“You seem pretty certain of being ‘better acquainted’”, she mocked; albeit there was a little tug at her heart.
“I am,” he answered, coolly, “The fact is, Dey, I’m thinkin’ of makin’ it a case of marry.”
For a moment she did not answer. The footfalls of a pedestrian sounded rhythmically distinct in the silence that fell between the man and the girl. Then Desirée observed, with a slight restraint that sat strangely upon her:—
“I don’t think that is a very nice joke.”
“’Tisn’t a joke at all,” Caleb assured her, “I mean it. I’d a’ talked it over with you before, only the idee never came clear to me till to-night. Here’s how it is—”
“You—you care for her?” asked Desirée very quietly. Caleb, full as he was of his own aspirations, noticed how dull and lifeless her voice had all at once grown.
“You’re tired out!” he cried, all remorse, “Here I keep you up, listenin’ to my fool talk when you ought to be sound asleep! Nice sort of guardian I am! I’m goin’—”
“No. Wait!” she ordered, with a pitiful shadow of her wonted dainty imperiousness, “I’m not tired. Tell me. Are you in love with her?”
“In love with her?” scoffed Caleb. “With that little rabbit-faced bunch of silliness? Not me! But she comes of about the biggest fam’ly here. She’s pop’lar ev’rywhere. If I was to marry her, I’d get with the best crowd in Granite. My place’d be as sure as yours’ll be when you marry that gold-shirt chap—whoever he turns out to be—that we was talkin’ about the other day. I was speakin’ of the idee to Caine, only to-night, an’ he says—”
“Oh!”