“Are you very fond of him, dear?” she whispered.
“Yes, mother.”
“And he’s fond of you?”
“I think so, mother.”
“Has he told you so, dear?”
“Yes.”
A tear gathered in the corner of her eye, stung her, welled, fell upon her cheek, and this welcome relief recalled her to what she considered the necessities of the moment.
“Of course I shall have to speak to the Whatelys about it.”
A shocked, surprised expression came into April’s face.
“Oh, but why, mother?”