know. Where are your things going to come from?" snappishly. "Pamela!" was Theo's deprecating reply. "They are the things that belonged to her wedding outfit. She never wore them after Mr. Brunwalde died, you know, Joanna, and she is going to lend them to me." "Let us go to sleep, Elin," Joanna grumbled, drowsily. "We know all about it now.
Ten years ago, when Pamela had been a pretty girl, she had had a lover poor Arthur Brunwalde Theo always mentally designated him; and only a week before her wedding-day, death had ended her love-story forever.
She was a singular girl this Priscilla Gower. The first time Theo ever saw her display an interest in anybody, or in anything, was when she first heard Pamela's love-story mentioned. She was sitting at work near them, when Theo chanced to mention Arthur Brunwalde, and, to her surprise, Priscilla looked up from her desk immediately.
Her life had ended in its prime; nay, not ended, for the completion had never come it was to be a work unfinished till its close. Poor Arthur Brunwalde! A few more silent stitches, and then the work slipped from Theo's fingers into her lap, and she lifted her big, inconsistent eyes again. "Pam," she said, "were you ever at Lady Throckmorton's?" A faint color showed itself on Pamela's faded face.
"I have had them for years, ever since Arthur Mr. Brunwalde died. They were to have been my bridal trousseau, and most of them were presents from Lady Throckmorton, who was very kind to me then. Of course, you know well enough," with dry bitterness, "I should never have had them otherwise. I thought I would show them to you to-night, and offer them to you. They may be of use just now."
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