* * * * * "Drennie," pleaded Wilfred Horton, as the two leaned on the deck rail
of the Mauretania, returning from Europe, "are you going to hold
me off indefinitely? I've served my seven years for Rachel, and thrown
in some extra time. Am I no nearer the goal?"
The girl looked at the oily heave of the leaden and cheerless
Atlantic, and its somber tones found reflection in her eyes. She shook
her head.
"I wish I knew," she said, wearily. Then, she added, vehemently: "I'm
not worth it, Wilfred. Let me go. Chuck me out of your life as a little
pig who can't read her own heart; who is too utterly selfish to decide
upon her own life."
"Is it"--he put the question with foreboding--"that, after all, I was
a prophet? Have you--and South--wiped your feet on the doormat marked
'Platonic friendship'? Have you done that, Drennie?"
She looked up into his eyes. Her own were wide and honest and very
full of pain.
"No," she said; "we haven't done that, yet. I guess we won't.... I
think he'd rather stay outside, Wilfred. If I was sure I loved him, and
that he loved me, I'd feel like a cheat--there is the other girl to
think of.... And, besides, I'm not sure what I want myself.... But I'm
horribly afraid I'm going to end by losing you both."
Horton stood silent. It was tea-time, and from below came the strains
of the ship's orchestra. A few ulster-muffled passengers gloomily paced
the deck.
"You won't lose us both, Drennie," he said, steadily. "You may lose
your choice--but, if you find yourself able to fall back on
substitutes, I'll still be there, waiting."
For once, he did not meet her scrutiny, or know of it. His own eyes
were fixed on the slow swing of heavy, gray-green waters. He was
smiling, but it is as a man smiles when he confronts despair, and
pretends that everything is quite all right. The girl looked at him
with a choke in her throat.
"Wilfred," she said, laying her hand on his arm, "I'm not worth
worrying over. Really, I'm not. If Samson South proposed to me to-day,
I know that I should refuse him. I am not at all sure that I am the
least little bit in love with him. Only, don't you see I can't be quite
sure I'm not? It would be horrible if we all made a mistake. May I have
till Christmas to make up my mind for all time? I'll tell you then,
dear, if you care to wait."