"You do not seem to have any answer ready," I observed. "You say you love a certain lady. Is there any reason, in the nature of things, why some one else should not love her at the same time? Then it follows that the most important point is this,—she must love you. If she does not, your affection is wasted. I am not an old man, but I am far from being a young one, and I have seen much in my time. You may analyze your feelings and those of others, when in love, as much as you please, but you will not get at any other result. Unless a woman loves you, it is of very little use that you love her."
"What in the world are you talking about, Griggs?" asked Paul, whose ideas, perhaps, did not coincide with mine. "What can you know about love? You are nothing but a hardened old bachelor; you never loved a woman in your life, I am sure."
I was much struck by the truth of this observation, and I held my peace. A cannibal cannot be expected to understand French cooking.
"I tell you," continued Paul, "that Miss Carvel has promised to marry me, and I constantly speak to her of our marriage."
"But does she speak to you of it?" I asked. "I fancy that she never alludes to it except to tell you not to go to her father."
In his turn Paul was silent, and bent his brows. He must have been half distracted, or he would not have talked to me as he did. I never knew a less communicative man.
"This is a very delicate matter," I said presently. "You ask my advice; I will give you the best I can. Do one of two things. Either go to Mr. Carvel without his daughter's permission, or else fight it out as you can until your brother goes. Then you will have the field to yourself."
"The difficulty lies in the choice," said Paul.
"The choice depends upon your own state of mind, and upon your strength, or rather upon the strength of your position. If Miss Carvel has promised to marry you, I think you have a right to push matters as fast as you can."
"I will," said Paul. "Good-by."