“I think you have gone far enough,” said she, innocently, looking over her shoulder in the direction of home. Maybe the return would loosen his obdurate tongue.
His heart stopped beating and lay a leaden thing in his breast. Had he, then, gone too far? What had he said? Oh, why had he come out with this lovely being, the mere sight of whom was enough to make one cast all restraint to the winds and declare in thunderous tones that he loved her?
“I think that we’d better go back,” he said, and turned so quickly that he nearly upset the sleigh. “Your mother will be anxious.”
“Yes; when one is accountable to one’s mother one has to remember time. I suppose it is different when one is accountable to a—”
“Father?” said Littlewood, asininely.
“No; that wasn’t the word I wanted.”
“A-a-aunt?”
Could Mildred love him if he gave many more such proofs of being an abject idiot?
“No; husband is what I want.”
Littlewood’s brain swam. He had been tempted once too often. This naïve girl had innocently played into his hands, and now the Rubicon must be crossed, even if its angry waters engulfed him.