“Yes, I did,—for a little while. I drank a lot of wine, which went to my head, and smoked three cigars, which went to my stomach, and made me feel worse than sea-sickness, if that were possible. I was crazy as a loon, and smashed everything in my room, and sang uproarious songs; and, when one of the tutors came to see what was up, I called him a fool, and threw the wash-bowl at his head. Of course I was reprimanded, and reported to father, who came to see about it, and paid for the furniture, and talked so good that I promised to do better, and I did. And you say you never received those letters?”
“Never, Godfrey. I should have answered them,” Gertie said, while Godfrey continued: “And if you had, Gertie,—I might,—oh, who knows what might have been!”
He was holding both her hands and looking down upon her as no man ought to look upon a girl when he is engaged to another. Some such thought as this must have crossed Gertie’s mind, for she released herself from him suddenly, and said:
“It is very late, Godfrey. I must go in now.”
“No, Gertie, please,” and he still tried to detain her. “Wait a little longer. I am yours to-night; to-morrow I am some one’s else, and must come under orders, you know.”
He spoke ironically, and then as he saw that Gertie was really leaving him, he continued:
“By the way, Gertie, one thing more, and you may go. Do you remember the forlorn sick little girl who sat on the deck years ago, and the bold, impudent fellow who made her so angry, and the promise she gave him on certain conditions?”
Gertie’s cheeks were scarlet, as she replied: “Yes, Godfrey, I remember it.”
“Well, then, can you redeem the promise now?”
There was the old saucy look in his eyes, mingled with another look, which Gertie could not mistake, and stepping backward as he bent toward her, she answered him: “No, you are not a gentleman, or you would not remind me of that now!”