“I'd rather talk face to face than with lightning,” I said. “Why can't I go and see you?”
“Not now. Wait a little while,” she answered.
“Why?”
“Well, it's a long story. There's a young man who came here from New York last summer. He's a friend of father's, and knows you. Since they met, my father has asked me not to see or write to you until he could get some information.”
“Who is the young man?”
“Mr. Bonaparte Squares.”
“Oh, it's Bony Squares!” I clicked. “I know him very well.”
“And I know him better than I ever wished to,” she went on. “He has tried to make love to me.”
“Tried to make love to you!” I exclaimed, with indignation. “I cannot believe it. Your father had better get some information about him. Tell him to write to the postmaster of Heartsdale. Any one here or at Mill Pond could tell him all about Bony. He couldn't marry you!”
There was a pause of two or three seconds, and then the sounder answered, timidly: