"If our friendship depends upon that, it will be a lasting one," he says, quietly. "My whole life is at your sister's service."
Something in his tones touches Monica: slowly she lifts her eyes until they reach his.
"I wish, I wish you would not persist in this," she says, sadly.
"But why? To think of you is my chiefest joy. Do you forbid me to be happy?"
"No—but—"
"In the morning and the afternoon I went to the river, to look for you—in vain; after dinner I went too, still hoping against hope; and now at last that I have found you, you are unkind to me!" He speaks lightly, but his eyes are earnest. "Miss Katherine," he says appealingly to Kit, "of your grace, I pray you to befriend me."
"Monica would not go to the river this evening because she remembered an absurd promise she made to Aunt Priscilla, and because she feared to meet you there. It is the most absurd promise in the world: wait till you hear it." Whereupon Kit, who is in her element, proceeds to tell him all about Miss Priscilla's words to Monica, and Monica's answer, and her (Kit's) interpretation thereof. "She certainly didn't promise never to speak to you again," concludes she, with a nod Solomon might have envied.
Need it be said that Mr. Desmond agrees with her on all points?
"There is no use in continuing the discussion," says Monica, turning aside a little coldly. "I should not have gone to the river, anyway."
This chilling remark produces a blank indescribable, and conversation languishes: Monica betrays an interest in the horizon never before developed; Mr. Desmond regards with a moody glance the ripening harvest; and Kit, looking inward, surveys her mental resources and wonders what it is her duty to do next.