“How do you know?” asks I, none too civil, for I was downright savage with myself and every one else all round.
“She told me so,” answered Gwen, as glib as an eel.
“I didn’t see her speak to you,” says I; nor did I, indeed.
“She complained of it this afternoon,” remarked Gwen.
I didn’t say no more. I was out of temper and out of sorts.
“Don’t be angry with Rhoda!” whispers Gwen, quite kindly like. “She’s as true as steel!”
My lads, them words were designed to play me like a fish with a bait; but they sounded so soft and consoling as to make me feel ashamed for my rudeness to this girl.
“Thank’ee, Gwen!” says I. “You’re a good sort! I did hope to have told Rhoda of my luck to-night. But ’tain’t to be, and I must just wait till to-morrow!”
“The news will do her a power of good,” whispers Gwen, quite confidential. “Yes, indeed. David wanted to have her, but she won’t wed aught but Hugh Anwyl; and when you’ve got your money, you know, her father will give his consent.”
Now, you’d say, any man Jack of you, that these were fair and, to use a figure of speech, sisterly words. By George, lads! when I heard them, I caught hold of her hand and shook it hearty. It seemed to me that she was handling me better than I handled her.