“It is not I, but you who are to blame.”
“Possibly I am to be blamed for being born poor while you are rich; but I have paid for my mistake, and it is now too late to correct it.”
The conversation had reached this point when the two seemed to conclude it was altogether too public to be in good taste. Several persons, standing near, stepped a little closer, so as to catch every word.
“It is so warm in there,” said Dolly; “even with the windows open, that I came outdoors to get the fresh air. Aunt Maggie put my shawl about my shoulders so that I wouldn’t take cold. Now, Ben, if you will walk with me to the summer-house yonder, we can sit down by ourselves, finish our talk, and then part forever.”
The last expression sent a pang to the boy’s heart, but he did not allow her to see it. He followed her a short distance to one of the romantic little lattice-work structures which Mr. Grandin had placed on his grounds.
A few rays of silvery moonlight penetrated the leafy shelter, so the two were not in complete darkness when they sat down on the rustic seat.
“I am ready to listen to you,” said Ben in his most frigid voice, the two being separated by a space of several feet.
“In the first place, if you thought so lightly of me, you never should have told me different nor asked me to correspond with you.”
“How can you help understanding me?”