“Well, you are different from some people I know—Dr. Lenox Avondale for instance—but then he is English and you are an American.”
“I am quite content to be an American, with all my stupidity in regard to social matters. He doubtless was reared among a titled aristocracy, and society is a second nature to him. I believe—pardon my frankness—that your life has been much the same, and that you will continue to dwell in a social atmosphere. From remarks made by your mother and her friend I doubt not that they have mapped out a great career for you.”
“I trust I am too loyal an American,” returned Ethel, proudly, “to take part in any career that is not entirely congenial to my own tastes, and your deductions as to yourself are quite incorrect. For my part, I think more of one who is noble and manly than I do of those English or American idlers, who think only of the latest fashions and who change their attire half a dozen times a day and are, even then, at a loss to know just what to do to kill time.”
Jack looked at Ethel as she was speaking, and he was conscious of a budding admiration for her that was quite a new feeling to him.
“Bravo,” said he, applaudingly, “those are grand sentiments. No one can say that they are un-American; but I fear that you are surrounded by conditions that may force you to change your views.”
“Oh, I assure you,” said Ethel, very earnestly, “I have the greatest admiration for workers, whether with the brain or with the hand. It is hardly fashionable, I suppose, to admit such views, but I can’t help my convictions.”
“I hope,” said Jack, “that you may have the courage of your convictions, but I am not blind. I have already discovered that which is marked out for you. If your mother and Mrs. Osborn were not occupied with Lady Avondale, this accidental meeting of ours would not have taken place.”
“A destiny marked out for me?” inquired Ethel, in surprise.
“Yes,” said Jack, and his voice shook a little as he spoke, “a destiny that does not lie along the line of brain-workers. It is along a highway burnished with titles, on the one side, and with wrecked hopes, broken hearts, and much unhappiness on the other.”
A silence followed. Presently he arose and quietly clasped her proffered hand. Over it he bowed in deepest respect. She was conscious that a strange, intense earnestness was moving this strong man. His every emotion said goodbye, but his lips spoke no word. He turned quickly from her and disappeared in the gathering twilight, and still, without knowing why, she remained where he had left her—watching, wondering, waiting.