It was Lynn’s turn in the shop that afternoon. She sat there behind a long table on which were a tin cash box, wrapping paper, twine, and a pile of pretty little blue cards on which was printed:
Ye Olde New England Box Shoppe—Hand-decorated gift boxes for all purposes—Chests made to order.
She was sewing, but when she heard a step on the veranda she hid the sewing in a drawer and began to write busily on a pad. The front door was open, and the customer entered the room. Lynn looked up with an alert, businesslike expression—and it was that man!
“I’ve been away,” he began eagerly. “Otherwise—” He stopped short, looking at Lynn. “Is anything wrong?” he asked.
“No,” she said evenly.
For an instant her clear eyes rested on his face, and then they glanced away, as if he wasn’t worth regarding. She was not rude, or scornful, or awe-inspiring like her aunt, but her attitude was unmistakable.
“I’ll have to ask you to excuse me,” she said politely. “I’m busy this morning.”
Rising, she moved toward the door.
“No!” he cried. “Please wait! Please tell me what’s the matter! Every minute I’ve been away, I’ve been thinking of getting back and seeing you again. I—please don’t go! Just tell me!”
“I have nothing to tell you,” said Lynn, with energy. “I have nothing to say to you at all, except that I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t come again.”