"Ay, ay, that's it. It is the things that hurt which count. 'Our sweetest love is always sweetest pain,'" I said, quoting the line of a poem.
"Oh," she said, clasping my arm. "You have said it, Jack."
I looked at her quickly.
"Elsie," I said, "you once told me—do you remember what you said to me and Aunt Lucretia—about your hand being sought in marriage? Is it the same person you now speak of?"
"It is Captain Rutherford," she said, her face drawn tensely.
I started, angry, flushed.
"Elsie, this will never do. Do you love him at all?"
"No, Jack, not as compared to the other—the unattainable. Well, I should say about as the difference between a—well—say a star and a little firefly."
A dry, fighting anger clinched my throat and I could scarcely speak. I could have throttled Braxton Bragg then!
"Tell me, Elsie," I said, controlling my anger and trying to speak calmly, "tell your big brother all."