Persis had understood, and, being in funds at the time, had seen all conducted with taste and even with a little splendor.
To every one his or her especial cowardice. Persis, so brave in so many ways, was afraid of creepy things like caterpillars and creditors and poverty. They spoiled for her everything that they touched, flower or ceremony or future.
She was silent a long while. Forbes longingly set his arms about her; but she did not respond; her hands were idly rolling her riding-crop up and down the shin of her boot, for she was thinking hard.
Forbes felt that he clung to the mere clothes of her soul. Herself was already gone from him. Yet he loved her so that he found her not unworthy nor selfish nor craven, but infinitely precious and beautiful, difficult to win and wear.
A great many shining throngs of water went down the brook, making all the conversation there was, before Persis began to flog her boots with her riding-crop. She wanted to groan, but as was her custom in torment, smiled instead; and, having something of tragic solemnity to utter, put it forth with a plucky flippancy:
"Well, old boy, I'm afraid all bets are off."
Forbes had been recruiting strength to tell her that he released her; but she anticipated him by jilting him first--and in sporting terms. He stared at her, but he could not see the tears raining down in her heart. He heard her, but was deaf to the immense regret in the little words she added:
His very forehead was drenched with red shame at such comment from her. She could see how she had hurt his pride, and she put on the solemnity he expected her to wear.
"Oh, don't misunderstand me, Harvey, I implore you! I love you all the more for being just your glorious self. You've paid me the greatest honor I ever had--or shall have. You asked me to be your wife, and you are willing to divide up your pitiful little income with me. You'd give it all to me. You'd run into debt till you smothered. But it wouldn't work out. Mother was right: 'People can do without love easier than without money.'"
"Not people with hearts like yours," he ventured at last to put in as a feeble objection.
"Oh, I'm afraid of this heart of mine," she answered. "If it had any sense it wouldn't have fallen in love with you--you of all men. I knew you weren't really terribly rich, but I didn't think you were so pitifully, cruelly poor."