"Honestly, you would not have succeeded, Maverick. Neither would she have married me. I think she belonged to Fred from the beginning. He used to hate girls, judging from his sisters, no doubt, but he always liked Sylvie. I was afraid of girls,—their sharp eyes and sharper tongues,—but I liked her too; yet in my own mind he always had the first claim. And they will be suited in the farthest fibre of each soul."
"He is not half worthy of her!" growled Maverick.
"Who is?" There was a peculiar tender intonation in the voice. "Sylvie Barry's womanhood is unique, like some rare gem. She has the sparkle but not the hardness of a diamond; the warmth and vividness of the ruby, but not its heats; the serenity of the sapphire, and yet to me that is always cold. Rather I think she is a changeful opal with all hues and tints and surprises."
"And yet you have never loved her!" in intense surprise.
"I worship her," said Jack reverentially. "I should as soon think of wooing an angel."
"And yet this man, who is not as strong, or noble, or high in purpose, takes her with your consent. You can see her sit down at his feet, wind her own rich, pure, sustaining life-melody about him, to make his path seem like going through an enchanted land. She has genius, but it will ever linger in the shadow of his; it will help, and purify, and shape his; she will give her whole soul to the work. Is he worth the best there is in such a woman as Sylvie Barry?"
"No; and we never go by our deserts when a woman loves us," said Jack, with frank honesty.
"I am quite sure you will marry a woman I shall hate," returned Maverick testily.
Jack laughed. "Marrying has not been much in my thoughts;" and yet his fair face flushed. "I have to fight Hope Mills out to the end first."
But just now there did not seem much of a prospect for fighting, though he firmly believed he should always be on guard after this.