Lulie, poor thing, was as proud of him as if he had been her son, and whenever we met was continually quoting what Frank said, and telling what Frank did. In the kindness of her dear little heart she ever tried to consider my feelings, and it was the inadvertence of these remarks in my presence that made them doubly painful.
Between Carlotta and myself there had sprung up a strong, confidential friendship. She was so beautiful in person and character, so pure, so trusting, that had it not have been for our daily intimacy, I could have loved her even to the effacing of Lulie’s image. As it was, she was only my best friend, and Lulie my hopeless idol.
A trip to Smithville closed our vacation, and we began to get ready for college. All the arrangements were made, and the day before our departure came round. Ned, who, of course, was to be my chum, had come into town with his baggage, and was to stay all night with me, to be ready for the early morning train. That night, after tea, he ran over to Dr. Mayland’s to tell Lulie good-bye, and Carlotta and I took our seat on the stoop. Neither of us spoke for some time, for I felt really sad now that the time had come for parting.
“You will write to me while I am gone, Carlotta?” I said, at length. “I will enjoy a letter from you more than from any one else I know.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “I will write if you will promise to reply faithfully, and not to make fun of my letters.”
“That would be impossible, even if I were not too anxious to hear from home and from you. I will miss your bright face and sunny smiles sadly while I am away,” I continued, looking up at the stars slowly coming out, “for no matter where I am, or whom I am with, I never feel so well satisfied and happy as when I am with you.”
“It is I, indeed, who will miss you,” she said, with the least possible sigh, “for you have been so kind and attentive, so considerate of all my wishes, yet so unobtrusive in your attentions, that I can never get another to fill your place.”
“You will not forget me, then?” I said, drawing a little nearer to her.
“Never!”
She looked so beautiful in the soft twilight, as she gazed at me earnestly and said this “Never!” that I did more than I intended—I took her hand and pressed it in mine, though I tried to do it in a brotherly way. But there was a thrill in her touch, nevertheless. I could see her face flush, even in the twilight, as she drew her hand once or twice, as if she would take it away.