“You do agree, don’t you?” she heard Landers rather nervously insisting; and: “Oh, I daresay you’re right,” she assented.
“And the great thing, you know, is that Anne shouldn’t lose you, or you lose Anne, because of this. All the rest will arrange itself somehow. Life generally does arrange things. And if it shouldn’t—”
He stood up rather awkwardly, and she was aware of his advancing toward her. His face had grown long and solemn, and his broad bulk seemed to have narrowed to the proportions of the lank youth suffused with blushes who had taken shelter behind his mother when old Mrs. Landers had offered a bridal banquet to the John Clephanes.
“If it doesn’t work out for you as we hope ... there’s my house ... that’s been waiting for you for ever so long ... though I shouldn’t ever have ventured to suggest it....”
“Oh—” she faltered out, the clutch of pain relaxing a little about her heart.
“Well, well,” her visitor stammered, rubbing his hands together deprecatingly, “I only suggest it as a sort of last expedient ... a forlorn hope....” His nervous laugh tried to give the words a humorous turn, but his eyes were still grave. Kate rose and put her hand in his.
“You’re awfully good to me,” was all she found to say. Inwardly she was thinking, with a fresh thrill of anguish: “And now I shall never be able to tell him—never!”
He had caught the note of dismissal in her voice, and was trying to gather up the scattered fragments of his self-possession. “Of course, at our age ... my age, I mean ... all that kind of thing is rather.... But there: I didn’t want you to feel there was no one you could turn to. That’s all. You won’t bear me a grudge, though? Now then; that’s all right. And you’ll see: this other business will shake down in time. Bound to, you know. I daresay the young man has merits that you and I don’t see. And you’ll let me go on dropping in as usual? After all, I’m Anne’s guardian!” he ended with his clumsy laugh.
“I shall want you more than ever, Fred,” Mrs. Clephane said simply.