“I thought it was Dine. I have always thought that it was Dine.”
“Well, good night. Don’t throw away the best man in the world. I have known him ever since he wore dresses, and he is worthy—even of you. Put out your light and go to sleep. Don’t give him a heartache.”
“Oh, I won’t, I won’t—if I can help it!”
“Don’t have any whims. There, child, don’t cry! Kiss me and go to sleep.”
She did not cry; she was stunned and bewildered; it was too dreadful to be true; even if she did love Ralph Towne she would not love him if it would make unhappy this friend and helper of all her life! This new friend should not come between them to make him miserable. Even if the old dream about Ralph Towne could come true, she would not accept his love at the cost of Gus Hammerton’s happiness. Was he not her right arm? Was he not her right eye? She had never missed him because he had always lived in her life; he was as much a part of her home as her father and Dine; she would give up any thing rather than hurt him. Had she not suffered with him when she thought that he was unhappy about Dine? She had loved him so much that she had never thought of loving him; she had been so proud that he had loved Dine. Was it his influence that had kept her from loving Felix Harrison? Was he the hindrance that was coming between her and Dr. Towne? Was she troubled because she could not honor and trust Dr. Towne as she had unconsciously honored and trusted this old, old friend? If the illusion about Ralph Towne had never been dispelled, she would not have discovered that Gus Hammerton was “pure gold” as her father had said. They were both miserable to-night because of her—and she had permitted one of them to kiss her. Ralph Towne had left her once to fight out her battle alone—he had not been the shadow of a rock in her weary land—she could think of this now away from the fascination of his presence; but, present or absent, there was no doubt, no reasoning about the old friend; he had been tried, he was steadfast and true. True, she had forgiven Ralph Towne; but her forgiveness had not wrought any change in him. He was the Ralph Towne of a year ago, with this difference that now he loved her. Had his love for her wrought any change in him? Was he not himself? Would he not always be himself? Was she satisfied with him if she could feel the need of change?
A year ago would she have reasoned thus? Where love is, is there need of reasoning to prove its existence, its depth or its power of continuance? She knew that she loved God; she knew that she loved her father. If she loved Ralph Towne, why did she not know that, also?
Why must she reason? Why might she not know? She did not know that she loved him. Did she know that she did not love him? Wearied even to exhaustion, her head drooped until it touched the soft pile in the open trunk; there were no tears, not a sound moved her lips; she was very glad that she was going away.
If she might tell Gus, would he not talk it over to her and make it plain? It would not be the first matter in which he had taught her to discern between the wrong and the right. Was there a wrong and a right in this choosing?
The large tears gathered and fell.
Ralph Towne could not help her; he would say caressingly, “Love me, and end the matter.” In her extremity he was not a helper. Would he ever be in any extremity of hers?