Grace raised sorrowful eyes to him. Then she made a little gesture of appeal. “Why must we talk of this again, Tom? Why can’t we be friends just as we used to be, back in our high-school days?”
“Because it’s not in the nature of things,” returned Tom, his eyes full of pain. “I am a man now, with a man’s devoted love for you. The whole trouble lies in the sad fact that you are just a dreaming child, without the faintest idea of what life really means.”
“You are mistaken, Tom.” There was a hint of offended dignity in Grace’s tones. “I do understand the meaning of life, only it doesn’t mean love to me. It means work. The highest pleasure I have in life is my work.”
“You think so now, but you won’t always think so. There will come a time in your life when you’ll realize how great a power for happiness love is. All our dearest friends have looked forward to seeing you my wife. Your parents wish it. Aunt Rose loves you already as a dear niece. Even Anne, your chum, thinks you are making a mistake in choosing work instead of love. Of course I know that what your friends think can make no difference in what you think. Still I believe if you would once put the idea away of being self-supporting you’d see matters in a different light. You aren’t obliged to work for your living. Why not give Harlowe House into the care of some one who is, and marry me?”
“But you don’t understand me in the least, Tom.” A petulant note crept into Grace’s voice. “It’s just because I’m not obliged to support myself that I’m happy in doing so. I feel so free and independent. It’s my freedom I love. I don’t love you. There are times when I’m sorry that I don’t, and then again there are times when I’m glad. I shall always be fond of you, but my feeling toward you is just the same as it is for Hippy or David or Reddy. There! I’ve hurt you. Forgive me. Must we say anything more about it? Please, please don’t look so hurt, Tom.”
Grace’s eyes were fastened on Tom with the sorrowing air of one who has inadvertently hurt a child. Usually so delicate in her respect for the feelings of others, she seemed fated continually to wound this loyal friend, whose only fault lay in the fact that his boyish affection for her had ripened into a man’s love. Saddest of all, an unrequited love.
“Look at Me, Grace.”
“Of course I forgive you, Grace.” Tom rose. He looked long and searchingly into the face of the girl who had just hurt him so cruelly. “I—I think I’d better go now. I hope you’ll find all the happiness in your work that you expect to find. I’m only sorry it had to come first. I don’t know when I’ll see you again. Not until next summer, I suppose. I can’t come to Oakdale for Easter this year. I wish you’d write to me—that is, if you feel you’d like to. Remember, I am always your old friend Tom.”