"Look here, Ruth, what's the good of pretending? You know I don't go to see you because you're engaged to George Weston. You chose between us, and there's the end of that. What's more, you know that nowadays I'm not fit to go to see anybody that's decent."
"Then it is time that you were," was my answer. "Let me walk along with you. I want to say something."
I turned, and we walked together toward the village. I could see that his face hardened.
"It's no sort of use to preach to me, Ruth," he said, "though your preaching powers are pretty good. I've had so much preaching in my life that I'm not to be rounded up by piety."
I smiled as well as I could, though it made me want to cry to hear the hard bravado of his tone.
"I'm not generally credited with overmuch piety, Tom. The whole town thinks all the Privets heathen, you know."
"Humph! It's a pity there weren't a few more of 'em."
I laughed, and thanked him for the compliment, and then we went on in silence for a little way. I had to ignore what he said about George, but it did not make it easier to begin. I was puzzled what to say, but the time was short that we should be walking together, and I had to do something.
"Tom," I began, "you may not be very sensitive about old friendships, but I am loyal; and it hurts me that those I care for should be talked against."