The girl was frightened, although eager to hear what he would say, so she remained silent during Dic's long pause, and at length he said, "I thank you for the letter."
A sigh of mingled relief and disappointment came from her breast.
"It gave me great pleasure, for it made me know that you were still my friend," said Dic, "and that your words were meant for Tom, and not for me."
"Indeed, not for you," said Rita, still struggling with the lump in her throat.
"Let us never speak of it again," said Dic. "I'm glad it happened. It puts our friendship on a firmer basis than ever before."
"That would be rather hard, to do, wouldn't it?" asked the girl, laughing contentedly. "We have been such good friends ever since I was a baby—since before I can remember."
The direct road was becoming too smooth for Rita, and she began to fear she would not be able to stop.
"Let us make this bargain," said Dic. "When you want to say anything unkind, say it to me. I'll not misunderstand."
"Very well," she replied laughingly, "the privilege may be a great comfort to me at times. I, of course, dare not scold mother. If I look cross at Tom, mother scolds me for a week, and I could not speak unkindly to poor father. You see, I have no one to scold, and I'm sure every one should have somebody to explode upon with impunity now and then. So I'll accept your offer, and you may expect—" There was a brief pause, after which she continued: "No, I'll not. Never again so long as I live. You, of all others, shall be safe from my ill temper," and she gave him her hand in confirmation of her words.
In all the world there was no breast freer from ill temper than hers; no heart more gentle, tender, and trustful. Her nature was like a burning spring. It was pure, cool, and limpid to its greatest depths, though there was fire in it.