Val had sat down like one dazed.
"Ask Emmeline," said the old voice, shaking as it rose; "the whole town is ringing with the story, how you left your home under false pretences, and pursued this man, who cares nothing for you—"
"He does care for me." Val's nerves quivered under her grandmother's derisive laugh, but it did not escape her that Emmie had caught convulsively at the corner of the great buffet, and was leaning against the pillared cupboard.
"I dare say," observed Mrs. Gano, "that Ethan cares for a good many ladies, if the truth's told, but he doesn't get most of them to run about the country after him; that honor is reserved for you."
"Wait!" Val struggled to her feet with a sense that she was choking. "I'll tell you the honor that's reserved for me: Ethan cares more for me than for any one in the world."
Emmie leaned forward with white face and glittering eyes.
"Indeed," said Mrs. Gano, "and when is the wedding, if one may know?"
Val sank slowly back in the chair, dropping her hands at her sides and her gloves on the floor.
Emmie drew herself up, and the color came back into her face.
"It's only an indefinite engagement as yet, perhaps," said the younger girl. Her dark eyes flew to Val's hands. "Did he give you a ring?"