Not forget her. I never could do that. I might find other thoughts to take her place--for a time.
Bah! What a fool I was. A fool twice. A fool for loving her, a fool for giving her up so easily--giving up another man’s wife, forsooth, when I knew that she loved me at that. Of a truth, if Dicky Hall ever heard of this he would laugh me to scorn.
Well, let them laugh. The honor of the Danes could stand a little merriment, and it was the honor of the Danes I was upholding, though I lost my love for the honor.
“Well, here’s to the death of love, and the honor of my name,” I said, softly, draining my last glass.
“Now for Virginia!”
As I set the mug down the sound of voices in the main room came to my ears. One was that of the landlord, the other a woman’s, and it was strangely familiar. She spoke part in French, with as much English as she could.
“Now, now,” said the inn keeper, “don’t ye come botherin’ again, mistress. I know nothin’ of Lucy nor Nancy either, though for that matter every sailor who lands here has that name on his lips, one way or another.”
“Not Lucy, m’sieur, not Lucy,” spoke the woman’s voice. “’Tis Lucille I been look for.”
I started at the name.
“Nor Lucille, either,” said the tavern keeper, testily.