Part 58 (1/2)

”Shall I tell you?”

”Yes.”

”You will not be unhappy if I tell you?”

”N-no.”

”Have you any idea what I am going to say, Eileen?”

She looked up quickly, frightened at the tremor in his voice:

”Don't--don't say it, Captain Selwyn!”

”Will you listen--as a penance?”

”I--no, I cannot--”

He said quietly: ”I was afraid you could not listen. You see, Eileen, that, after all, a man does know when he is done for--”

”Captain Selwyn!” She turned and caught his hands in both of hers, her eyes bright with tears: ”Is that the penalty for what I said? Did you think I invited this--”

”Invited! No, child,” he said gently. ”I was fool enough to believe in myself; that is all. I have always been on the edge of loving you. Only in dreams did I ever dare set foot across that frontier. Now I have dared. I love you. That is all; and it must not distress you.”

”But it does not,” she said; ”I have always loved you--dearly, dearly... . Not in that way... . I don't know how... . Must it be in _that_ way, Captain Selwyn? Can we not go on in the other way--that dear way which I--I have--almost spoiled? Must we be like other people--must sentiment turn it all to commonplace? ... Listen to me; I do love you; it is perfectly easy and simple to say it. But it is not emotional, it is not sentimental. Can't you see that in little things--in my ways with you? I--if I were sentimental about you I would call you Ph--by your first name, I suppose. But I can't; I've tried to--and it's very, very hard--and makes me self-conscious. It is an effort, you see--and so would it be for me to think of you sentimentally.

Oh, I couldn't! I couldn't!--you, so much of a man, so strong and generous and experienced and clever--so perfectly the embodiment of everything I care for in a man! I love you dearly; but--you saw! I could--could not bring myself to touch even your hair--even in pure mischief... . And--sentiment chills me; I--there are times when it would be unendurable--I could not use an endearing term--nor suffer a--a caress... . So you see--don't you? And won't you take me for what I am?--and as I am?--a girl--still young, devoted to you with all her soul--happy with you, believing implicitly in you, deeply, deeply sensible of your goodness and sweetness and loyalty to her. I am not a woman; I was a fool to say so. But you--you are so overwhelmingly a man that if it were in me to love--in that way--it would be you! ... Do you understand me? Or have I lost a friend? Will you forgive my foolish boast? Can you still keep me first in your heart--as you are in mine?

And pardon in me all that I am not? Can you do these things because I ask you?”

”Yes,” he said.

CHAPTER IX

A NOVICE

Gerald came to Silverside two or three times during the early summer, arriving usually on Friday and remaining until the following Monday morning.

All his youthful admiration and friends.h.i.+p for Selwyn had returned; that was plainly evident--and with it something less of callow self-sufficiency. He did not appear to be as c.o.c.k-sure of himself and the world as he had been; there was less b.u.mptiousness about him, less aggressive complacency. Somewhere and somehow somebody or something had come into collision with him; but who or what this had been he did not offer to confide in Selwyn; and the older man, dreading to disturb the existing accord between them, forbore to question him or invite, even indirectly, any confidence not offered.

Selwyn had slowly become conscious of this change in Gerald. In the boy's manner toward others there seemed to be hints of that seriousness which maturity or the first pressure of responsibility brings, even to the more thoughtless. Plainly enough some experience, not wholly agreeable, was teaching him the elements of consideration for others; he was less impulsive, more tolerant; yet, at times, Selwyn and Eileen also noticed that he became very restless toward the end of his visits at Silverside; as though something in the city awaited him--some duty, or responsibility not entirely pleasant.

There was, too, something of soberness, amounting, at moments, to discontented listlessness--not solitary brooding; for at such moments he stuck to Selwyn, following him about and remaining rather close to him, as though the elder man's mere presence was a comfort--even a protection.

At such intervals Selwyn longed to invite the boy's confidence, knowing that he had some phase of life to face for which his experience was evidently inadequate. But Gerald gave no sign of invitation; and Selwyn dared not speak lest he undo what time and his forbearance were slowly repairing.

So their relations remained during the early summer; and everybody supposed that Gerald's two weeks' vacation would be spent there at Silverside. Apparently the boy himself thought so, too, for he made some plans ahead, and Austin sent down a very handsome new motor-boat for him.

Then, at the last minute, a telegram arrived, saying that he had sailed for Newport on Neergard's big yacht! And for two weeks no word was received from him at Silverside.