"I suppose," I wept, "you would have had me marry him whether I wanted to or not, just to keep from hurting him."
"No," he answered quickly. "I did not say that—I did not say that
I would have had you marry him. No, lass, I did not say that."
"Then why are you scolding me?" I asked in a choked whisper.
"Scolding you? I was not. It was only that—that I love the lad—and I wish you both so well—I thought perhaps there was some mistake, and—it would not matter about me, if I could see you both happy."
"There is a mistake," I said clearly. "It is a great mistake, Dugald Shaw, that you should come to me and court me—for some one else."
There was silence for a while, the kind of silence when you hear your heartbeats.
When he spoke his voice was unsteady.
"But the boy has everything to offer you—his ancient name, his splendid unstained youth, a heart that is all loyalty. He is strong and brave and beautiful. Virginia, why couldn't you love him?"
"I could not love him," I replied, very low, "because my love was not mine any more to give. It belongs to—some one else. Is his name ancient? I don't know. It is his, and he ennobles it. Cuthbert has youth, but youth is only promise. In the man I love I find fulfilment. And he is loyal and brave and honest—I am afraid he isn't beautiful, but I love him the better for his scars—"
After that I sat quite still, and I knew it depended on the next half minute whether I went all the days of my life crowned and glorious with happiness, or buried my shame and heartbreak under the waters of the cove.