“There’s been a mistake,” said Comethup, speaking in slow, steady tones. “I suppose we all make mistakes some time or other in life, and I’ve read somewhere that a man makes them most of all when he’s in love. So you see, aunt, I’ve made a mistake; have dreamed a poor, foolish dream; have pictured to myself something that didn’t exist. The lady I—I thought I was in love with was all the time secretly in love with some one else, and to-day they’ve gone away to be married. Please don’t speak to me; please let me explain. And I want you, first of all, to remember that it is not her fault, and never has been; the blunder has been mine, in cheating myself into the belief that she cared for me. It really isn’t her fault, and I”—he gave a queer little laugh—“I’m quite happy, and I say, with all my heart, ‘God bless her and her husband!’”
Miss Charlotte Carlaw’s perception must have been keener even than the captain had imagined. At the first, when Comethup began his blundering explanation, she had shown signs of a rising indignation, but as the pitiful recital went on her face changed, and her head was bowed slowly over the top of her stick. The captain stole quietly from the room, and the old woman raised her head at last and held out her hand toward her nephew. “My dear boy,” was all she said, but in the words was a sympathy so great that he could scarce restrain his tears. He did not feel strong enough to go near her yet, and so he said, with what lightness he could call into his voice:
“Shall we have dinner?”
“Is there nothing more you wish to say to me?” she asked. “Oh, my dear boy, is there nothing you wish to say? You speak as lightly as though——”
“And think as lightly, I hope,” he replied. “I’ve made—made a blunder; that’s all.”
She dropped her stick, and stretched out both hands to him. He stepped forward then and took the hands and kissed her. “O Comethup!” she whispered, “I never wanted eyes so much as I want them to-night. I want to see your face!”
CHAPTER XXI.
GENIUS AND THE DOMESTIC VIRTUES.
In all the time which followed, Miss Charlotte Carlaw never once alluded to the scene of that evening. That, with womanly instinct, she drew her own conclusions is certain; that, in her own characteristically fierce fashion, she cursed the girl for a fool and a jilt is equally certain; but to Comethup she strove in every possible fashion to teach him to forget the mishap, to take his mind as much as possible from the sorry business. She could not cheat herself into the belief that she succeeded; her quick senses told her that the added tenderness in his voice and an additional gentleness in his manner were but the outcome of all that he suffered in silence.