‘I will hear no more of this nonsense,’ he cried; ‘I have told you already it is a lie, and you insult me by repeating it. Miss Courtney and I are nothing to each other, and it will ruin me with my employer if this absurd report gains ground. I shall get kicked out of Beauregard for nothing at all, and then all chance of our marriage will be at an end, and I shall probably have to leave San Diego.’
‘It will not gain ground through my means, and I am only too glad to know that it is not true,’ replied Liz, rising to her feet also.
She would have liked him to have put his arms round her and assured her with a kiss it was all an error, but she was too proud to show the blank disappointment that crept over her. Henri had denied the scandal, and she was bound to believe him, but still she was not satisfied, though she could hardly have given a reason for it.
‘Of course—of course—I knew it was not true,’ she repeated, in a quivering voice, as she tried to persuade herself that all was right between them. ‘For once you promised me—do you remember it, Henri?—that if any one ever came between us, you would let me know, so that at any rate I should retain your confidence, even if I lost your love.’
‘You harp so much on the question of losing my love,’ he replied angrily, ‘that you make me think you have no further use for it.’
Liz looked bewildered.
‘Oh! what have I said to make you speak like that?’ she exclaimed. ‘When have I let you think that I was weary of you—we who have agreed to pass our lives together? Oh, Henri! is it my fault? Has this misunderstanding sprung from my apparent coldness? If so—forgive me! For indeed—indeed—’ continued Liz earnestly—all her reticence vanishing before the fear of offending her lover, ‘I am not cold. I have so much important work to do, and serious things to think of, that I am afraid sometimes to let my thoughts dwell too much on our affection, lest I should not keep my mind clear. But that is not indifference. It is too much love,’ she said, in a faltering voice.
‘I have never doubted your love,’ replied De Courcelles, softened by the sound of her tearful voice, ‘and I don’t want you to doubt mine, and especially not to listen to tales that have no foundation, and are calculated to injure my reputation. Maraquita Courtney is nothing to me, and never has been, and never will be. You may take my word for that!’
‘Will you swear it?’ cried Liz eagerly.
He hesitated a moment, and then he said,—