“My dear Miss Bonner!”
“How long did you know Rose before you called her by her Christian name?”
Evan really could not remember, and was beginning to wonder what he had been called there for. The little lady had feverish eyes and fingers, and seemed to be burning to speak, but afraid.
“I thought you had gone,” she dropped her voice, “without wishing me good-bye.”
“I certainly should not do that, Miss Bonner.”
“Formal!” she exclaimed, half to herself. “Miss Bonner thanks you. Do you think I wish you to stay? No friend of yours would wish it. You do not know the selfishness—brutal!—of these people of birth, as they call it.”
“I have met with nothing but kindness here,” said Evan.
“Then go while you can feel that,” she answered; “for it cannot last another hour. Here is the rose.” She broke it from the stem and handed it to him. “You may wear that, and they are not so likely to call you an adventurer, and names of that sort. I am hardly considered a lady by them.”
An adventurer! The full meaning of the phrase struck Evan’s senses when he was alone. Miss Bonner knew something of his condition, evidently. Perhaps it was generally known, and perhaps it was thought that he had come to win Rose for his worldly advantage! The idea was overwhelmingly new to him. Up started self-love in arms. He would renounce her.
It is no insignificant contest when love has to crush self-love utterly. At moments it can be done. Love has divine moments. There are times also when Love draws part of his being from self-love, and can find no support without it.