“Surprised!” she repeated. “You wouldn’t have been so astonished had you lived for a few days on a stale crust, and expected to dine the next off the crumbs if by good luck there happened to be any crumbs left.”
“Oh! Jill,” he exclaimed, “I’m a brute dear. Has it ever been as bad as that, my poor little girl?”
Jill nodded affirmatively, and then let her head recline contentedly against his shoulder, glad to nestle within the comforting security of his strong arms, and feel that there she could find both shelter and defence.
“Have you told your father yet?” she asked a little nervously.
“No, dear,” he answered. Then added quickly, “I will some time to-day, though.”
“Yes,” she said, “don’t put it off any longer; I think that he ought to know; and yet I feel somehow that his knowing will put an end to all this pleasant fooling. Oh! Jack, I’m such a horrid little coward, I know I am.”
She lifted her face, and he saw that she was laughing even though the tears stood in her eyes.
“If you feel like that,” he said tenderly, kissing the upturned face, “why not get married first and tell him afterwards?”
“Oh! Jack, fie,” she cried; “you are turning coward too.”
“Not I,” he contradicted stoutly, then added with a smile, “I think I am though; I’m so terribly afraid of your slipping through my fingers, you eel.”