‘It is Owen Sandbrook; I understand,’ said Humfrey, gravely.
She made no denial.
‘But, Honor,’ he anxiously exclaimed, ‘you are not going out in this wild way among the backwoods, it would break your mother’s heart; and he is not fit to take care of you. I mean he cannot think of it now.’
‘O no, no, I could not leave papa and mamma; but some time or other—’
‘Is this arranged? Does your father know it?’
‘Oh, Humfrey, of course!’
‘Then it is an engagement?’
‘No,’ said Honora, sadly; ‘papa said I was too young, and he wished I had heard nothing about it. We are to go on as if nothing had happened, and I know they think we shall forget all about it! As if we could! Not that I wish it to be different. I know it would be wicked to desert papa and mamma while she is so unwell. The truth is, Humfrey,’ and her voice sank, ‘that it cannot be while they live.’
‘My poor little Honor!’ he said, in a tone of the most unselfish compassion.
She had entirely forgotten his novel aspect, and only thought of him as the kindest friend to whom she could open her heart.