Nell, of Shorne Mills : $b or, One heart's burdenGarvice, Charles
Philosophy
Nell, of Shorne Mills : $b or, One heart's burden
Garvice, Charles
Dime novels; English fiction -- 19th century; Love stories
"Not really," he said, with affected carelessness. "Diamonds are very
cheap now; they find 'em by the bucketful in the Cape, you know."
She looked at him with grave reproach.
"You are trying to belittle it," she said; "but, indeed, I am not
deceived. And the gun, too! That must have been very expensive. Why--did
you spend so much?"
He began to feel irritated.
"Look here, Miss Nell," he said; "it is true that I have lost some
money, but I'm not quite a pauper, and, if I were, the least I could do
would be to share my last crust with--with your people for their amazing
goodness to me."
"A diamond bracelet and an expensive gun are not crusts," she said,
shaking her head.
"Oh, dash it all!" he retorted impatiently. "The stupid things only very
inadequately represent my----Oh, I'm bad at speech making and expressing
myself. And don't you think you ought to be very grateful to me?"
She frowned slightly in the effort to understand.
"Grateful! I have just been telling you that I think you ought not to
have spent so much. Why should I be grateful?"
"That I didn't buy something for you," he said.
She colored, and looked away from him.
"I--I should not have accepted it," she said.
"I know that," he blurted out. "If I thought you would have done so--but
I knew you wouldn't. And so I've got a grievance to meet yours. After
all, you might have let me give you some trifle----"
"Such as a diamond bracelet, worth perhaps a hundred pounds?"
"To remember me by. After all, it's only natural I should want to leave
something behind me to remind you of me."
"We shan't need such gifts to--to remind us," she said simply. "I think
we had better luff."
The sail swung over as she put the helm down; there was silence for a
moment or two, then he said:
"I'm sorry I've offended you, Miss Nell. Perhaps it was beastly bad
taste. I see it now. But just put yourself in my place----" He slid over
the thwart in his eagerness, and coiled himself at her feet. "Supposing
you had broken your confounded arm--I beg your pardon!--your arm, and
had been taken in and tended by good Samaritans, and nursed and treated
like a prince for weeks, and had been made to feel happier than you've
been for--for oh, years, would you like to go away with just a 'Oh,
thanks; awfully obliged; very kind of you'? Wouldn't you want to make a
more solid acknowledgment? Come, be fair and just--if a woman can be
fair and just!--and admit that I'm not such a criminal, after all!"
She looked down at him thoughtfully, then turned her eyes seaward again.
"What do you want me to say?" she asked.
"Oh, well; I see that you won't change your mind about these things, so
perhaps I'd better be content if you'll say: 'I forgive you.'"
A smile flitted across her face as she looked down at him again, but it
was rather a sad little smile.
"I--I forgive you!" she said.
He raised his cap, and took her hand, and, before she suspected what he
was going to do, he put his lips to it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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