“I can’t leave Joan alone. I have written to Jessie, telling her that I shall start in three months. I have said nothing to Joan yet; but, Connie, I can’t leave her alone!”
“Helen, do you think she could care for Johnny enough to become his wife?”
“I believe she is fond of him. I will not say that I think she is desperately in love, but she likes him and trusts him, as she must; and so, Connie, I hope it may come about. Joan will make an ideal wife. He is all a woman could wish and hope for, the truest, dearest, straightest man living, and so—Connie—I hope—”
“I will talk to him to-night, and I will suggest that he comes over to-morrow and puts his fate to the test. I know he loves her.”
And to-day Johnny Everard should be here, if he had listened to his sister’s advice, and that was a thing that Johnny ever did, save in the matter of hops.
There was a look of subdued eagerness, of visible nervousness and uncertainty, about Mr. John Everard that day. And Helen saw it.
“Joan’s in the garden, John,” she said.
“Yes, I—” He fumbled nervously with his hands.
“Helen, I have been talking to Con, at least Con’s been talking to me!”
“Yes, dear?”