A deeper color spread slowly to her cheeks.
“Why, no; I’m not afraid. I was foolish, I suppose,” Sue added half audibly, with lowered eyelids, clasping her hands nervously in her lap.
The dusk of evening came on apace; they forgot the chatter in the old room.
Joe leaned toward her.
“I wish we could be friends,” said he, regarding her small, nervous hands longingly. “Real friends, I mean—that is, if you’ll trust me?” She glanced up at him quickly, her gaze as quickly reverting to her lap. Then, with a forced little shrug of her pretty shoulders:
“Why, yes; of course I’ll trust you, Mr. Grimsby.”
Impulsively he touched her warm little hand.
“Honest?” he smiled, thrilled by that touch from his head to his feet. “Honest Injun? Cross your heart?”
“I said I would,” she said evenly.
Their eyes met—his with a happy gleam in them, hers with a timid, tender look, her heart beating until she felt its throb in her ears.