For a moment or two, he stood silent, leaning against a veranda pillar and twirling a spray of belated honeysuckle bloom nervously in his fingers. When he spoke again, his voice was even quieter than usual, and there was nothing more disturbing than grave friendliness in his face.
“I’ve been thinking, dear,” he said. “I’m afraid life’s been a bit hard for you, lately. All the love in the world won’t prevent mistakes; and I guess we’ve made mistakes—you and I—and your father.”
The girl in the willow chair looked up at him in swift question; but he went on without allowing her to speak.
“You see, your father was my friend. He believed in me and he couldn’t die easily, leaving you all alone; so, because he knew I loved you better than all the world, he planned that I should stand between you and the world. He meant it for your happiness—and I was glad and proud—and you were willing—but we were blind, all three of us. We did not look along the road ahead.”
The girl made a little gesture of protest. He dropped into a chair beside her, caught the slender brown hands, and held them.
“Look at me, dear,” he begged. “Surely you’re not afraid of me. You’re afraid of hurting me. That’s it—and you can’t save me from the hurt. I was afraid of it right at first, after your father went away. You were very young and I knew that youth called to youth; but so many younger men came and went away. It was easy to see you didn’t care for any of them; and, in time, I began to believe that I could make you happy. I loved you as well as any man could and you loved me—in a way—and trusted me, and there was no one else. But even then I had sense enough not to hurry you. So I waited—and then the thing I had almost forgotten to fear happened.”
The low, steady voice broke, and for a moment fell into silence. Then he went on:
“I felt, as soon as I came back here this summer, that things were different; and after a while I began to understand what the difference was; but I waited to make sure. Last night I knew. Tell me, Nora—We owe each other frankness—Tell me—there is some one else now?”
She raised her eyes full of tears to meet his that were full of pain.
“Yes,” she said, and there was a sob in the word. “I love you dearly; but—there is some one else.”