Even this icy response failed to check him. He either did not perceive its coldness, or mistook it for reticence due to the occasion. Several times, since his first abortive attempt, he had been on the eve of making fuller declaration to her—in short, a proposal of marriage. But she had been dancing with others besides himself, and no good opportunity had as yet offered. That seemed to have come now. So, taking advantage of it, and her permission, he said, in an impressive way,—
“The man is Reginald Trevor—myself.”
If he expected her to give a start of feigned surprise, and follow it up by the inquiry, “Who is the woman?” he was disappointed. For he but heard repeated the laconic exclamation she had already used, and in like tones of careless indifference.
“Indeed!” That, and nothing more.
Still unrepulsed he returned to the attack; again, as it were, begging the question,—
“Shall I name the woman?”
“Not if you don’t wish it, sir.” Response that should have made him withhold the information, if not driven him from her presence. A very rebuff it was; and yet Reginald Trevor looked not on it in this light. Instead, still strong in his false faith and foolish hope, he persisted, saying,—
“But I do wish it, and will tell you; though you may little care to know. I cannot help the confession. She I love is yourself—yourself, Vaga Powell; and ’tis with all my heart, all my soul!” The avowal, full and passionate, affected her no more than the hints he had already thrown out. In the same calm tone, firm, and with the words measured, she made response,—
“Captain Trevor, you’ve told me almost as much before. And if I never gave you answer to say the feeling you profess for me was not reciprocated, I say it now. It is not—never can be. Friends, if you wish, let us remain; but for the other—”
“You needn’t go on!” he interrupted, impatiently, almost rudely. “I’ve heard enough; and now know what’s the obstacle between us. Not your father, as I once supposed, but my cousin. Well, have him, if you can get him. As for myself, I’m consoled by thinking there are as good fish in the sea as ever were caught out of it, and I go to catch one of them. Adieu, Mistress Vaga Powell!” Saying which, he strode off in true Cavalier swagger, humming a gay chanson; having left her alone in the darkness of night, and the gloom of despair.