“I admit it. I’m glad I have been able to do so. It was altogether different. It was not true love, but only—never mind what. But now I feel—don’t laugh at me, Roseveldt. I assure you I am sincere. That child has impressed me with a feeling I never had before. Her strange look has done it. I know not why or wherefore she looked so. I feel as if she had sounded the bottom of my soul! It may be fate, destiny—whatever you choose to call it—but as I live, Roseveldt, I have a presentiment—she will yet be my wife!”
“If such be her and your destiny,” responded Roseveldt, “don’t suppose I shall do anything to obstruct its fulfilment. She appears to be the daughter of a gentleman, though I must confess I don’t much like his looks. He reminds me of the class we are going to contend against. No matter for that. The girl’s only an infant; and before she can be ready to marry you, all Europe may be Republican, and you a Présidant! Now, cher capitaine! let us below, else the steward may have our fine Havanas stowed away under hatches; and then such weeds as we’d have to smoke during the voyage!” From sentiment to cigars was an abrupt change. But Maynard was no romantic dreamer; and complying with his fellow-traveller’s request, he descended to the state-room to look after the disposal of their portmanteaus.
Chapter Twenty One.
A Short-Lived Triumph.
While the hero of C— was thus starting to seek fresh fame on a foreign shore, he came very near having his escutcheon stained in the land he was leaving behind him!
At the time that his name was a shout of triumph in noisy New York, it was being pronounced in the quiet circles of Newport with an accent of scorn.
By many it was coupled with the word “coward.”
Mr Swinton enjoyed his day of jubilee.