As he talked he had drawn the girl closer to him, where she sat rigid as a stone, wholly unmindful of the little puddles of water—­and they were puddles now—­running down her back, for Dick had tilted the parasol in such a manner that one of the points rested upon the nape of her neck.  But she did not know it, or think of any thing except the pain she must inflict upon the young man wooing her so differently from what Tom Tracy had done.  No hint had Dick given of the honor he was conferring upon her, or of his own and his family’s superiority to her family and herself.  All the honor and favor to be conferred were on her side; all the love and humility on his, and for one brief moment the wild wish flashed upon her: 

’Oh, if I could love him as a wife ought, I might he so happy, for he is all that is noble and good and true.’

But this was while she was smarting under the few words he had said of Harold and Maude.  He, too, believed it a settled thing between the two—­everybody believed it—­and why should she waste her love upon one who did not care for her as she did for him?  Why not encourage a love for Dick, who stood next in her heart to Harold?  Questioning herself thus until there flushed upon her the recollection of Harold’s voice as it had spoken to her that morning, and the look in his eyes when they rested upon her, as he said good-bye, lingering a moment as if loth to leave her, and then Dick’s chance, if he had ever had any, was gone!

‘I do not believe it,’ she said to herself, and then, turning her face to Dick she cried:  ’Oh, Dick, I am so sorry you have said this to me; sorry that you love me—­in this way—­for I can’t—­I can’t—.  I do love you as a friend, a brother, next to Harold, but I cannot be your wife.  I cannot.’

For a moment there was perfect silence in the darkness, and then a lurid flame of lightning showed the two faces—­that of the man pale as ashes, with a look of bitter pain upon it, and that of the woman, whiter than the man’s and bathed in upon which fell almost as fast as the rain drops were falling tears, the pines.

Then Dick spoke, but his voice sounded strange and unnatural and a great ways off: 

’If I wait a long, long time—­say a year, or two, or three—­do you think you could learn to love me just a little?  I will not ask for much; only, Jerrie, I do hunger so for you that without you life would seem a blank.’

’No, Dick; not if you waited twenty years.  I must still answer no.  I cannot love you as your wife should love you, and as some good, sweet girl will one day love you when you have forgotten me.’

This is what Jerrie said to him, with much more, until he knew she was in earnest and felt as if his heart were breaking.