“Don’t hide it, old fellow,” he said. “Why should you?”
Magnus looked at him as if in dread and shame.
“Why should you mind?” continued Artingale. “I’ve never been ashamed to confess to you. But how wonderfully like.”
Magnus still gazed at him in a troubled way, but he did not speak, and the two men remained looking into each other’s eyes as Artingale seated himself upon the edge of the bed.
“Mag, old fellow,” said Artingale at last, “I’m very, very glad.”
“Why should you be?” said the other, in a low, weak voice. “It is only an empty dream.”
“No, no. Nonsense, man. Why, come, with that idea in your brain you ought to be up and doing.”
“What!” said Magnus, bitterly; “trying to make her life unhappy by my mad love?”
“Mad love! Is it mad to love a beautiful woman with all your heart, as I’m sure you do, with that confession before my eyes?”
“Yes, when she is engaged to be married to another.”