The result was, she nearly ran over
George Houghton. Looking up, she saw him standing, hat in hand, with a
broad, glad smile on his face.
"You almost equal that express-wagon," he said. "Are you going for the
doctor?"
Her mouth twitched nervously, but she managed to say, "Good-morning, Mr.
Houghton, I'm in haste," and on she went. He saw her head go down. Was she
laughing or crying? The latter possibility brought him to her side
instantly.
"Are you in trouble?" he asked very kindly. "Isn't there something--oh, I
see you are laughing at me," and his tones proved that his feelings were
deeply hurt.
Her mirth ceased at once. "No, Mr. Houghton," she replied, looking up at
him with frank directness, "I was not laughing at _you_, but I could not
help laughing at what you said. I'm in no trouble, nor shall I be
if--if--well, you know what I told you. We must be strangers, you know,"
and she went on again as if her feet were winged.
"I don't know anything of the kind," he muttered, as he turned on his heel
and slowly pursued his way to his father's counting-rooms. Entering he
paused an instant and looked grimly at Bodine, whose head was bent over
his writing. "I'll tackle you next, old gentleman," was his thought.
Punctually to a minute he called on Mrs. Willoughby when the week had
expired. She looked into his resolute face and surmised before he spoke
that time and reflection had not inclined him to a prudent withdrawal from
a very doubtful suit.
Pages:
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293