“It might be best, so that you come back.”
“I must stay all winter. And if some one else wins her?” he questioned anxiously.
“That would be a grief to me. I shall try not to have it happen. Oh, you can trust me; only I shall not force her inclination. But there is some comfort to take with you in my full consent.”
“You think, then, I had better go?” reluctantly.
“It is not every day a friend like M. Chouteau is given to a young man. And,” with a vague smile, “you may even advance your suit by going. If she should miss you, so much the better. You have given her a great deal of devotion, perhaps too much. There are some gifts that are not appreciated if they come too easily.”
André Valbonais felt as if his dream had been dashed to fragments like a bit of glass. He had resolved he would not go away; he would marry Renée. Yet down in his heart he knew she did not love him with the fervor of a sweetheart. But that might come when she understood how much in earnest he was, and that her guardian really wished for the marriage. Yet, much as he wished for it, he would not spoil his darling’s life by any over-persuasion.
“Yes, it is a fine chance. You will be the envy of the town. And—I trust you to come back as honorable as you go. A year soon passes.”
“It will be hard to go without speaking.”
“It will do no good.” Denys shook his head. “Trust me. I have seen more of womankind.”
“Then I must be off. I asked to consult you, and I have your answer.”