"Certainly. Excuse me." Dunham instantly dropped his hand. "You said she went to sleep?"
"Yes, went to sleep!" repeated the boy contemptuously. "Do folks go to sleep with their eyes wide open? I see she didn't want me to talk to her, but I watched her mighty close, 'cause I knew right off you was at the bottom of it."
"I? What possible idea"—
"Git out. Ain't I seen you not noticin' Miss Edna any? Ain't I seen you not sail the boat when you had the chance? Ain't I seen her eyin' you when she thought you wan't lookin'?"
Dunham groaned. "Benny, you're horribly precocious."
The boy glowered suspiciously.
"I don't know whether I be or not. I know I've got eyes."
"And what did you see to-day?"
"Tears. Hundreds of 'em. That's what I see. If she'd a-busted out cryin' 't wouldn't 'a' ben so bad. I could 'a' said, 'Oh, you're young yet, you don't know how many wuss things is goin' to happen to you, and I've known fellers could stay under longer'n he kin;' but I couldn't say a thing to comfort her when she kep' a-wip-in' away one tear at a time from her cheek, secret like. I knew she'd ben scrappin' with you, or else that you'd turned around and ben sweet on Miss Edna."
"Nothing of the sort, Benny. You're all off in both guesses. Miss Sylvia just went home a little sooner than she expected, and Miss Derwent is going over to-morrow to spend the day with her. You're going to take her over yourself."