Bertha had listened silently. His words could not have been quite unexpected; her woman’s eyes must have learned his secret many a long day since. Yet she hesitated, perhaps to frame her words, perhaps to frame her mind. Huey, of all her suitors, had much to commend him to her. He had great intelligence, and to her judgment he was a clever man. If he had not wealth, neither was he poor, and he had youth and good looks on his side.
But then, on the other hand, she had seen a look glower from his eyes at times like the glance of a fiend, a hard, merciless gleam that froze all tenderness or thoughts of tenderness. So she might have reasoned, if women so placed were apt to take a mental inventory and figure out a character balance-sheet. But doubtless she did nothing of the kind as she fidgeted with her sunshade, and stepped tranquilly along. It was not her reason but her heart that must answer, and instinctively she paused for its response. At last she spoke; Huey Gosper all silent in hopeful expectation.
“What a pretty boat!” pointing to an 18-footer with coloured sails that skimmed across the bay.
“Yes, it is pretty,” said Huey absently; “but you have not answered me.”
“Oh, about getting married!” replied Bertha, as though the question had slipped her memory. “I don’t want to get married—at least, not yet,” correcting herself. “It seems to make one so old all at once, this getting married; don’t you think so?”
“I do not say now, at once, or next week; but promise me, give me your word, and let there be a bond between us, and we will marry when you like; so only that you are mine, all else may be as you wish.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Gosper; it is very kind of you to think so highly of me. I am not worth it, I am sure; but, really and truly, I do not wish to be engaged. It is so easy to lose your freedom that never comes again. Don’t think me hard-hearted. I feel more, much more than I can say; but my freedom is yet dear to me.”
Had Huey been a patient man, or one versed in feminine ways, he might have taken this neutral reply as one of good augury, and left the further pressing of his suit till time and patience had overcome her maiden wilfulness. But Huey was combustible, suspicious, jealous. The fierce, bad light shone from his eyes as he answered—
“You are mocking me. It is because I am poor, because I have no grand home to offer you; and you are thinking of Alec Booth and his thousands.”
“That is not fair of you, Mr. Gosper,” retorted Bertha sharply. “You have no right to say such things. I am my own mistress, to do as I like; and a jealous, spiteful man shall never be my friend!”