“I will wait until you do get it, or it is refused. But, Dick, understand that this doesn’t bind you in the slightest degree.”
“Oh, but it does bind me. Whoever heard of a one-sided engagement?” some of his light-heartedness returning. “I’ll write to the dear old dad on the very first opportunity.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to go yourself than to write?”
“And leave you all that time? No—no, Hazel. I’m not going to give you that chance of forgetting me.”
“Or yourself?” with a significant smile.
“Now you are repeating the offence, and I shan’t forgive you unless you give me just one k— Oh, damn!”
The change of tone, the change of attitude were in keeping, and Dick found himself in a sort of “standing at attention” rigidity, as small Jacky Waybridge came lounging down the garden path, a catapult in his hand. We fear that Dick came near wishing he had left that unwelcome urchin to the sharks on a former occasion, but that in such case he himself would not now be here—with Hazel.
“Been shooting any birds, Jacky?” said Dick. “Look. Just over there I saw a rare clump of mouse-birds light just now; over there, just this side of the mealie land.”
The spot indicated would take the small intruder fairly out of sight.
“No good, catapult’s broken.”