I’VE had such a lovely letter from Rupert, Bertha. I’m so excited, I can’t read it almost!”
Bertha held out her hand. Madeline was looking agitated.
“He says,” said Madeline, looking closely at the letter in her short-sighted way, “that he wishes he could burn me like spice on the altar of a life-long friendship! Fancy!”
“Rather indefinite, isn’t it?”
“Oh, but listen!” And Madeline read aloud eagerly: “Yesterday evening was perfect: but to-day and for several days I shall be unable to see you. Why is a feast day always followed by a fast?”
“Is it Doncaster to-morrow?” asked Bertha.
“Don’t be absurd, that’s nothing to do with it. Listen to this. What a curiously interesting nature you have! Am I not right when I say that I fancy in time, as you develop and grow older, you may look at life eye to eye with me?”
“Madeline dear, please don’t mistake that for a proposal. I assure you that it isn’t one.”
Madeline looked up sharply. “Who said it was? But, anyhow, it shows interest. He must be rather keen—I mean interested—in me. It’s all very well to say it means nothing, but for a man nowadays to sit down and write a long letter all about nothing at all, it must have some significance. Look how easily he might have rung up! I know you’re afraid of encouraging me too much, and it’s very kind of you—but I must confess I do think that letters mean a great deal. Think of the trouble he’s taken. And there’s a great deal about himself in it, too.”