“Sorry for me? Well, I like that!” And Harry indorsed his liking with a hearty laugh. “Loved her? Why, Becky, what put that into your head?”
Becky was confused. She thought of the uneasiness she had caused Captain Thompson by her suspicions, to say nothing of the uneasiness she had caused herself.
“Why, Harry, you wrote to her, and she wrote to you; and I told your father that I thought you were engaged.”
“Indeed! that accounts for the old gentleman’s fidgets when I received a letter. No, Becky, I admired, and do admire, that young lady; but love her! make her my wife! I never had the least idea of it. My heart is engaged elsewhere.”
“Indeed! I never heard of it.”
“That’s my misfortune, then. I have always loved a dear old playmate, one whom I have watched grow into a strong and beautiful woman; whom I would not wrong with the offer of my hand until I had fully proved my power to win my way in the world. Do you know her, Becky?”
He still sat there, looking up into her face, with eyes so full of strong and tender love, that Becky was almost sure she saw her own image mirrored there; and her heart beat wildly.
“Becky, must I say more?”
He looked at her mischievously; then turned and traced upon the sands the name again—“Becky Sleeper.”
“O, Harry, Harry! I’m so glad, so glad!”