"That was very unreasonable. You are not responsible for me."
Perhaps the fright had rendered me temporarily light-headed, for I answered, on impulse: "No; on the other hand, you are responsible for me."
"I?" the girl said quietly, with a demureness which was not all mockery. "How could that be? Such a responsibility would be too onerous for me."
"Why it should be I cannot tell you; but it is the truth," I said. "Twice, when a crisis had to be faced, it was your opinions that turned the scale for me; and I think that, growing hopeless, I should have allowed Lane to rob me and gone elsewhere in search of better fortune had it not been for the courage you infused into me. Once or twice also you pointed the way out of a difficulty, and the clearness of your views was almost startling. The most curious thing is that you are so much younger than I."
I had spoken no more than the truth, and was conscious of a passing annoyance when Lucille Haldane laughed. "There is no overcoming masculine vanity; and I once heard my father say you were in some respects very young for your age," she said. "I am afraid it was presumption, but I don't mind admitting I am glad if any chance word of mine nerved you to continue your resistance." Her voice changed a little as she added: "Of course, that is because your enemy's work is evil, and I think you will triumph yet."
Neither of us spoke again for a time, and I remember reflecting that whoever won Lucille Haldane would have a helpmate to be proud of in this world and perhaps, by virtue of what she could teach him, follow into the next. I could think so the more dispassionately because now both she and her sister were far above me, though, knowing my own kind, I wondered where either could find any man worthy.
So the minutes slipped by while the great express raced on, and blue heavens and silver prairie unrolled themselves before us in an apparently unending panorama. There had been times when I considered such a prospect dreary enough, but it appeared surcharged with a strange glamour that moonlit night.
"Will Miss Haldane return to Bonaventure?" I asked, at length.
"I hardly think so," said the girl. "We have very different tastes, you know; and as father will not keep more than one of us with him, we can both gratify them. Beatrice will leave for England soon, and in all probability will not visit Bonaventure again."
She looked at me with a strange expression as she spoke, and when her meaning dawned on me I was conscious of a heavy shock. I had braced myself to face the inevitable already, but the knowledge was painful nevertheless, and my voice was not quite steady when I said: "You imply that Miss Haldane is to be married shortly?"