“Now you know my other secret,” said Bella, very pink—“the tremendousest one of all.” When the first shock had died away, Hildegarde was left with a pitiful tenderness before the disarming frankness of such a confession. Poor little Bella! Why, Jack didn’t even know of her existence. He never would, till in some rare idle hour of the glorious future, Hildegarde should tell him of a little homesick girl she had befriended once at school.
But Bella could be depended on to break in upon such gracious forecasting of the future, with a suddenness that made the picture dance, “Which of us two do you suppose Jack’ll fall in love with?”
Hildegarde, almost paralyzed by the presumption this implied, barely managed to bring out, “You’re much too little to think of—”
“I shan’t be little always.”
“You’ll always be more than twelve years younger than Mr. Galbraith.” Hildegarde always said Mr. Galbraith when she wanted to keep the intruder at a distance.
But Bella advanced as bold as brass. “Anyhow I think he’ll fall in love with me.”
“Of course a person so modest would be likely to appeal to any gentleman.”
“No, it’s not my being modest he’ll mind about. It’s other things.”
“What other things?”