"Oh, your seam is a work of art, is it?" said Lanse. He was silent for a moment. Then he took up an old grievance. "Evert is abominably selfish not to come over here oftener. He might just as well come over and stay; do you know any earthly reason why he shouldn't?"
"I suppose he thinks he ought not to leave Aunt Katrina—I mean for any length of time."
"He comes for no length, long or short. Aunt Katrina? I thought you said she'd got a lot of people?"
"Only Mrs. Carew."
"Mrs. Carew and five or six servants; that's enough in all conscience. I shouldn't care in the least about Evert if it weren't for the evenings, they're confoundedly long, you must admit that they are—for a person who doesn't sew seams; if I had Ev here I could at least beat him at checkers,—that would be something."
Checkers was the only game Lanse would play, he hated games generally. His method of playing this one was hopelessly bad. That made no difference in his being convinced that it was excellent. He blustered over it always.
Margaret had not answered. After a while, still idly watching her hand come and go, Lanse began to laugh. "No, I'll tell you what it really is, Madge; I know it as well as if he had drawn up a formal indictment and signed his name; he's all off with me on account of the way I've treated you."
She started; but she kept on taking her stitches.
"Yes. What do you say to my having told him the whole story—just what really happened, and without a shade of excusing myself in any way? Don't you call that pretty good of me? But I found out, too, what I didn't know before—that you yourself have never said a word all this time either to him or to Aunt Katrina; that you have told nothing. I call that pretty good of you; I dare say, in the mean while, Aunt Katrina has led you a life!"
"I haven't minded that—she didn't know—"