Parents, ministers, and Sunday schools were temporary obstacles to the wearing of beaver hats, the carrying of gold-headed canes, and the driving of fast horses. It would not do for a boy to be swelling around bigger than his father, but when we had become large and strong and worthy, the beaver and its accompaniments would be added unto us. Some of us got the idea—although none of us dared to express it—that our fathers were not so great or so grand as they might be, and we thought we knew the reason. Luckily, from this last of our secret sessions I went home sick, convinced that a humble life was best for me.
The next day Florence sent a note to my room, saying that she wished to see me. We went out for a walk together.
“I'm going to look after you,” she said. “You haven't any mother here, and you need me. You've simply got to behave yourself.”
She stopped, faced me, and stamped her pretty foot on the ground, and there were tears in her blue eyes. She turned me about and took my arm and held it dose against her side as we walked on in silence.
“I don't know how—that's what's the matter with me,” I said, helplessly.
“Don't worry,” she answered. “I'm only a girl, but I can give you lessons in the art of being a gentleman if—if necessary. I owe much to you, Havelock, and I can't forget it. I shall not let you be a fool.”
“I can't help it,” I said.
“Then I'll try to help it,” she answered. “At least, I'll make it hurt you.”
I did my best after that—not very well, I fear, but my best, all things considered—and kept my heart decently clean for her sake. More than once I wept for sorrow over my adventure through the ice, for it had made me give her up.
That night I told Ralph that Florence loved him, and how I knew. It was a sublime renunciation. After all, what is better than the heart of a decent boy? I wish it were mine again.