‘I did indeed,’ says Susan earnestly, her heart again knowing a throb of exultation. Why, if he could only see the cushion she worked for Lady Millbank’s bazaar!
‘It must have taken a long time,’ says he thoughtfully. And then, ‘And to think of you doing it for me!’
‘Oh, for you,’ says Susan—‘you who have been so kind to us all! I’—growing shy again—‘I am very glad you really like that little bag; but it is nothing—nothing. And I was delighted to make it for you, and to think of you all the time as I made it.’
‘Were you, Susan?’ says Crosby, as gratefully as possible, though he feels his heart in some silly way is sinking.
‘I was—I was indeed!’ says Susan openly, emphatically. ‘So you must not trouble yourself about that.’ Crosby’s heart falls another fathom or two.
‘I’ll try not to,’ says he, with a somewhat melancholy reflection of his usual lightheartedness. They have arrived at the gate now, and Susan holds out her hand to him.
‘Remember you have promised to bring up the boys to-morrow for their gipsy tea,’ says he, holding it.
‘Yes.’ She hesitates and flushes warmly. ‘Might I bring Betty, too?’
‘Why, of course’—eagerly. ‘Give my love to her, and tell her from—my sister that we can’t have a gipsy tea without her.’
‘And Lady Forster?’ Susan grows uncertain about the propriety of asking Betty without Lady Forster’s consent.