I
thought I'd tell you you had a rival,--not in me, as you seemed to think
yesterday,--but in our holy fat friend."
"Rival! pshaw!" returned Errington, with an angry laugh. "He is not
worth kicking!"
"Possibly not! Still I have a presentiment that he's the sort of fellow
that won't take 'no' for an answer. He'll dodge that poor girl and make
her life miserable if he can, unless--"
"Unless what?" asked Philip quickly.
Lorimer stopped in his walk, and, leaning against the deck-railings,
looked his friend straight in the eyes.
"Unless you settle the matter," he said with a slight effort. "You love
her,--tell her so!"
Errington laid one hand earnestly on his shoulder.
"Ah, George, you don't understand!" he said in a low tone, while his
face was grave and full of trouble. "I used to think I was fairly brave,
but I find I am a positive coward. I dare not tell her! She--Thelma--is
not like other women. You may think me a fool,--I dare say you do,--but
I swear to you I am afraid to speak, because--because, old boy,--if she
were to refuse me,--if I knew there was no hope--well, I don't want to
be sentimental,--but my life would be utterly empty and worthless,--so
useless, that I doubt if I should care to live it out to the bitter
end!"
Lorimer heard him in silence,--a silence maintained partly out of
sympathy, and partly that he might keep his own feelings well under
control.
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