“Since that poor girl committed suicide, I suppose you mean?” she said, calmly. “It was an unfortunate occurrence, no doubt, but one that I think no sensible woman could blame you for. You could not be expected to marry her.”
Henderson gave a kind of gasp.
“I am glad to hear you say that, Mrs. Churchill,” he said, “but perhaps May—”
“Oh, May will get over it. Come and have tea with us to-morrow, Mr. Henderson, and I will give you the opportunity of speaking to May alone.”
Henderson was only too glad to promise to avail himself of this invitation. And on the following day he arrived at Woodside, excited and eager. And after tea was over Mrs. Churchill proceeded to carry out her little plan. She sent May into the garden alone, under the pretense that she wanted her to gather some flowers, and presently she sent young Henderson after her.
May was in the very act of cutting some roses when she heard his step on the walk behind her, and she was returning to the house to avoid him, when he suddenly caught her hand.
“Don’t go, May,” he said, in an agitated manner, “I want a few words with you.”
“I am busy,” answered May, “I can not stay.”
“You must stay,” went on Henderson, almost roughly. “May, how long is this to go on? How long are you going to play with me as you are playing with me now?”
“I never played with you, Mr. Henderson,” said May, with some dignity of manner.