"It's sure to be yours! Have you
told Miss Dent?"
"I've not seen Miss Dent."
Carew's face fell.
"Not yet? But you will. And then you will tell her?"
Weldon's lips straightened into a thin line. He shook his head.
"But she ought to know."
"Why?"
"It is her right."
"Why?" Weldon asked again.
"Because--it is. It might make some difference in--"
Weldon stopped him abruptly.
"It could make no difference, Carew. In facing the main question,
such things as that don't count. Even if they did, though," he rose
on his elbow and faced his friend steadily; "even if they did, I
would never consent to try to bribe a girl into loving me, by
telling her I had won the V. C. It will be time enough for Miss Dent
to hear of it, when it is given."
"But you will be in England then," Carew objected practically.
Weldon lay down again and drew the sheet upward till its shadow lay
across his lips.
"What matter?" he answered slowly. "And, besides, Miss Dent isn't
the girl to be won in any such way as that. Hers is a love to be
given, not bought."
Half an hour later, Carew met Ethel on the stairs. As he halted to
speak to her, he was shocked at the look in her face.
Pages:
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296