"True love can never be small--it is always beautiful."
"That is my thought of it, too," I said; "but however much one wants to
do the right thing, it is sometimes terribly hard to decide."
"I know," she said, "I know."
"Now suppose," I said, "that I loved a girl with all my heart--as I do,"
I added, thinking of Lucy, "but had never told her so; and suppose that
her friends, for some foolish reason, did not like me, and wished her to
devote her life to a calling which she herself had some leaning to----"
"Yes," she said, breathlessly, and I could see she was applying the case
to herself.
"And suppose," I went on, "I had been blind in the past, and perhaps
unknowingly allowed the time to go by when I should have spoken: would I
be justified in coming into her life again, drawing her away from the
peace that this calling might already have given her, and asking her to
come back with me into the world where love is?"
For an instant she turned her head aside, and I saw the tears heavy
under her eyelids.
"It would be for her to decide," she said; "you should tell her."
"That's just what my friend Lord St. Alleyne thinks," I said.
"You know him?" she cried. The look in her eyes at that moment was
certainly not for me.
"He is my very dear friend," I said, "and I have often heard him speak
of you. I know him for one of the best men alive."
She slipped down on her knees by the bed, and if I had not already known
all about the matter her eyes would have told me.
"I believe he is, I believe he is," she said. "Tell me about him. Is he
well? When did you see him last?"
"No longer ago than this morning," I said.
[Illustration: "SHE SPRANG TO HER FEET, AND RAN TO HIM WITH A JOYFUL
CRY."]
She hid her face and was silent for a time; I could see that she loved
him beyond the ordinary love of women, and the sight sent such a wave
of content through me that I believe I laughed softly. At any rate she
looked up and I could not bear to see her unhappy any longer.
"My dear Miss O'Callaghan," I said, taking into my hand the warm little
gloved fingers that lay on the coverlid, "will you forgive me for being
a conspirator and a humbug? Remember I did it for the sake of my friend,
and I knew he was worth it. I spoke of him and not of myself."
"What do you mean?" she cried. And then, with a hand at her bosom, "Oh,
tell me, tell me!"
"St. Alleyne," I said, "loves you, and he's here to tell you himself."
And with that I raised my voice and called his name. The door opened
instantly--he must have had his hand on the latch the whole time--and
there he stood, with his arms stretched out to her and the name,
"Norah," on his lips. She sprang to her feet and ran to him with so
joyful a cry that I knew my part in the comedy was over, and just as
they embraced I turned away and closed my eyes.
Ten minutes later they came back; she was leaning on his shoulder and he
had an arm about her waist.
"This conspiracy has been so successful," I said, "that I shall never
engage in another. It would never do to spoil my record."
"You have two friends now instead of one," Miss O'Callaghan said.
"Phil," said St. Alleyne, "get up, you old dear, while Norah and I go
downstairs to see my cousin, Mrs. O'Callaghan."
They left me once more, and as I dressed I felt so absurdly
light-hearted that I had to sing to myself; I forget what the song was,
but I know, there was something about lovers' meetings in it. As I
reached the foot of the stairs I heard voices in the dining-room; one of
them was rather high-pitched and hard, but it sounded pleasant enough as
it said, "Well, St. Alleyne, you've beaten me this time, and I suppose I
must give in, but it will take you long years to make me believe in your
family."
And I concluded it was the voice of his lordship's cousin, Mrs.
O'Callaghan.