"How soon?" I asked, with such a heart-sinking: for it seemed as if all the world was going when he went.
"Oh, soon," he said. "As soon as ever I can get away. Those little school brats take up a lot of time, you know. But I shouldn't wonder if I had to come and fetch Mary soon."
"Will it be next week?" I tried to say.
"Next week! Dear, no! not so soon as that. Why, the doctor says it won't be safe for Mary to go by train for another month; and I mightn't be able to get away just then, you know. But I'll come, never you fear! Why, Kitty, you dear little pretty silly thing," says he, "I'm not worth crying for!"
It was true, but did he mean it? I've often thought of his face since, as it was that moment, and wondered if the look meant real pity or was only just put on.
"I shan't know how to get on without you," I whispered.
"Well, but it won't be for long. I'll be sure to come again," says he. Then he added, "Mind you keep my secret, Kitty!"
"Mayn't I just tell mother?" I begged.
"Tell your mother!" he said; and I couldn't understand his face. "Tell her what?" says he.
I was struck dumb. For what had I to tell? That he wished me to be his wife? But he had never asked me if I would, never once outright! That he called me "his little Kitty?" But he had no right to call me so.