“No, no, my darling, don’t be startled. But do you mean that you really thought Jock’s disregard of your entreaties came from indifference?”
“It was all one mixture of pain and anger,” said Sydney. “I can’t define it. I thought it was one’s duty to lead a man to be courageous and defend his country, and of course he thought me such a fool. Why, he has never really talked to me since!”
“And you thought it was indifference,” again repeated John, with an iteration worthy of his father.
“O John, you frighten me. Wasn’t it? Did you know this before?”
“No, most certainly not. I did know thus much, that in giving up the army Jock had given up his dearest hopes; but I thought it was some fine fashionable lady, whom he was well rid of, though he didn’t know it. And he never said a word to betray it, even when I came home brimful and overflowing with happiness. And you know it was his doing that my way has been smoothed. Oh! Sydney, I don’t know how to look at it!”
“But indeed, John dear, I couldn’t help loving you best. You saved me, you know, and I feel to fit in, and understand you best. I can’t be sorry as it has turned out.”
“That’s very well,” said John, trying to laugh, “for you couldn’t be transferred back to him, like a bale of goods. And I could not have helped loving you; but that I should have been a robber, Jock’s worst enemy!”
“I can’t be sorry you did not guess it,” said Sydney. “Then I never should have had you, and somehow—”
“And you thought him wanting in courage,” recurred John.
“Only when I was wild and silly, talking out of the ‘Traveller’s Joy.’ It was hearing about his going into that dreadful place that stirred it all up in my mind, because I saw what a hero he is.”