She scrutinized her little white canvas shoe, and as she held it up, I noticed the pattern of round dots on the rubber sole.
“Give me what you want thrown away,” I whispered. “I think I hear Moore’s step. And, Alma, I must see you, unhurried and alone. Can’t you meet me some evening late—some night soon—out on the lake?”
What possessed me to say that, I don’t know, but it seemed to strike her like a blow.
“Oh, no,” she said, and fairly shuddered. “Don’t suggest such a thing! I never go on the lake after sundown.”
This, when I had seen her canoeing after midnight!
Well, all that must some time be explained, and I rushed on:
“Then, let’s not keep it secret, but announce our engagement at once, and I can look after you.”
“Mercy, no! What an idea. But here, here is the thing I want destroyed. Not only thrown away, it must be instantly and secretly destroyed.”
“As you destroyed the shoes,” I said, involuntarily.
“Yes,” she returned, gravely, almost solemnly, “as I destroyed the shoes.”