Fletcher in an injured tone. "I beg you won't speak, but trust me,
and let it be a little secret between us two. I assure you it makes
no difference to me, for I should marry an opera dancer if I chose,
so forget it, as I do, and set my mind at rest upon the other point.
I'm still waiting for my answer, you know."
"It is ready."
"A kind one, I'm sure. What is it, Christie?"
"No, I thank you."
"But you are not in earnest?"
"Perfectly so."
Mr. Fletcher got up suddenly and set his back against the rock,
saying in a tone of such unaffected surprise and disappointment that
her heart reproached her:
"NO, I THANK YOU."
"Am I to understand that as your final answer, Miss Devon?"
"Distinctly and decidedly my final answer, Mr, Pletcher."
Christie tried to speak kindly, but she was angry with herself and
him, and unconsciously showed it both in face and voice, for she was
no actress off the stage, and wanted to be very true just then as a
late atonement for that earlier want of candor.
A quick change passed over Mr. Fletcher's face; his cold eyes
kindled with an angry spark, his lips were pale with anger, and his
voice was very bitter, as he slowly said:
"I've made many blunders in my life, and this is one of the
greatest; for I believed in a woman, was fool enough to care for her
with the sincerest love I ever knew, and fancied that she would be
grateful for the sacrifice I made.
Pages:
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109