“Alas! I have no hope to offer, but there is a broom full of straws for you to cling to.”
I dropped my head into my hands, and moaned:
“Oh heaven! the agony.”
“Really, Mr. Smith, you act your part well. I can only regret that the programme of courtship you have evidently studied is a hackneyed one. Indiscriminate flattery, life and death pledges of devotion and vows of eternal fealty! The addition of a little poetry, about the fountain of your heart being sealed, to keep its waters, etc., would have made it perfect.”
“Miss Carrover,” I said, raising my head from my hands, and looking at her with a countenance so full of despair I saw she knew at last that I was in earnest, “it is enough. Before we drop the subject, though, forever, hear me. As I hope to be judged in eternity, every word I spoke just now was earnest truth. As you value the happiness of a fellow being, do me the justice, at least, to believe this my solemn assertion.”
“Mr. Smith,” she said quickly, her face losing the expression of incredulous derision it had worn, and assuming a seriousness I had never before seen on it, “were you really in earnest?”
“Before my Maker, I was.”
“Can you pardon my unkindness, then,” and she offered her soft little hand. I took it, but did not release it immediately, but sat holding it in mine, and gazing down at the floor. Though so near her, I felt that we were separated by an immense chasm, whose black depths were unfathomable; but now her last words threw a tiny thread of gold across it, and on this slender bridge Hope, like another Blondin, prepared to tread.
“I have been called a flirt,” she continued, to my joyful surprise letting her hand remain in mine, “and perhaps the title is deserved; for I confess that I have constantly sought the conquest of hearts, and I enjoy nothing so much as a long story of love poured out for my mockery—not that I love to cause pain in others, but I have ever found men’s vows insincere, deserving nothing better than scorn. Whenever I have had reason to believe one sincere I have always made the dismissal, if I rejected him, as kind as possible. With you, my dear friend—will you allow me to deal candidly?—I was much pleased, and enjoyed your pleasant vivacity and humor exceedingly; so that I will confess I looked forward to your visits more pleasantly than to almost any one else’s. Thus, without intending it, I have encouraged a love which from the first I knew I could not return, but which I did not suppose was serious. If I esteemed you less I might bid you hope that I might retain you as a suitor; but the very earnestness of your love forbids that I should deceive you. I cannot love you, save as a friend. That is very trite, isn’t it? Still, it expresses my feelings, and I trust that you will believe me when I assure you that I do and ever shall entertain the highest regard for you.”
“Do not say you can not love me, Miss Carrover. Surely a love so devoted as mine will yet win some return.”