It was a very gay fortnight, and Allin Wharton was so angry and so wretched that he scarce knew how to live. Captain Vane was handsome and fascinating, and a hero from having lost his estates, and there were a full hundred reasons why he should be attractive to a woman. He believed Andrew Henry was no sort of rival beside him. Of course Primrose would—what a fool he had been to take Polly's advice and wait!
But Primrose had been very wise and very careful for such a pretty, pleasure-loving girl. There had been something in Gilbert Vane's eyes that told the story, and she understood now what it was: the sweetest and noblest story a man can tell a woman, but a woman may not always be ready to hear it, and now some curious knowledge had come to Primrose—she would never be ready to hear this.
She had threaded her way skillfully through every turning, she had jested and parried until she was amazed at her own resources. The last morning Madam Wetherill was suddenly called down to the office about the transfer of some property, and she had not been gone ten minutes when Captain Vane was announced.
He was very disappointed not to see madam—of course. Primrose was shy and looked like a bird about to fly somewhere, but so utterly bewitching that his whole heart went out to her.
"Oh, you sweetest, dearest Primrose!" he cried, and caught her hand in such a clasp that she could not pull it away. "I love you, love you! and yet I have no business to say it, a soldier of fortune, who has nothing now but his sword, and his patriotism for the country of his adoption—all his fortune yet to make. But it will not hurt you, dear, to know that a man loves you with his whole soul and hopes for—nothing."
But his wistful eyes told another story.
"Oh, why did you say it?" she cried, full of regret.
"Because I could not help it. Oh, I know it is useless, and yet I would give half a lifetime—nay, all of it—for a year or two of such bliss as Phil is having, to hold you in my arms, to call you my wife, my dear wife," and his tone thrilled her with exquisite pain, but something akin to pleasure as well. "Primrose, you are the sweetest flower of the world, but it could never be—never; tell me so, darling. Much as it pains you, say 'no.' For if you do not I shall always dream. And I am a soldier and can meet my fate."
He dropped her hand and stood before her straight, strong, and proud; entreaty written in every line of his face. She covered hers with her hands to shut out the sight and tried vainly to find her voice.
"Nay, dear," he took the hands down tenderly and saw tears and blushes, but not the look he wanted. "That was cruel, unmanly. If it were 'yes' there would be no tears, and so I am answered. It is not your fault. You have a grander, nobler lover than I. But it has been sweet to love you. From almost the first I have loved you, when you were a little girl and I longed to have you for my sister. It will not hurt you, as the years go on, to know you won a soldier for your country and a lifelong patriot. And I know Andrew Henry will not grudge me one kiss. God give thee all happiness. Good-by."