“Letty, dear,” solemnly, “have I ever tried to force my children’s confidence? Everything they tell me is of their own free will,”—and indeed, it was extremely little.
The tea-bell freed the couple in the parlour from the infliction of Luke’s scrutiny. Jinny ignored her chum throughout tea, by way of punishment for his defection. And when the last rock-cake had been consumed, declared she had to be going: “I’ve got piles of arith., and a four-page comp. for Monday, and Ma won’t let me work Sundays because of the old tabby-cats in the house and what they’ll say. Good-bye, Mrs. J. I’ve had a scrumptious tea.”
Luke followed her into the hall.
“You’d better run along back to the parlour,” she informed him crushingly.
“Why?”
“You seem to find the Levi man better company than me.”
“Jinny, I like you better than any other girl”; he fumbled for her hand. Since months he had tried to substitute ‘love’ for ‘like,’ but somehow Jinny made it so hard for a fellow; she was always laughing or snubbing him.
“Thanks; I’m honoured.”
Luke kicked the umbrella-stand. “One must be polite—the Guvnor’s such a beast to him—and he’s going to be my brother-in-law.... I don’t care a hang about him, really.”
“Who would you like best for Letty’s sister-in-law?” Jinny demanded, casually swinging her bulging satchel of books.