"But why didn't he—he tell me?" stammered the girl, growing still more rosy.
"Because he was blind."
"As if I'd minded——" She stopped abruptly and turned away her face.
Susan drew a resolute breath and squared her shoulders.
"Then why don't you do somethin'?" she demanded.
"Do something?"
"Yes, to—to show him that you don't mind."
"Oh, Susan, I—I couldn't do—that."
"All right. Settle back, then, an' do nothin'; an' he'll settle back an' do nothin', an' there'll be a pretty pair of you, eatin' your hearts out with love for each other, an' passin' each other by with converted faces an' highbrow chins; an' all because you're afraid of offendin' Mis' Grundy, who don't care no more about you than two sticks. But I s'pose you'd both rather be miserable than brace up an' defy the properties an' live long an' be happy ever after."
"But if I could be sure he—cared," spoke the girl, in a faint little voice.