Miss Colfax stood still, a large red flower raised in protestation.
"That would be the cruellest thing I ever heard of," she exclaimed, with conviction. "I don't see how you can bear to make the suggestion."
"Then what are you going to do about it?"
"I needn't do anything just yet. There's no hurry—till I get back to New York."
"Do you mean to let him go on thinking—?"
"He'd much rather. Whenever I tell him, it will be too soon for him. There's no reason why he should know earlier than he wants to."
"But is that honor, dear?"
"How can I tell?" At so unreasonable a question the blue eyes clouded with threatening tears. "I can't go into all those fine points, Aunt Helen, do you see? I've just got to do what's right."
Mrs. Jarrot rose with an air of helplessness. She loved her brother's daughter tenderly enough, but she admitted to herself that she did not understand young girls. Having borne only sons, she had never been called upon to struggle with the baffling.
"I hope you're not going to tell any one, Aunt Helen," Evie begged, as Mrs. Jarrott seemed about to leave the room. "I shouldn't want Uncle Jarrott to know, or Aunt Queenie, either."