"Well?" said Bertie.
"Well," she said, and took up her basket as one on the point of departure, "it wasn't true. There!"
"Dot!" His hand was on the basket too. He stopped her without touching her. "Dot!" he said again.
Dot's eyes began to soften, a dimple showed suddenly near the corner of her mouth. "You shouldn't tell lies, Bertie," she said.
And that was the last remark she made for several seconds, unless the smothered protests that rose against Bertie's lips could be described as such. They were certainly not emphatic enough to make any impression, and Bertie treated them with the indifference they deserved.
Driving home, he managed to steer with one hand while he thrust the other upon his brother's knee.
"Luke, old chap, I've gone dead against your wishes," he jerked out.
"And—for the first time in my life—I'm not sorry. She'll have me."
"I thought she would," said Lucas. He grasped the boy's hand closely. "There are times when a man—if he is a man—must act for himself, eh, Bertie?"
Bertie laughed a little. "I don't believe it was against your wishes after all."
"Well, p'r'aps not." There was a very kindly smile in the sunken eyes. "I guess you're a little older than I thought you were, and anyway, she won't marry you for the dollars."