That wasn't a state of things father nor mother would have allowed.
"Kitty," he said one day, all of a sudden, "I've got to go to-morrow."
Mother had sent me to a shop for some thread, and Mr. Russell came upon me just outside the station, in the little lane that ran round the back of our garden. I suppose he must have been expecting me there. Nobody else was in sight. We stood under the high hedge, on a patch of grass, and I can remember now the feel of the grass under my feet, and the sunset light that came through the hedge opposite, and how handsome Mr. Russell looked—at least, I thought so then; but, you know, girls' tastes do change as they get to womanhood, and it isn't only black hair and eyes and an air of being somebody that makes good looks—more especial if it's a case of being nobody.
"Must you?" was all I said, and I turned queer all over, as if I was ready to drop.
"Yes; it's a 'must,'" says he. "I shall have to be at work again in a few days, and there's a lot of things to do first. I've been here too long as it is."
"But you couldn't help it, with Mary so ill," I said.
He gave a sort of little laugh.
"Well—yes," says he. "But Mary's been getting on all right some days past. You don't think it's that has kept me, do you? eh, Kitty?" says he. "Can't you guess what has been the real tie? Not good old Mary, but somebody younger and prettier and sweeter?"
Yes, I guessed what he meant, of course. I couldn't do otherwise, and the colour came back to my face.
"It is very hard to say good-bye to that somebody, I can tell you," said he. "But never mind. You'll soon see me again."