“You have! Oh, Gid, I’m so glad!”
“Thank y’, Alicia. That’s the reason I been studyin’ harder’n ever lately. I’m savin’ up my money, too. I got five hunderd a’ready. These days I almost hate to put out a cent on books.”
“You’ve done enough for others,” she said earnestly. “It’s time you spent your money on yourself.”
“When I’m district attorney I’m a-goin’ to buy a piece of property up at the county seat an’ have a home of my own.” He paused, watching her wistfully. “An’ if things turn out as I look to see ’em,” he went on in a low voice, “I’m a-goin’ to marry. I’ll be thirty my next birthday. If I wait any longer I s’pose folks’ll begin t’ call me a’ ole bach.”
The colour in her cheeks deepened. “I think you ought to marry,” she agreed. But she looked down, and picked at the ruffles of her parasol.
“I’ve thought about it a good deal. So far, though—wal, you know how it’s been” (this very gently). “There was that boy.”
“Oh, Gid!” Now she lifted her face. Her eyes were swimming; her lips were trembling. “Gid,—it’s about Homer that I’ve come.”
He sat back, and was silent for a long moment, watching her keenly. “I see,” he said finally, his own face very grave. He spoke aloud and yet as if to himself. “Yas—I think I understand—how it is.” He drew a long breath.
“The town is talking about him, Gid,—talking awfully mean.”
Instantly he straightened in his chair and looked across at her, amazed and troubled. “About Homer? W’y, what’s bein’ said?”