"Nonsense!"
"Well, it's the truth; I didn't know that I was so quiet," said Kittie, who in truth had nothing to tell. "I'll talk gay enough if you'll start me on something."
"You never had to be started before," grumbled Kat, who would have teased and tormented unmercifully, had it not been for the weight of her own secret, which was wonderfully subduing.
"We had a delightful ride," continued Kittie, but with very apparent exertion. "Mr. Murray drove out by Hanging Rock, and that's five miles, you know, and then we came home by Craig's creek, and—it was very long. What did Ralph say? Where's the letter?"
"Oh!" said Kat, with a little gasp—for Kittie had covered the whole ground so quickly that it quite took her breath—"you can't read it in the dark, and if we light the lamp that bug will come back. It was only a small one. He has been admitted to the firm, and is coming pretty soon to see us."
Something in the voice, for Kat couldn't hide anything successfully, drew Kittie's thoughts from herself, and made her turn to look closely at the face just visible in the dark. It had been a settled fact in the family, for the past year, that Ralph was growing very fond of "Kathy dear," and that very likely she had been the great object in his thoughts when he went away, and promised to come back, and then—
"Kat," said Kittie, with great solemnity, when her thoughts reached that point, and she was conscious of feeling hurt. "I never thought you'd keep such a thing from me, and wait for me to ask."
"Neither did I think you would, but you are."
"Me? Why I've nothing to tell."
"Honestly?"