“Both are married. One has four children, who walk five kilometres to school every day of their lives. The other has a son, of course in America. He is a wood-carver, and hopes by the sale of his work to lay by enough to take him to Chicago.”
Anne’s eyes sparkled.
“Tell him I will buy a great deal. As soon as I meet my money again,” she added, laughing. “Am I not to be allowed to assist?”
“I have nothing to do with your purchases,” Anne said quietly. “I dare say you want something for your friends at home. Have you a great many?”
Wareham blurted out—“I have no greater friend than Hugh Forbes.” Why he said it he could not tell. He had been forcing himself ever since they started to keep Hugh’s image in mind, and his name leapt suddenly to his lips. Anne did not look discomposed.
“He is a very good fellow,” she said, after a momentary hesitation.
“Yet you would not marry him?”
“It has puzzled you? It puzzled no one else. Blanche Martyn will tell you she knew how it must be from the first.”
“Why?” asked Wareham, leaning forward with his arms on his knees, and staring at the bottom of the boat.
“You should ask her, not me. The accused is not bound to criminate herself.”