"I know it was not because of the money--the price, I mean.Father told me that you refused the five thousand he offered and would accept only a part of it; thirty-five hundred, I think he said.Ishould have known that the price had nothing to do with it, even if he had not told me.But why did you sell it?"I would have given all I had, or ever expected to have, in this world, to tell her the truth.For the moment I almost hated George Taylor.
"Oh, I thought I might as well, give in then as later," I answered, with a shrug."It was no use fighting the inevitable.""That was not it.I know it was not.If it had been you would have taken the five thousand.And I know, too, that you meant what you said when you told me you never would sell.I have known it all the time.I know you were telling me the truth."I was astonished."You do?" I cried."Why, you said--""Don't! I know what I said, and I am so ashamed.I did not mean it, really.For a moment, there in the library, when Father first told me, I thought perhaps you--but I did not really think it.And when he told me the price, I KNEW.Won't you tell me why you sold?""I can't.I wish I could."
"I believe I can guess."
I started."You can GUESS?" I repeated.
"Yes.I think you wanted the money for some purpose, some need which you had not foreseen.And I do not believe it was for yourself at all.I think it was for some one else.Wasn't that it?"I could not reply.I tried to, tried to utter a prompt denial, but the words would not come.Her "guess" was so close to the truth that I could only stammer and hesitate.
"It was," she said."I thought so.For your mother, wasn't it?""No, no.Miss Colton, you are wrong.I--""I am not wrong.Never mind.I suppose it is a secret.Perhaps Ishall find out some day.But will you forgive me for being so hateful? Can you? What is the matter?""Nothing--nothing.I--you are too good to me, that is all.Idon't deserve it."
"Hush! And we will be friends again?"
"Yes.....Oh, no! no! I must not think of it.It is impossible.""Must not think of it? When I ask you to? Can't you forgive me, after all?""There was nothing to forgive."
"Yes, there was, a great deal.Is there something else? Are you still angry with me because of what I said that afternoon at the gate?""No, of course not."
"It was hateful of me, I know.But I could see that you wished to avoid me and I was provoked.Besides, you have punished me for that.You have snubbed me twice since, sir.""_I_ snubbed YOU?"
"Yes--twice.Once when we met in the street.You deliberately turned away and would not look at me.And once when I passed you in the canoe.You saw me--I know you did--but you cut me dead.
That is why I did not return your bow to-day, at the wedding.""But you had said--I thought--"
"I know.I had said horrid things.I deserved to be snubbed.
There! now I have confessed.Mayn't we be friends?""I...Oh, no, we must not, for your sake.I--""For my sake! But I wish it.Why not?"
I turned on her."Can't you see?" I said, despairingly."Look at the difference between us! You are what you are and I--"She interrupted me."Oh," she cried, impatiently, "how dare you speak so? How dare you believe that money and--all the rest of it influences me in my friendships? Do you think I care for that?""I did not mean money alone.But even that Miss Colton, that evening when we returned from the trip after weakfish, you and your father and I, I heard--I did not mean to hear but I did--what your mother said when she met you.She said she had warned you against trusting yourself to 'that common fellow,' meaning me.That shows what she thinks.She was right; in a way she was perfectly right.
Now you see what I mean by saying that friendship between us is impossible?"I had spoken at white heat.Now I turned away.It was settled.
She must understand now.
"Mr.Paine."
"Yes, Miss Colton."
"I am sorry you heard that.Mother--she is my mother and I love her--but she says foolish things sometimes.I am sorry you heard that, but since you did, I wish you had heard the rest.""The rest?"
"Yes.I answered her by suggesting that she had not been afraid to trust me in the care of Victor--Mr.Carver.She answered that she hoped I did not mean to compare Mr.Carver with you.And I said--""Yes? You said--?"
"I said," the tone was low but I heard every syllable, "I said she was right, there was no comparison.""You said THAT!"
"Yes."
"You said it! And you meant--?"
"I meant--I think I meant that I should not be afraid to trust you always--anywhere."Where were my good resolutions--my stern reasons to remember who and what I was--to be sane, no matter at what cost to myself? I do not know where they were; then I did not care.I seized her hand.
It trembled, but she did not draw it away.
"Mabel--" I cried."Mabel--"
"BUMP!"
The Comfort shook as the bow of a dory scraped along her starboard quarter.A big red hand clasped the rail and its mate brandished a good-sized club before my eyes.
"Now," said a determined voice, "I've got ye at last! This time I've caught ye dead to rights! Now, by godfreys, you'll pay me for them lobsters!"
