Chapter XIX: The Usual Course

They were together on the gun-platform once more, Emily and Revere. She sat on the gun-carriage and he leaned against the parapet by her side. He held a fold of her dress in his hand.

"Now, Dick," she said, "tell me all about it. Was she vexed when she received your letter?"

"My darling, she has not seen it. She and mother started before my man got there. He is probably bringing it back here now. As good luck would have it, she has fallen in love with a certain Charles Van Dorn. He's rather a poor stick, too, I think."

"She must be a strange girl, Dick, to fall in love with anybody else when you were around."

"Well, I don't know. At any rate, she did fall in love, and she came here of her own motion to break the engagement."

"I wonder how she will feel when she gets the letter?"

"Well, dearest, I thought, under the circumstances, I wouldn't give it to her."

"Not give it to her?" cried the girl, with sudden promptness and decision; "indeed you will give her that letter, sir! She shall know you loved me before she released you, and that you were going to break the engagement yourself. I won't have her think for a moment that I just got you because she threw you over. Not give her the letter, indeed!"

"Well, Emily," said Revere, deprecatingly, greatly surprised at this outburst; "you see I thought I would save her the--er--humiliation, you know, of being rejected by a man."

"And you will inflict on me, Richard Revere, the humiliation of letting her think that I only have you because she didn't want you! That I----" furiously.

"Now, my dear; you know perfectly well that's different. If she has half an eye, as soon as she sees us together, she will know that I love you desperately as I never loved her. She is a bright girl."

"Bright! I don't think so!" contemptuously. "She is very stupid to give you up; but I'm glad she is----"

"I should think she would be awfully sorry to know that a man had broken his engagement with her, and that's why I----"

"Mr. Revere, I believe you are sorry yourself, after all! I believe you are half in love with her still!" reproachfully.

"Now, Emily, you know that's nonsense. Why, I felt so joyful when she said she was in love with that Van Dorn, that I had to turn away my face for fear she would see how enraptured I was."

"Why didn't you tell her frankly, honestly, right then, that you were pleased with it; that you were engaged to me; that you had broken the engagement before? It was your duty,--your duty to me. You failed me; you failed me before. I can't trust you." Most unkindly and unjustly spoken words were these, indeed.

"Why, Emily, my dear child----"

"I'm not a child, and don't you call me one! I am a woman, though you treat me like a child, and I'm not dear to you, either! You are sacrificing me to that other girl," bitterly, tearfully, but with great determination.

Revere was nonplussed by the revelation of these essentially feminine characteristics in Emily's otherwise charming personality. He did not know what to do or how to answer her in his bewilderment.

"Are you going to give her that letter or not?" she asked, insistently, after a pause which he appeared unable to break unaided.

"Well," he said at last, but very reluctantly, "I suppose if you insist upon it I must; but frankly, I think it would be better not to do so. I do not believe it is right."

"Is there something in it you don't want me to know?" suspiciously.

"Nothing; absolutely nothing. I told you all I said as near as I can remember. It's a matter of principle, Emily. I think you are wrong, dearest. I----"

"Oh, sir; then you will sacrifice me, will you, to your principle? Very well, Mr. Revere, understand one thing: if you do not give that letter to her as soon as you get it back, you do not get me. I will not have any one think I am a second choice."

"But, Emily----"

"Don't say anything more to me!" she flashed out. "I never was so angry in my life! Perhaps you are tired of me," impatiently and proudly.

"Perhaps you are tired of me," answered Richard, shortly, his own quick temper having at last reached the outbreaking point. "I think you are very cruel indeed, to want to hurt this poor girl's feelings, and I do not see why you are crying now, either," he added, as Emily, under the stimulus of this reproach, the force of which she recognized, put her handkerchief to her face and burst into tears. "It seems to me you have entirely the best of the game. My engagement is broken; I am free to love you, and I do, and to marry you, and I hope to. You have me," he went on with unconscious egotism; "that ought to content you. Josephine will know, as soon as she sees us together, that I love you," he continued, sharply, "and that's enough."

"I wonder what she would think of your love if she saw us together now," wailed Emily. "I don't care what you say; it's humiliating to me; it's brutal treatment. You say I have everything. You say I ought to be satisfied with you. I'm not! So, there!"

"Very well," said Revere, coldly; "I will leave you to think it over, and then, if you insist, I shall give her the letter, and you will be sorry for it as long as you live."

"I won't!" determinedly.

"I hope you will, anyway," with equal determination.

"I never dreamed you could be so rude and so unkind to me," she sobbed. "I am sorry that----"

"Perhaps you would like to break our engagement, Miss Sanford?" coldly.

"Oh, as you please, Mr. Revere," with well-simulated indifference.

"There is a carriage coming up the drive," he remarked, glad of a diversion when they had reached this uncomfortable point in the conversation. "My mother and Josephine are in it."

"Mercy!" exclaimed the girl, secretly glad of the interruption, too; "and they will see that I have been crying!"

"As to the engagement?" continued Richard, doggedly; but Emily started suddenly to her feet and ran up to the house, leaving his question unanswered. He followed her moodily and gloomily, feeling very low in spirits as well as very much annoyed.

Barry had been busy all day about the ship, but he had not been too much occupied to see Revere and Emily whenever they were within range, and he had kept close watch upon them. Too far away to determine what was going on by the gun, he could at least see that the girl was weeping, that she was unhappy, and he realized that she had left Revere in anger and disappointment. The young officer was beginning early to torment her, to break her heart,--so the old sailor surmised. If Barry needed any more inspiration, that was enough. But he was already sufficiently determined upon his plan, and he went back to his work with the fury of desperation renewed.