He had gone down on one knee to pick up the fallen books, and he looked up into her face with an expression which seemed to Freda most touching.
“I am not crying, Mr. Heritage,” she said, trying to be very dignified; “and I quite understand that you were not so foolish as to say that I had made a pleasant impression on you.”
Dick dropped the books, and looked up at her with curiosity, compassion, and a little admiration. For although her eyes and nose were red with crying, she looked rather pretty as well as very pitiful.
“Oh,” he said, laughing with some embarrassment, “it’s not fair to put it like that now, is it?”
“That is all that your cousin said to me about you.”
“No! Really? He told me that he said, implied rather, that I was making up to you, wanted you to marry me, in fact.”
Freda blushed crimson.
“He never said anything like that to me,” she said, “if he had, I should have known it was not true.”
Dick sprang up eagerly.
“Yes, you would, wouldn’t you? You would have known it was impossible such an idea should enter my head!”