Once safely home Mary did not hesitate to write to David. Whatever else she may have been, and however old Sam's wealth had affected her mode of thought, Mary was sincere, and she now wrote David she was sorry and asked him to come to her. It was too late. With 'Thusia David walked up the hill. At the gate of the manse they paused. They had spoken of nothing but the tragedy.
“Rose Hinch will be all alone now,” 'Thusia said.
“Yes,” David said.
'Thusia looked down.
“Do you—will she get work,” she asked, “or is she going to marry someone.”
“I know she is not going to marry,” David said promptly. “She knows no one—no young men.”
“Except you,” 'Thusia suggested, looking up. As she met David's dear eyes her face reddened as it had on that first day at the wharf. The hand that lay on the gate trembled visibly; she withdrew it and hid it at her side.
“I like Rose, but I am not a candidate for her hand, if that is what you mean,” said David.
'Thusia suddenly felt infinitely silly and childish.
“I mean—I don't mean—” she stammered. “I must not keep you standing here. Good-by.”