Not much later, the Lieutenant said good night, for, as he stated, he had to leave for his duties early next morning.
“And I’m sorry if I offended you, Miss Fairfield, and I hope you’ll forgive me,” he begged. “But,—well, my only excuse is, the temptation was too great, and the opportunity was mine, so I said more than I intended, and more than I ought.”
“All right, Lieutenant, if you didn’t mean it, I forgive you.”
“I don’t say I didn’t mean it,—for that wouldn’t be true; but I didn’t mean to tell you of it.”
“Then,” and Patty spoke gravely, now, “never let any circumstance or opportunity tempt you to do it again.”
“Then I mustn’t see you,” Herron said, in a low voice.
“Very well, then don’t see me. It will be far better for both. Where is your sense of honour? of fairness? Another man’s fiancée is not to be thought of, save with respect and courtesy.”
“I know it,” and the man looked miserably sad; “and I do mean to treat you with all respect and courtesy,—but, oh, Miss Fairfield, Patty,—let me call you that just once,—if you knew how broken up I am over it all!”
“Then,” said Patty, firmly, though she was touched at the sight of his evident suffering, “then the only thing is for us not to meet again, at all. I’m sorry, Lieutenant Herron, for I like you, but these matters are often outside our own will, and so, I can see no way but for us to keep apart.”
“May I not come to see you next time I’m in town?”