“My dear girl, I never dreamed of telling any one!” cried Mr. Fletcher in an injured tone.  “I beg you won’t speak, but trust me, and let it be a little secret between us two.  I assure you it makes no difference to me, for I should marry an opera dancer if I chose, so forget it, as I do, and set my mind at rest upon the other point.  I’m still waiting for my answer, you know.”

“It is ready.”

“A kind one, I’m sure.  What is it, Christie?”

“No, I thank you.”

“But you are not in earnest?”

“Perfectly so.”

Mr. Fletcher got up suddenly and set his back against the rock, saying in a tone of such unaffected surprise and disappointment that her heart reproached her: 

“No, I thank you.”

“Am I to understand that as your final answer, Miss Devon?”

“Distinctly and decidedly my final answer, Mr, Pletcher.”

Christie tried to speak kindly, but she was angry with herself and him, and unconsciously showed it both in face and voice, for she was no actress off the stage, and wanted to be very true just then as a late atonement for that earlier want of candor.

A quick change passed over Mr. Fletcher’s face; his cold eyes kindled with an angry spark, his lips were pale with anger, and his voice was very bitter, as he slowly said: 

“I’ve made many blunders in my life, and this is one of the greatest; for I believed in a woman, was fool enough to care for her with the sincerest love I ever knew, and fancied that she would be grateful for the sacrifice I made.”

He got no further, for Christie rose straight up and answered him with all the indignation she felt burning in her face and stirring the voice she tried in vain to keep as steady as his own.

“The sacrifice would not have been all yours, for it is what we are, not what we have, that makes one human being superior to another.  I am as well-born as you in spite of my poverty; my life, I think, has been a better one than yours; my heart, I know, is fresher, and my memory has fewer faults and follies to reproach me with.  What can you give me but money and position in return for the youth and freedom I should sacrifice in marrying you?  Not love, for you count the cost of your bargain, as no true lover could, and you reproach me for deceit when in your heart you know you only cared for me because I can amuse and serve you.  I too deceived myself, I too see my mistake, and I decline the honor you would do me, since it is so great in your eyes that you must remind me of it as you offer it.”

In the excitement of the moment Christie unconsciously spoke with something of her old dramatic fervor in voice and gesture; Mr. Fletcher saw it, and, while he never had admired her so much, could not resist avenging himself for the words that angered him, the more deeply for their truth.  Wounded vanity and baffled will can make an ungenerous man as spiteful as a woman; and Mr. Fletcher proved it then, for he saw where Christie’s pride was sorest, and touched the wound with the skill of a resentful nature.