“Only I don’t like!” he finished, placidly. “Quite true! I don’t like ‘being pleasant.’ You see I’ve journeyed fairly well on in life and my experience has proved to me that so-called ‘pleasant’ people are generally consummate bores and wholly devoid of intelligence. They are generally cowards too,—in a moral sense. That is to say that they would rather be ‘pleasant’ than honest. Now I would rather be honest than pleasant. You see?” He smiled. “And that’s why I’m rude, crusty,—and selfish!”
She could not bear to hear him running himself down in this way, and impulsively rising from her chair she laid both her little hands on his.
“No, you’re not!” she declared. “I won’t have you say so! You’re a very charming man,—or you can be—if you choose!—and I dare say I have often misunderstood you. And perhaps—perhaps you’ll marry some nice woman some day—and you’ll have to be always charming then!—for her sake!”
He laughed outright.
“I think I see myself at it!” he said. “Charming for her sake!—the ‘nice woman’! Oh, ye gods! My dear child, have you ever thought what a ‘nice woman’ is, in the full meaning of that common term? A man flies from her as from the plague! Propriety and commonplace in one! You’re not a ‘nice woman’!—if you were—”
She echoed his laughter, still resting her hands on his.
“If I were, what then?”
“Why then”—and his voice vibrated with an emotion he really felt—“I should never have grown so fond of you as I am nor should I have dared to ask you to marry me as I have done!”
Poor little Sentimentalist! The grave tenderness of his tone made her gentle heart beat quickly—she looked up and met his eyes bent down upon her with a protective kindness that was wonderfully moving;—she could not help being touched by the thought that this “clever” man, this light of a literary “clique” actually found her lovable; and for the moment all his odd brusqueries, rudenesses and cynicisms were forgotten. Almost—yes!—almost she could have loved him! The swift doubt crossed her brain,—was she wise to refuse him? Her thoughts seemed drifting to and fro like leaves in a storm,—then, all suddenly she stooped and kissed one of the hands on which her own lay.
“I cannot kiss the place and make it well!” she said in a tremulous little way. “For I suppose ‘the place’ this time is in your heart!—or you would say so! But do please believe that I am very grateful for your affection!—and—and—that I am deeply sensible of the honour you have done me!”