Curious, for Eugenia to think first that she had never received a proposal before in her life, or she might have known better how to receive it. Then her next sensation was an odd combination of gratitude and protest.
“I have been very stupid, Captain Castaigne, and you have been very good,” she answered. “But even if you believe what you have just said to me, and of course I know that you would not deceive me, you yourself must realize that nothing but friendship can ever exist between us. I am several years older than you, and I have no delusions about my own attractions. You are young and brilliant, but then I need not enumerate your gifts,” the girl added, smiling with a kind of gentle humorousness she had never possessed before. “All this is merely gratitude you feel toward me, and a little affection because of my care of you. Six months from now I shall be only a memory.”
“Then you do not love me?” Captain Castaigne inquired bluntly. He it was who had now cast aside all his soft graciousness of manner, the delicate evasions of the direct truth, that sometimes constitute what is known as a charming manner. It was Eugenia who, in spite of her Puritan faith and training, was refusing to meet the issue fairly.
She hesitated because the truth overwhelmed her. The idea of caring for Captain Castaigne except as a friend had never for a single instant before occurred to her. Of course, he had filled her life and thoughts for many weeks, but that was because of the peculiar situation into which they had been forced by circumstances. Moreover, the thought of their never meeting again had given her a sense of loss and emptiness. Yet Eugenia stuck by her colors gallantly.
“That is not the important question, Captain Castaigne, and I cannot answer you. For always there would remain an impossible gulf between us. There is your position, your mother’s disappointment, our different ways of looking at life. Why, you would soon become dreadfully ashamed of a New England old maid endeavoring to turn herself into a charming young wife.”
Eugenia glanced into the little pool of water near by, shadowed by the trees. “Nona has been calling this tiny lake ‘The Pool of Melisande,’ Captain Castaigne, but to me it is a mirror of truth, in which I can see myself only too plainly. It is growing late and you must not be out in the cold air. Please let me call François and have him take you home.”
Receiving no reply but a quiet look of determination, Eugenia summoned the old man. Then she assisted François to get the young officer back into his wheeled chair and afterwards stood watching them until they had both disappeared.
Then, as it was almost twilight, Eugenia turned and began to walk slowly toward the little French farmhouse. She realized that she had just deliberately turned her back upon the fairest opportunity life might ever offer her. Nevertheless, both her conscience and her brain approved her action.
“There is only one thing which I might have confided and did not,” Eugenia murmured reflectively. “Perhaps I should have explained that it would not matter in the least that Henri and his mother have no money. I have more than enough for us all.” Then as she drew nearer home: “Never mind, Captain Castaigne will soon have forgotten what he has just said to me. But perhaps it is just as well that we are soon to go into Belgium to help with the Red Cross work there, for I may not find it quite so easy to forget.”
When she reached home it was dark. But as the other girls had not yet returned from the chateau, Eugenia went upstairs to her own room without making a light. There she flung herself down upon the bed, remembering gratefully that because she had a headache, she might reasonably be allowed to spend the evening alone. Then Barbara would have no chance to ask questions.