“And she you,” interposed the Captain.
“And she me? I declare! I shall hear next that she is in love with me, I suppose!” exclaimed Harrington.
“Well, so I’ve ben told,” coolly responded the Captain; “dead in love with you.”
Harrington stared at him, but the color ebbed away from his countenance, and a flood of dreadful confirmations overswept him. Her recent sudden preference for his society, her lavish attentions to him, the fervent and sumptuous fondness of her manner, rushed in new light upon his consciousness. Purblind fool that I am, he thought; I mistook it all for friendship, and it meant love! For a moment, poor Harrington felt as guilty as though he had known and encouraged Emily’s passion for him. But no, he thought, this is all a mistake; it cannot be.
“Eldad,” said he, “this is rather a serious matter; more serious than you may imagine. Come, now, be frank with me. You say you’ve been told Miss Ames is in love with me. Now who told you!”
The Captain, with his head all atwist, scanned him curiously, slowly rubbing his chin, meanwhile, with the palm of his brown hand.
“Well, John,” he answered, slowly, “I was asked not to mention it. Howiver, I guess I will. That young Witherlee told me.”
“Oh!” said Harrington.
“Yis, John,” continued the Captain. “I come in here one day about a week ago, I guess, and found him sittin’ in your chair, smokin’ his cigar. He said he was waitin’ for you, and we had a chat. In the course of the conversation, he let that out. I ruther thought he was tryin’ to pump somethin’ out of me on that subject, but I didn’t know nothin’, an’ if I did, he wouldn’t have been the wiser, I guess.”
“What did he say?” asked Harrington.