"Oh, why, why did you not do as I told you, Jack? I warned you in time. I told you Pauline was too young, too careless, too high-spirited to be touched by love as yet; she told you so herself."
"Oh, yes!" he laughs bitterly. "She told me, she gave me a few yards to gambol in; but, when she saw me two or three times at the end of my tether, jibbing to get away, to be free, she gave me a little chuck that brought me back to her side in double-quick time. Oh, she did not use me well—your sister! I know I was warned; I don't mean to reproach any one or anything but my own besotted infatuation. I didn't expect her to fall in love with me. Oh, no, no! And I don't want any quarter now; I wouldn't take it, in fact. What chance should I have competing against Saunderson's sodden face, his fine leaden eye, his baronetcy, his twelve thousand a year? What chance indeed! I'm not going to try—not I! I'm off the day after to-morrow. Any commission for Norway, Mrs. Armstrong?"
"Norway? Are you going there?"
"Yes, in my cousin Archie Cleveland's yacht. We sail from Cowes next week—a jolly bachelor party."
"I wish you bon voyage, and a speedy cure," she says earnestly, pressing his hot hand.
"Thanks; awfully—Oh, yes. I'm sure I shall get over it fast enough! I feel I shall, in fact; I've a strong constitution. Good-by, Mrs. Armstrong, good-by, Armstrong! Thanks, old fellow, for all your good wishes, your kindness to me, et cætera. I'll not forget them, though I will her—ay, fast enough, Heaven helping me!"
He takes a long hungry look at the girl whom he loves flying past him in his rival's arms, his heavy tow-colored mustache almost brushing her lovely glowing face, upturned to his.
The poor boy turns aside to hide the unmanly moisture clouding his bright eyes, and finds Addie's pitying little palm still imprisoned in his grasp.
"Oh, Ad—Mrs. Armstrong," he cries with a sob in his voice, "if—if Heaven had only given her your tender heart, your sweet nature—"
"And her own face and figure," puts in Addie quickly, with a soft laugh. "But, Jack, what would my poor husband have left then? Not a very promising patchwork—eh?"