“Hush!” warned Barbara, wincing. “Don’t let Jimmy hear you speak of my going.”
“Pooh!” said David; “the little beggar knows all about it. Did you suppose he didn’t?”
Barbara looked at him indignantly.
“Did you tell him?”
“No; but I daresay the Cottle person has. Besides, the auction is town talk. Everybody is wondering, and some are saying—— Do you want me to tell you what old Hewett asked me to-night?”
Barbara’s face, burning with shamed crimson, was turned away from his.
“No,” she said frigidly. “I don’t want to hear it.”
David passed his fingers through his thick, curling hair, with an impatient gesture.
“I am sorry I spoke of it, Barbara,” he said seriously; “but the fact is, whether you know it or not, you’ve been placed in a very unpleasant position.”
He waited for her to speak; but she was obstinately silent, her eyes fixed on Jimmy, who was helping Peg load a wheelbarrow with the dried grass left in the wake of the lawnmower.