"It was Harold who told me you were here," said May.
"Yes; I sent him to fetch you," answered Owen. Then he added ungratefully, "They might as well be sent off now, mightn't they?"
"Oh, let them stay. There are no secrets now. At least, I hope you will agree with me that we ought to say out the truth. Come here, Harold and Wilfred. You must love Owen, for my sake."
Harold advanced and stood in front of them.
"I say," he said, with a curious look at Owen, "I'm going to marry May when I grow up."
"Are you? That's a little awkward."
"Why is it a little awkward?" demanded Harold gravely.
"Well, because, to tell the truth, I was rather hoping to marry her myself."
The child had evidently intended to draw forth this explicit statement, for he looked full at Owen, and said doggedly, "I just thought you were!" Then he suddenly turned away and hid his face on May's lap. Upon which Wilfred, conscious of a cloud in the air, began to cry softly.
"Don't be angry with them, poor little fellows!" said May, checking some manifestation of impatience on Owen's part. Then she coaxed the children, and soothed them, and the childish emotion, brief though poignant, soon passed. And at length Harold lifted up his face, and, after a short struggle, said—