"
"No, no!" cried Nan, "dear friend, I must not do it; it would all be a
mistake. You must not think of it any more. I am so sorry, I ought to
have understood what was coming to us, and have gone away long ago."
"It would have made no difference," said the young man, almost
angrily. He could not bear delay enough even for speech at that
moment; he watched her face desperately for a look of assurance; he
leaned toward her and wondered why he had not risked everything, and
spoken the evening before when they stood watching the ship's mast,
and Nan's hands were close enough to be touched. But the miserable
knowledge crept over him that she was a great deal farther away from
him than half that small boat's length, and as she looked up at him
again, and shook her head gently, a great rage of love and shame at
his repulse urged him to plead again. "You are spoiling my life," he
cried. "You do not care for that, but without you I shall not care for
anything."
"I would rather spoil your life in this way than in a far worse
fashion," said Nan sadly. "I will always be your friend, but if I
married you I might seem by and by to be your enemy. Yes, you will
love somebody else some day, and be a great deal happier than I could
have made you, and I shall be so glad. It does not belong to me."
But this seemed too scornful and cold-hearted. "Oh, my love is only
worth that to you," the lover said. "You shall know better what it
means. I don't want you for my friend, but for my own to keep and to
have.
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