“You are good to me, uncle!” she said; “but—you know—if he does not care for me any more——”
“You do not care for him!” finished the Major. “That’s what you must say, and that is what you must feel.”
The girl shook her head.
“Ah, you may shake your head!” said Desmond; “but I am not going to let you waste your life as Miss Letty has wasted hers, all for the love of a rascal. You do not know Letty’s history. I do. She was engaged to a man I knew, and when he was out in India well away from her he was getting ready to marry some one else and throw her over. But he caught fever and died—just in time. Letty never knew that he had been false to her. I knew—but I never told her. And I never mean to tell.”
Violet laid her hand on his arm caressingly.
“Uncle! And you loved her yourself!”
“Now how did you find that out?” said the Major with a little smile. “Well! You are right—I have loved her nearly all my life. And we have rubbed on pretty well as friends together—and we have kept the memory of that dead rascal as holy as if he were a saint. So you see I know something about love and loyalty, little girl—and I can enter thoroughly into your feelings. But fortunately you are very young, and if Nugent turns out a failure your heart will be sore for a while, but it will mend.”
“Never, uncle!” said Violet. “I can never care for any one else.”
“Nonsense!” said the Major. “You must not talk like that at nineteen. This is your first love, I grant—but one gets over first love like the measles.”
“Did you?” asked Violet anxiously.