Agatha laughed. “My dear, he never gave me any.”
Winifred looked puzzled. “Well,” she persisted, “he certainly bought them, and a fur cap, too. I was in the store when he did it, though I don’t think he noticed me. They were lovely mittens—such a pretty brown fur.”
Just then Mrs. Hastings, unobserved by either of them, looked up and caught Sproatly’s eye. His face became suddenly expressionless, and he looked away.
“When was that?” Agatha asked.
“A fortnight ago, anyway.”
Agatha sat silent, and was glad when Mrs. Hastings asked Winifred a question. She desired no gifts from Gregory, but since he had bought the cap and mittens she wondered what he could have done with them. It was disconcerting to feel that, while he evidently meant to hold her to her promise, he must have given them to somebody else. She had never heard of his acquaintance with Sally Creighton, but it struck her as curious that although the six months’ delay he had granted her had lately expired, he had neither sent her any word nor called at the homestead.
A few minutes later Mrs. Hastings took up a basket of sewing and moved towards the door. Sproatly, who rose as she approached him, drew aside his chair, and she handed the basket to him.
“You can carry it if you like,” she said.
Sproatly took the basket, and followed her into another room, where he sat it down.
“Well?” he said, with a twinkle in his eyes.