"I believe you did mean well," she murmured, speaking with evident effort, "and I behaved—ungratefully; but I was crazy with grief. Everything was so awfully sudden, and, and——" she hesitated.
"And you couldn't bear the sight of me," he interjected, "and I accepted the situation. You made everything fairly plain in your letter,—didn't you?"—Another immense pause.
Nancy wondered how long this hateful scene was to continue—it seemed to have lasted for hours. Then in a meditative tone Mayne began:
"Now I wonder, if I had followed you to your hiding-place, and dragged you off to Cananore, how would that have answered?"
"It would have made me hate, and abhor you, as long as I lived," she rejoined with startling vehemence.
"Oh! and do you hate, and abhor, me now?"
She raised her eyes, and considered him gravely; but made no reply—she did not wish to be his wife, but in her secret heart, she knew she would be glad to be friends. Something in his voice, and his honest eyes, recalled old days, and the many happy hours, they two had spent together. Then he was so manly, and good-looking; also she began to feel, that she was not really afraid of him.
"What I wished to say to you," he continued, "is this: that, owing to the pressure of circumstances, we must meet, and pretend to be friends."
"Or be friends, and pretend?" she corrected timidly.
"What an explosion, if the truth ever leaked out! Think of your friends and relations; my friends and my regiment. However, you may rely upon me to keep my promise,—and to hold my tongue." After a moment's silence, he added: "How do you hit it off with Mrs. De Wolfe?"