“I really don’t see why you should think any more about Lucinda,” I said.
“I don’t think I need,” she agreed, with a smile that was happy, proud, and confident.
I looked her in the face, and laughed. She stopped, and held out her hand to me. As I took it she went on. “Yes, Waldo is telling the old people down there, and I’ll tell you here. We’re engaged, Julius; Waldo asked me this afternoon, and I said yes.”
“I hope you will believe that I congratulate you and him very sincerely, and, if I may, gladly welcome you into the family.”
“Without any arrière-pensée?” Her challenge was gay and good-humored.
“Absolutely! Why do you suspect anything else?”
“Well then, because you are—or were—fond of Lucinda.”
“Oh, you’ve got it out at last! But, even supposing so—and I’ve no reason for denying it—I’m not put to a choice between you, am I? Now at all events!”
“No,” she admitted, but with a plain touch of reluctance; she laughed at it herself, perhaps at her failure to conceal it. “Anyhow, you’ll try to like me, won’t you, Cousin Julius?”
“I do like you, my dear—and not a bit less because you don’t like Lucinda. So there!”