"'Settled,' Guy!" I said. "What dost thou mean by 'settled'? What is there about me that is unsettled?"
"Now, that is one of thy queer notions," answered Guy. "Of course, no woman is considered settled till she marries."
"I should think it was just the most unsettling thing in the world," said I.
"Lynette, thou wert born in the wrong age!" said Guy. "I do not know in what age thou wert born, but certainly not this."
"And thou wouldst be glad to lose me, Guy!"
"Nay, not glad to lose thee, little one"—I think Guy saw that had hurt me—"but glad for thine own sake. Why, Lynette, crying? For what, dear foolish child?"
I could hardly have told him. Only the world had gone dark and dreary. I know he never meant to be unkind. Oh no! I suppose people don't, generally. They do not find out that they have hurt you, unless you scream. Nor perhaps then, if they are making a noise themselves.
"My dear little sister," said Guy again,—and very lovingly he said it,—"why are all these tears? No man shall marry thee without thy leave. I am surprised. I thought women were always ready to be married."
Ah, that was it. He did not understand!
"And thou art not even curious to hear whom it should have been?"