Part 17 (1/2)
Fannie held the rose.
”Thank you,” said John, looking from it to the kindness in her eye. But she caressed the flower and shook her head.
”It's got thorns,” she said, significantly, as she sat down on a step.
”Yes, I understand. I'll take it so.”
”I don't know. I'm afraid you'll not want it when”--she laid it to her lips--”when I tell you how you've disappointed me.”
”Yes, I will. For--oh! Miss Fannie----”
”What, John?”
”You needn't tell me at all. I know it already. And I'm going to change it. You shan't be disappointed. I've learned an awful lot in these last three days--and these last three hours. I've done my last sentimentalizing. I--I'm sure I have. I'll be too good for it, or else too bad for it! I'll always love you, Miss Fannie, even when you're not--Miss Fannie any more; but I'll never come using round you and bothering you with my--feelings.” He jerked out his handkerchief, but wiped only his cap--with slow care.
”As to that, John, I shouldn't blame you if you should hate me.”
”I can't, Miss Fannie. I've not done hating, I'm afraid, but I couldn't hate you--ever. You can't conceive how sweet and good you seem to anyone as wicked as I've been--and still am.”
”You don't know what I mean, John.”
”Yes, I do. But you didn't know how bad you were f-fooling me. And even if you had of--it must be mighty hard for some young ladies not to--to----”
”Flirt,” said Fannie, looking down on her rose. ”I reckon those who do it find it the easiest and prettiest wickedness in the world, don't they?”
”Oh, I don't know! All my wickedness is ugly and hard. But I'm glad you expected enough of me to be disappointed.”
”Yes, I did. Why, John, you never in your life offered me a sign of regard but I felt it an honor. You've often tripped and stumbled, but I--oh, I'm too bad myself to like a perfect boy. What I like is a boy with a conscience.”
”My guiding star!” murmured John.
”Oh! ridiculous!--No, I take that back! But--but--why, that's what disappoints me! If you'd made me just your first mile-board. But it hurts me--oh, it hurts me! and--far worse--it's hurting Cousin Rose Garnet! to--now, don't flush up that way--to see John March living by pa.s.sion and not by principle!”
”H--oh! Miss Fannie!” He strained up a superior smile. ”Is pa.s.sion--are pa.s.sions bound to be ign.o.ble? But you're making the usual mistake----”
”How, John?” She put on a condescending patience.
”Why, in fancying you women can guide a man by----”
”Preaching?” the girl interrupted. Her face had changed. ”I know we can't,” she added, abstractedly. John was trying to push his advantage.
”Pa.s.sion!” he exclaimed. ”Pa.s.sion? Miss Fannie, you look at life with a woman's view! We men--what are we without pa.s.sion--all the pa.s.sions?
Furnaces without fire! s.h.i.+ps without sails!”
”True! John. And just as true for women. But without principles we're s.h.i.+ps without rudders. Pa.s.sion ought to fill our sails, yes; but if principles don't steer we're lost!”
”Now, are you not making yourself my guiding star?”
”No! I won't have the awful responsibility! I'm nothing but a misguided girl. Guiding star! Oh, fancy calling me that when your dear old----”
”Do--o--on't!”
”Then take it back and be a guiding star yourself! See here! D'you remember the day at the tournament when you were my knight? John March, can you believe it? I! me! this girl! Fannie Halliday! member of the choir! I prayed for you that day. I did, for a fact! I prayed you might come to be one of the few who are the knights of all mankind; and here you--John, if I had a thousand gold dollars I'd rather lose them in the sea than have you do what you're this day----”