“No. If you did my father would immediately speak to me, and I should have to tell him what I am going to tell you.”
“Well. Out with it.”
“Do you suppose,” said Madelaine, once more turning her clear frank eyes upon the young man, and speaking with a quiet decision that startled him; “do you suppose I could be so wanting in duty to those at home, so wanting in love to you, Harry, that I could consent to a marriage which would only mean fixing you permanently in your present thoughtless ways? You talk like a foolish boy, and not like the Harry Vine whom I have always looked forward to being my protector through life.”
“Madelaine!”
“Let me finish, Harry, and tell what has been on my lips for months past, but which you have never given me the opportunity to say to you till now. I am younger by several years than you, but do you think I am so wanting in worldly experience that I am blind to your reckless folly, or the pain you are giving father and sister by your acts?”
“Why, Maddy,” he cried, in a voice full of vexation, which belied the mocking laugh upon his lips, “I didn’t think you could preach like that.”
“It is time to preach, Harry, when I see you so lost to self-respect, and find that you are ready to place yourself and the girl you wish to call wife, in a dependent position, instead of proudly and manfully making yourself your own master.”
“Well, this is pleasant,” cried Harry, as soon as he had recovered somewhat from his astonishment, “and am I to understand that you throw me over?”
“No, Harry,” said Madelaine sadly, “you are to understand that I care for you too much to encourage you in a weak folly.”
“A weak folly—to ask you what you have always expected I should ask!”