“She will make none the worse wife for standing off and on a little before.”
“That is not like you, Betty.”
“Is it not? But I wear my shameful heart on my sleeve. And what of the servant?”
“A decent, low-born fellow. I hold him nothing to blame. He walks like a cat on the ice till ’tis comical to see him.”
He laughed slightly. The little warmth of merriment awoke new tenderness in him. He put his arm about the girl’s shoulders as she lay huddled close by.
“I take you into my confidence, dear; and you will not abuse me that I speak slightingly, out of my soreness, of a rival. Yet she is little that. She is a beautiful and refined lady, of whom I desired a favour that ’twere presumption for such as I to ask. So I withdraw my plan to wed delicately and live highly, and bow my admiration and retire. And then my heart gives a free leap, and I fly for love to the nest of my pretty brown bird.”
The girl sat up, and put the hair from her wet eyes.
“The bird would die on the morrow,” she said. “Oh! you must go back and try once more.”
“What! you would bid me to another’s arms?”
“I would bid you do the part of the brave and honourable gentleman my silly fancy went out to.”