“After all, after all,” the girl was thinking. “I believe he cares for me a little—not so much as he loves her, but a little, a little, and I love him.”
Connie smiled on them as they came in together. It was as she liked to see them. She noticed the deep colouring in the girl’s cheeks, the new brightness in her eyes, and Connie, who always acted on generous impulses, kissed her.
“What’s that for?” Johnny cried. “Haven’t you one for me too, Con?”
“Always, always,” she said. She put her arms about his neck and hugged him.
It seemed as if the clouds that had so long overcast this little house had drifted away this calm Sabbath day, and the sun was shining down gloriously on them.
For some time Connie had been quietly watching the girl. There came back into her memory a promise given long ago. “I will do nothing, nothing, Con, unless I tell you first.”
She knew Ellice for the soul of honour; she had felt safe, and now she was waiting.
“Well, Ellice, have you anything to say to me?” Johnny was gone after dinner to his tiny study to wrestle with letters and figures that he abhorred.
“Yes,” Ellice said.
“I thought you had—well?”