Couldst thou be calm, nor feel the past mad smart,
If love should come again?
“In vain I ask. My heart makes no reply,
But echoes evermore the sweet refrain,
Till, trembling lest it seem a wish, I sigh,
If love should come again!”
“How can a man be so infernally indifferent to so much youth, beauty and innocence?” repeated Jerry Gaines, enthusiastically. “Upon my word, I marvel that you are not jubilant over the prospect fate holds out to you—you are ungrateful, old boy!”
Neither one of his comrades saw the look of pain that gathered for an instant in John Dinsmore’s eyes, nor did they see the mobile lips under the heavy mustache quiver for an instant, then draw themselves firmly into a terse straight line.
How could he, whose whole heart’s affection had been wasted on the fairest of womankind, look with anything save distrust, nor to say, hatred, on the whole sex, he told himself with a bitter sigh, which he carefully repressed ere it fell from his white lips.
“Love and marriage are not for me, boys—you both know that,” he retorted, addressing his words to both his companions. “I shall never love, consequently, never marry,” he said, slowly and earnestly.