For a moment she sat without speaking; then she concluded: “Mr. Richards, you are Bob Cutting’s dearest friend. He hasn’t but one friend like you. No man has; no man can have; no man wishes more. I come to you and ask you, who know him so well, what shall I do? Shall I tell him Sunday night that I’ll marry him, or shall I say ‘no’? Is it selfish in a girl placed as I am to think of her own future, or ought I to give it up to him? He has been good to me; so good to me; I like him, but I do not love him.”
And then she leaned wearily back in her chair, and fixed her eyes on Richards. He did not look up. He did not seem to realize her presence. She watched him, and he watched the red embers glow, crumble, and fade into ashes. The dog whined in his sleep. Then, finally, Richards raised his head, and quietly said:—
“Miss Howland, I think it would be very wrong for you to marry Bob. As you say, I know him well. He is a fellow with such a wealth of love for those he cares for that if he finds it is not reciprocated he is miserable. Think what a lifetime of it would mean to him. And now, you see, in what I’ve said so far I’ve considered only Bob. I think you also ought to consider yourself. Two lives are involved; and why should they both be ruined? You are both young. If I were you I should tell Bob, in the kindest possible way, that I did not love him. He will grieve at first, but I think when he finds out you were not for him he will see that it’s for the best, and afterward will thank you. And, as for yourself, Miss Howland, when you’ve done this, you can say, ‘I’ve done my duty; I’ve done right.’ And some day”—the man hesitated—“and some day perhaps some other good man will come along, and ask you to marry him, and perhaps you’ll find you care a great deal for him; and the past, with its Bob, and its trouble,” and again he hesitated, “and its visit to Richards and the General will be a ghostly vision, which happiness and sunshine will soon wipe away.”
At this point he was interrupted suddenly by the General, who, as though scenting some vague trouble, started up with a sleepy “Wuff!”
The sound relieved the tension of the situation. Both laughed, and Miss Howland, rising, reached out her hand to Richards, who now stood facing her. “Thank you,” she said cordially. “You’ve been very good. You’ll return my visit some time, won’t you? And now, suppose we ‘ring the bell’ for Bob,” nodding towards an Oriental gong that hung suspended near the mantel.
Richards took her hand and, holding it a moment, said quietly: “I thank you; I will come. But, before you go, I want to ask you just one question. Don’t answer it unless you wish to. You told me that you don’t love Bob; is it—is it because there’s some one else?”
They say that a man’s life, and hopes, and ambitions can be snuffed out by a woman’s reply. And they also say that a man’s future can be made all sunshine and promise if hope can only enter in. And that sometimes comes from a woman’s reply, also.
She waited a moment, and then replied firmly:
“No; there’s no one else.”
A moment later Cutting joined them in response to Richards’ summons. As he stood before the fire, pulling on his gloves, he looked at each good-humoredly, and said: “I’m awfully glad that you have become better acquainted; but I hope you haven’t been engaged in the pleasing occupation of damning a mutual friend. I see you’ve made friends with General, also, Miss Howland,” he concluded. For the dog stood beside the girl, watching and waiting for a caress.