How the townspeople viewed the affair may be gathered from a remark made by Aunt Sally Hart, the village gossip, one Sunday at church.
"They tell me," she said, "that young Manson's keeping stiddy company with Liddy Camp, and they're likely to make a match. Wonder if they'll go to live on his father's farm, or what he will do?"
As Aunt Sally was an estimable lady of uncertain age, who, never having had a love affair of her own, felt a keen interest in those of others, and as she occupied a place in Southton akin to the "personal mention" column of a modern society newspaper, it may be said her remark was a sufficient reflex of public opinion.
When there were any social gatherings where they were invited, he was by tacit consent considered as her proper and accepted escort. At the academy she had never been in the habit of discussing her private affairs with her mates, and so perhaps was spared what might have become an annoyance. While she listened to much gossip, she seldom repeated it, and, by reason of a certain dignified reticence among even her most intimate schoolgirl friends, no one felt free to tell her of the opinions current among them regarding herself and Manson. For this reason a little deviation from the usual rule, made one day by her nearest friend, Emily Hobart, came with all the greater force.
"Do you know," said Emily, when they were alone, "it is common talk here in school that you and Charlie Manson are engaged? Oh, you need not blush so," she continued, as she saw the color rise in Liddy's face, "everybody says so and believes it, too. Shall I congratulate you?"
This did not please Liddy at all.
"I wish everybody would mind their own business," she said with a snap, "and leave me to mind mine."
"Oh, fiddlesticks," continued Emily; "what do you care? He is a nice fellow, and comes of a good family. We have all noticed that he has no eyes for any other girl but you, and never had. They say he fell in love with you when you wore short dresses."
When Liddy went home that night she held a communion with herself. So everybody believed it, did they? And she, in spite of her invariable reticence, was being gossiped about, was she? "I've a good mind never to set foot in the academy again," she said to herself.
For a solitary hour she was miserable, and then the reaction came. She began to think it all over, and all the years she had known him from his boyhood passed in review. And in all those years there was not one unsightly fact, or one hour, or one word she could wish were blotted out. And they said he had loved her from the days of short dresses! Well, what if he had? It was no disgrace. Then pride came in and she began to feel thankful he had, and as the recollection of it all came crowding into her thoughts and surging through her heart, she arose and looked into her mirror. She saw the reflection of a sweet face with flushing cheeks, red lips, bright eyes, and—was it possible! a faint glistening of moisture on her eyelashes!