I laid my hand on his arm--I drew it down from his face again, which he
turned upon me with an expression of surprise. I felt that I was pale
with rage and scorn as he looked at me. He misunderstood my feelings
evidently, for he said, earnestly: "I am sorry to have caused you so
much pain, Miss Monfort! I was premature, I have been indiscreet in my
remarks. Your engagement is surely no concern of mine. I should have
confined myself to my own disappointment exclusively, and respected your
reserve;" adding, "I beg that you will pardon and look less angrily upon
me, in this our parting."
"I am not offended with you, Mr. Raymond." (His boyish passion had,
indeed, swept over me as lightly as the wing of a butterfly across a
rose. I felt that it amounted to nothing but pastime on either hand--a
careless throw of the dice on his part, that might, or might not, have
resulted to his advantage. He probably staked but little feeling in the
enterprise--I certainly none at all.)--"I am not angry with you,
Lieutenant Raymond, nay, grateful rather for your impulsive homage,
which I regret not to be able to reward as you deserve; but this you
must tell me, as a true, as an honorable man, if you care one iota for
my regard, or the cause of truth and justice: what has that man been
saying about me?" And I laid my hand upon his arm and shook it slightly.
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