Again the girl's lips became tremulous as she looked at the waves lashing themselves to foam on the great black rocks, while the sea-birds soared overhead. It was easy to see she was greatly moved, although it was her nature to hide her feelings.
"I don't know, Bob."
It did not seem like Nancy's voice at all. It was almost hoarse, and she had a difficulty in speaking.
"Don't know?" he repeated. "Then—then——"
"I want to speak plainly. Bob. I may hurt you, although—I'll try not to. Yes, I have believed that—you cared for me. I suppose I've seen it, and I expect I've been vexed that you've never told me. I—I wanted you to."
"Wanted me to!" cried Bob. "You have never given me a chance.
And—and you always seemed to care for—for those other fellows."
"I wanted you to make your chances. If—if a man loves a girl, he should dare anything to get her. Anything. What do I care about Hector Trevanion? He hasn't a thought in his head above his latest horse and his newest uniform. But how could I help being friendly with him, when you—have always on the slightest pretext been ready to leave me with him."
"And you wanted me all the time!" There was a note of joy and triumph in his voice.
"I don't know," replied the girl. "I'll be absolutely frank with you, Bob. You are not the sort of man I wanted to love. Yes, I'll admit it—I wanted to love a soldier, a sailor, a man of action. I can never admire a man who will be content to spend his days in a library poring over old dusty books. That's why I have been angry when I've heard you glorifying these useless old fossils. And yet—oh, Bob!" and the girl concluded with a sob.
"Do you mean," and Bob's voice was tremulous, "that you cared for me all the time, although you—you didn't like my plans for my future? That you preferred me to Trevanion? Oh, Nancy!"