“No, I can not marry her,” replied John, and after this the subject was not mentioned again, but the conversation was not without effect on John Temple.
So he went to see May for the last time before her stepmother’s arrival in a very sober frame of mind. It was a dull, wet day, and when May saw him crossing the garden she went to open the house door for him, and gave him her hand with a warm clasp of welcome.
“Thank you for coming to cheer me, as I feel so dreadfully dull,” she said, smiling.
“I feel dreadfully dull, too,” answered John, putting down his wet umbrella and hat on the hall stand, and the next moment he put his hand through the girl’s arm.
“Come into the drawing-room,” said May, softly; “I have been making it all smart, and there is a fire there; it is so wet.”
They crossed the hall thus, John lightly leaning on May’s arm, and entered the drawing-room together. There was a bright fire burning in the grate, and the room was fresh and sweet with flowers. Altogether May had done her best to make it look cheerful, but still John felt very dull.
May went up to the fire, and John held out his chilled hands to the blaze.
“When do you expect these people to arrive?” he asked.
“Father said about six o’clock,” replied May.