Salome was silent. She thought it wiser to say nothing.
There was a bright service in St. Luke's Church every Wednesday evening; and on the Wednesday before Christmas, as Salome was coming out of the church, scarcely two hundred yards from Elm Cottage, she heard a voice near her say,—
"Miss Wilton."
She started, and turning quickly, said,—
"I wanted to see you, Mr. Percival. I cannot do what I promised, and I—I hardly like to ask it, but could you wait till Easter?"
"Yes," was the reply. "I can and will wait. I came here on purpose to say so."
"How kind of you! Mr. Percival, is—do you think my brother is getting on better at the office?"
"I hope so," was the answer.
"He is there in better time of a morning, isn't he?" asked Salome anxiously.
Again the answer came guardedly,—