“Good God! you don’t say so! Is it incurable—is there no hope?” exclaimed Gadsby, starting from his seat.
“Heart complaints are very dangerous in all cases, I believe,” replied Walton, turning his head to conceal a smile, “yet I hope Miss Laurence is not incurable; indeed, I feel quite confident that if she would but call in a physician I could recommend, she might soon be restored.”
“And wont she? Have you spoken to her friends? Where is he to be found—for not a moment should be lost; it is your duty to insist upon it!” cried Gadsby, catching the arm of his friend, who seemed provokingly indifferent.
“If she will only consent to see him, I shall gladly name him to you—but why are you so much interested? To be sure, common kindness dictates sympathy for the illness of one so young and beautiful; but why you should take her sickness so much at heart, quite astonishes me,” said Walton.
“Then, Walton, let me tell you that it is because I love her; yes, love her more than my life!” replied Gadsby. “I know she despises me, for I have appeared to her in a false light, for which I may thank my own folly, and in giving my heart to her, I have sealed my own wretchedness.”
Walton respected the feelings of his friend at this candid avowal, and checking the well-merited jest which rose to his lips, said,
“In so hasty a decision, and one so fatal to your happiness, I think you do both Miss Laurence and yourself injustice; if you really love her, pursue the game boldly—I think you need not despair.”
Grateful for his forbearance on a point to which he was aware he was a fair subject for ridicule, and somewhat encouraged by the words and manner of Walton, Gadsby frankly continued,
“If her life is spared, I will show her that I am not what she has thought me. Yes, I will study to win her love. O, my friend, should I succeed—should I gain that rich treasure of beauty and intelligence, my whole life shall be devoted to her happiness!”
What think you now, dear reader, of our invincible coquet?