Amy laughed incredulously.
‘That being settled,’ proceeded Guy, ‘did you hear what your father said as you left the breakfast-room?’
She coloured all over, and there was silence. ‘What did you answer?’ said she, at length.
‘I said, whatever happened, you must not be taken by surprise in having to decide quickly. Do you wish to have time to think? I’ll go in and leave you to consider, if you like.’
‘I only want to know what you wish,’ said Amy, not parting with his arm.
‘I had rather you did just as suits you best. Of course, you know what my wish must be.’
Amy walked on a little way in silence. ‘Very well,’ said she, presently, ‘I think you and mamma had better settle it. The worst’—she had tears in her eyes—‘the going away—mamma—Charlie—all that will be as bad at one time as at another.’ The tears flowed faster. ‘It had better be as you all like best.’
‘O Amy! I wonder at myself for daring to ask you to exchange your bright cheerful home for my gloomy old house.’
‘No, your home,’ said Amy, softly.
‘I used to wonder why it was called gloomy; but it will be so no more when you are there. Yet there is a shadow hanging over it, which makes it sometimes seem too strange that you and it should be brought together.’