“Oh! Don’t talk like that,” she protested with a demure look. “You quite misconstrue my words. Once you and I were lovers, when we were in our teens, but all that is past. We have both seen the world now, and have met others whom we could love better.”
“I don’t know that I have,” I said reflectively. She was one of the most charming girls of the season, and I believe were it not for the fact that I had already loved and lost, and that my feelings toward the opposite sex had become sadly embittered by what I felt was unnecessary pain that had been heaped upon me, I should have asked her to renounce her lover and let me take his place.
But only during a few moments did I entertain such foolish thoughts, for I quickly saw that she adored the soldier-novelist, and that I had no right to be disloyal to a friend, even though that friend might be a murderer.
“I’m afraid our conversation is drifting towards a rather dangerous topic,” she said. “But you are such a confirmed bachelor that I always feel I can talk to you without fear that you will go down on your knees or perform some other equally absurd antic.”
“I’m sure I’m greatly gratified to know that I’m held in such high esteem,” I observed laughing. “But under the eyes of a pretty woman like yourself, men are sometimes fascinated, you know.”
“Yes, but fascination is not love. When a man is fascinated by a woman, either the latter is an adventuress, or the former a fool.” And she threw back her handsome head and laughed at my discomfiture.
I had been fascinated by Sybil. Had she been an adventuress, I wondered; or had I been a fool?
“True,” I answered, earnestly. “But woman’s beauty exercises a most powerful influence over man.” Then I added—“I confess that if I was not aware of your love for Jack I should think of you tenderly, and very possibly I should perform one of those gymnastic antics you denounce as absurd.”
“Then I’m very pleased you know of our attachment,” she answered with a coquettish laugh. “I mean to marry Jack, as you are aware, therefore I can never be any more to you than a friend, but friend I will be always, if you will allow me?”
“Of course,” I said. “The many years we have known one another—I mustn’t count them or I shall mention your age, which won’t be polite—give us licence to talk with freedom without falling in love—eh? But there, a truce to joking, what about this extraordinary letter from Jack? Where is he?”