The rushing sound of waves came back, and Cyril's brain was in a whirl. He bore it for a few seconds; then suddenly, he could endure no longer. Waiting became intolerable; and a burst of impatience drove him to the side-table, where lay the little note. He would know the worst at once.
As he came to the lamp, opened and read, the surging died away into stillness, and every trace of dizziness passed away. Cyril glanced round, with an odd feeling that he had never seen the chairs and tables so motionless. Then he read the note again.
He could hardly believe his own eyes. At first, he almost thought his brain must be playing him false.
Refused—after all!
Emmie "liked him very much, but she was afraid she could not say she loved him." And so "it would not be right." She "was very sorry to give him pain," but "it would be best in the end." The utterances were childishly direct and simple; no manner of hesitation or incertitude about them. She was grateful to Cyril, but she would not have him.
"Emmie! You're a brick!" spoke Cyril aloud.
A man does not like to be refused; and notwithstanding Cyril's relief, notwithstanding the weight lifted from him, there came for one moment a touch of the "wet-blanket" sensation. He had not expected himself or his belongings to be so lightly valued; and self-satisfaction sustained a wound.
But pride, either wounded or unwounded, could claim only a small share of his attention. As he read and re-read the brief sentences, hardly able to credit the fact that he was free, a great wave of joy swept over him. Jean's face rose once more, quiet, smiling, no longer sad, no longer reproachful . . . Cyril had something of the boy in him yet; not so very surprising at twenty-one. He put his face down on the high mantelpiece, with a sound not far removed from a sob—
"My own dear dear dear Jean! Never, never any one but you!"
Then an unreasoning impulse seized him to rush off there and then to the Rectory; just to look in upon Jean with his bodily eyes, now that he knew they were not parted for life by an ever-widening river . . . Yet could he trust himself? Would he be betrayed into saying too much? To propose to one lady within an hour after being refused by another would be too supremely absurd. Cyril laughed at the idea and resolved not to go.