Part 2 (2/2)
”You did not answer me in the court-room,” Kathleen said. ”I called to you.”
”I wanted to hear you say them here,” he rejoined. ”Say what?” she asked, a little puzzled by the tone of his voice.
”Your congratulations,” he answered.
She held out a hand to him. ”I offer them now. It was wonderful. You were inspired. I did not think you could ever let yourself go.”
He held her hand firmly. ”I promise not to do it again,” he said whimsically.
”Why not?”
”Have I not your congratulations?” His hand drew her slightly towards him; she rose to her feet.
”That is no reason,” she answered, confused, yet feeling that there was a double meaning in his words.
”I could not allow you to be so vain,” he said. ”We must be companionable. Henceforth I shall congratulate myself--Kathleen.”
There was no mistaking now. ”Oh, what is it you are going to say to me?”
she asked, yet not disengaging her hand.
”I said it all in the court-room,” he rejoined; ”and you heard.”
”You want me to marry you--Charley?” she asked frankly.
”If you think there is no just impediment,” he answered, with a smile.
She drew her hand away, and for a moment there was a struggle in her mind--or heart. He knew of what she was thinking, and he did not consider it of serious consequence. Romance was a trivial thing, and women were p.r.o.ne to become absorbed in trivialities. When the woman had no brains, she might break her life upon a trifle. But Kathleen had an even mind, a serene temperament. Her nerves were daily cooled in a bath of nature's perfect health. She had never had an hour's illness in her life.
”There is no just or unjust impediment, Kathleen,” he added presently, and took her hand again.
She looked him in the eyes clearly. ”You really think so?” she asked.
”I know so,” he answered. ”We shall be two perfect panels in one picture of life.”
CHAPTER III. AFTER FIVE YEARS
”You have forgotten me?”
Charley Steele's glance was serenely non-committal as he answered drily:
”I cannot remember doing so.”
The other man's eyelids drew down with a look of anger, then the humour of the impertinence worked upon him, and he gave a nervous little laugh and said: ”I am John Brown.”
”Then I'm sure my memory is not at fault,” remarked Charley, with an outstretched hand. ”My dear Brown! Still preaching little sermons?”
”Do I look it?” There was a curious glitter in John Brown's eyes. ”I'm not preaching little sermons, and you know it well enough.” He laughed, but it was a hard sort of mirth. ”Perhaps you forgot to remember that, though,” he sneeringly added. ”It was the work of your hands.”
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