"I know you do, dear, and I want to tell you, too. I'm not purposely tormenting you, but there is no one else to whom I can speak. And that human, sobbing part of me needs companionship just as much these days, as the merry, house-loving spirit, or the beatifically blessed soul. Can't you see, dear, that with all my affection for you, I dread telling you my story, and the reason for that is that it will be too much for you to comprehend at first, and that I know perfectly well that it is going to shock and pain you." The last words burst forth like a storm repressed.
"Shock and pain me!" Lassie opened mouth and eyes.
"Yes, dear, of a certainty."
They were in the woods, quite alone.
Involuntarily Lassie drew a little away; a common, cruel suspicion flashed through her head. "Alva, is it—is it that you do not mean to marry the man?"
Alva laughed then, not very loudly, but clearly and sweetly. "No, Lassie, it isn't that. I am going to be married in the regular way and, besides, I will tell you in confidence that I fully believe that I have been married to the same man hundreds of times before, and shall be married to him countless times again. Does that help you?"
"Alva!"
"There! I told you that you wouldn't understand, and you don't."
"No, I certainly don't, when you talk like that."
"It's natural that you shouldn't, dear; but at the end of the week you will, perhaps. We'll hope so, any way. Oh, Lassie, how much we are both to live and learn in the next week."