“Then it is some other; her sister, maybe. Carter says she is more charming than Alicia, and if you are not certain—if you don’t know whether you are—”
“I don’t know, little girl; it all depends upon you. No one else in the wide world can tell me.”
“On me? It depends on me?”
“Yes, if you will not marry me, I shall be sorry I came back. Agnes, Agnes, can it be that, after all, I misunderstood and that I am the lucky other fellow, the more likable one? Am I, Agnes?”
“Ah, my heart’s desire,” breathed the girl, lifting true eyes to his.
“Why did you mislead me and send me away so utterly wretched?” Parker asked, as they were rowing across stream.
“I didn’t send you away; you went, and I was wretched, too, but I could not explain. I did not think you would misunderstand so entirely, and I had promised, though I did find there was some one that I cared more for than for Archie, but I couldn’t tell you so to your face. You stayed away such a long time, that time, and I was telling myself that if you loved me, you couldn’t do it, and so I tried to show you that I didn’t care, for you know you had never said.”
“No, I had never said half that I ought. I know now that I should have said nothing at all, or I should have told you at once how much I loved you. You would have waited for me, Agnes?”
“You know I would,” she answered shyly.
“It has been a sad time, my darling little lass. I would never have returned but for the faint hope, which somehow would not be downed, that after all I might find you free, and then that mischievous Carter told me you were to be married. I wonder why he dared to say so. I have a crow to pick with him. Yet, sweetheart, out of our sorrow has come a great joy, as we used to say long ago. Do you remember?”