"Very honorable bankrupts," said he carelessly, "always pay what they can on the dollar."
Presently he strolled away, easy and nonchalant; but inwardly he carried a load of dread and he saw clearly that he must learn where he stood with little Miss Blythe, or not know the feeling of easiness from one day to the next. Better, he thought, to be the recipient of a painful and undeserved ultimatum, than to breakfast, lunch, and dine with uncertainty.
The next day, there being some dozens of people almost in earshot, Mr. Blagdon had an opportunity to speak to little Miss Blythe. Under the circumstances, the last thing she expected was a declaration; they were in full view of everybody; anybody might stroll up and interrupt. So what Mr. Blagdon had to say came to her with something the effect of sudden thunder from a clear sky.
"Phyllis," said he, "you have been looking about you since you were seventeen. Will I do?"
"Oh, Bob!" she protested.
"I have tried to do," said he, not without a fine ring of manliness. "Have I made good?"
She smiled bravely and looked as nonchalant as possible; but her heart was beating heavily.
"I've liked being good friends—so much," she said. "Don't spoil it."
"I tell her," said he, "that in all the world there is only the one girl—only the one. And she says—Don't spoil it.'"
"Bob——"