“You mustn’t, Philip,” she said, gently; “it isn’t right for you to talk to me like that. I feel disloyal, even to listen to it.”
“I don’t care!” Van Reypen burst out. “You’re mine! You promised Aunty Van you’d marry me! You promised!”
Philip grasped her hand in both his own, and gazed at her so wildly that Patty was tempted to run out of the room. But she realised the matter must be settled once for all, and she spoke with dignity.
“Philip,” she said, “I don’t think you’re quite fair to me,—or to Billee. Is it manly to talk like this to the girl who is promised to your friend?”
“No, it isn’t. You’re right, Patty.” Van Reypen dropped her hand and folding his arms, stood and looked at her. “But listen to me, girl. I shall not give up until you’re married to Farnsworth. If I can win you back from him, I’m going to do so. I shall do nothing wrong. But, dear, I’m so miserable,—so utterly heart-broken,—you won’t put me out of your life,—will you?”
Now one of Patty’s strongest traits of character was her dislike of giving pain to another. Philip could have put forth no more powerful argument than an avowal of his disappointment. Against her better judgment, even against her own wish, she smiled kindly on him.
“I don’t want to put you out of my life, Phil, but I can’t let you talk to me like this,——”
“I won’t, Patty. Just let me see you once in a while, let me keep on loving you, and then, if you really love Bill better than you do me, I’ll see it,—I’ll know it, and I’ll give you up.”
“All right, then, but you must promise not to tell me you care for me.”
Van Reypen gave a short, hard laugh. “Not tell you! When I don’t tell you, I won’t be breathing! Why, Patty, I can’t any more help telling you, than I can help loving you. But I promise not to make your life a burden,—or myself a nuisance. Trust me, dear. I don’t mean to steal you away from Bill,—unless you want to be stolen.”