“Now, Doll,” I said, gayly, “what’s the tremendous confidence?”
“Renny,” she said, quietly, “William Reid has asked me to marry him.”
“No! William Reid—the young fellow over at Hansard’s? Well, I can only tell you, Dolly, that I know nothing but what’s good of him for a steady and promising chap, who’s sure to make as fine a husband as he is a workman.”
“Do you advise me to take him, then? Do you want me to?”
“You might do much worse—indeed you might, Dolly. Why, to my knowledge, he’s drawing £3 a week already. Of course I shall be very, very sorry to lose my little chum and companion, but I always foresaw that this would have to be the end of our comradeship some day.”
She sat looking at the ground a little while and adjusting a fallen twig with the point of her parasol. Then she rose and said, in the same quiet tone, “Very well,” and moved a step away.
I rose also and was about to resume the subject, when in a moment, to my horror, she threw herself back on the bench and, flinging her hands up to her face, burst into a passion of tears.
I was so startled and shocked that for the instant I could think of nothing to do or say. Then I bent down and cried:
“Dolly, what is it? What’s the matter? Have I hurt you in any way?”
She struggled with her sobs, but made a brave effort to command herself.