“Because you never showed that you cared for me, and he did.  But it was wrong in me to do it, and I repent of it heartily; for it hurt him more than I thought it would when the experiment failed.  I truly tried to love him, but I couldn’t.”

“Yet he had so much to offer, and could give you all you most enjoy.  It is very singular that you failed to care for him, and preferred a poor old fellow like me,” said David, beaming at her like a beatified man.

“I do love luxury and pleasure, but I love independence more.  I’m happier poking in the dirt with you than I should be driving in a fine carriage with ‘that piece of elegance’ as Mr. Power called him; prouder of being your wife than his; and none of the costly things he offered me were half so precious in my sight as your little nosegays, now mouldering away in my treasure-box upstairs.  Why, Davy, I’ve longed more intensely for the right to push up the curly lock that is always tumbling into your eyes, than for Philip’s whole fortune.  May I do it now?”

“You may,” and Christie did it with a tender satisfaction that made David love her the more, though he laughed like a boy at the womanly whim.

“And so you thought I cared for Kitty?” he said presently, taking his turn at the new game.

“How could I help it when she was so young and pretty and fond of you?”

“Was she?” innocently.

“Didn’t you see it?  How blind men are!”

“Not always.”

“David, did you see that I cared for you?” asked Christie, turning crimson under the significant glance he gave her.

“I wish I had; I confess I once or twice fancied that I caught glimpses of bliss round the corner, as it were; but, before I could decide, the glimpses vanished, and I was very sure I was a conceited coxcomb to think it for a moment.  It was very hard, and yet I was glad.”

“Glad!”

“Yes, because I had made a sort of vow that I’d never love or marry as a punishment for my cruelty to Letty.”

“That was wrong, David.”

“I see it now; but it was not hard to keep that foolish vow till you came; and you see I’ve broken it without a shadow of regret to-night.”

“You might have done it months ago and saved me so much woe if you had not been a dear, modest, morbidly conscientious bat,” sighed Christie, pleased and proud to learn her power, yet sorry for the long delay.

“Thank you, love.  You see I didn’t find out why I liked my friend so well till I lost her.  I had just begun to feel that you were very dear,—­for after the birthday you were like an angel in the house, Christie,—­when you changed all at once, and I thought you suspected me, and didn’t like it.  Your running away when Kitty came confirmed my fear; then in came that—­would you mind if I said—­confounded Fletcher?”

“Not in the least.”

“Well, as he didn’t win, I won’t be hard on him; but I gave up then and had a tough time of it; especially that first night when this splendid lover appeared and received such a kind welcome.”