"Not a thing. And have you, really?"
"Nothing, except that he asked me if he should come, and I sent a letter right off, and told him yes," confessed Kat, relieved to share her secret, and feeling very glad and happy as she laid her head in Kittie's lap, as though to hide her face from the darkness.
Kittie entirely forgot herself in that moment. There came a little choking feeling in her throat, to think that she now came second in this dearest sister's heart, and she put her arms around her, with a little resentful, defiant clasp, and said nothing.
"Haven't you anything to confess?" asked Kat, in a moment.
"Come, dear; be honest."
"Not much," said Kittie, slowly. "You know, I always thought Mr. Murray was ever so much older than he is, and I never dreamed of his liking me, or any such thing, and it all seems so odd. But since he came this time, and we have been together so often, why—it all seemed different, you know, though I can't tell just how. To-day, while we were riding, I dropped some flowers out of my hair, and he picked them up, and asked if he might keep them, and—and—that's all," finished Kittie, quite shamefacedly.
"How romantic!" sighed Kat. "He'll say something pretty soon, and I'm very glad. It would be dreadful for one of us to go, and not the other. But it all seems odd, doesn't it, dear?"
So they sat together for a long time, dreaming the dream that comes rosily and sweet to all, and the silent clasp of their arms, and the pressure of their cheeks, laid together in the twilight, expressed the warm love that mutual joy brightened; and into this new experience, as in all that had come to them, they went hand in hand.
After awhile, Kat went down to the parlors, where the young people were, and a very funny thing happened. It was too warm to dance, play games, or, in fact, remain in the house; so they strolled out in the yard, and over the veranda, and once, as Kat sat alone in a big rustic chair, she saw Mr. Murray coming towards her. The light fell through the window, and out on to her face and head, showing a silver butterfly that Pansy had given to Kittie, fastened in her hair; and guided by this, Mr. Murray drew near, and paused at her side, never doubting that she was the one he had been in search of. A few words were sufficient to reveal his mistake to Kat, but some mischievous impulse kept her quiet as to her identity, so they talked on and on, and presently he began to tell of the home he had prepared in the city, and Kat's heart sank with a sudden thump, but what could she say? He went on without giving her chance to utter a word, and just as she was growing cold with apprehension, and hardly hearing what he was telling, he laid his hand on hers that were clasped in her lap, and said very tenderly:
"Will you share it with me, darling? I have hoped and dreamed that you would, and have made it beautiful for your sake. It has been many, many months since the sweet possibility"—but there Kat jumped up, scarlet and ashamed.