“Oh, don’t speak about it! And please try to forget that I ever spoke about it. I’m a silly girl no longer.”
“I never thought your ideas and ambitions silly, Kitty.”
“You tried to discourage them,” she said quickly.
“That was my selfishness. I didn’t want you to go away from Dunford. It may not be a very lively place, but it’s safe. Quite a number of people seem to find moderate happiness in the neighbourhood.”
“The happiness of turnips!” she said fiercely, then laughed sadly. “Oh, that wasn’t fair of me,” she went on. “But, you know, before I came to live with my aunt and uncle here, I always looked forward to seeing the world and doing something in it, and my father encouraged me—but there’s no use in going over that again. Some day, perhaps, I’ll resign myself to selling postage stamps, and sending telegrams and—”
“Are your uncle and aunt still set against your going elsewhere? Now that you’re of age they could hardly prevent—”
“Please say no more, Colin. When you come back rich or famous, or both, you will find me here.”
He could not check the words that rushed from his heart. “Kitty, if I could only hope that I might find you here—waiting.”
She did not affect to misunderstand him.
“You don’t really mean that,” she said quietly. “We are too good friends for that sort of thing. Yes, I believe we are good friends, although our friendship has not all been open and straightforward. But I’m glad we’ve had it, Colin, and I don’t want to be sorry afterwards.”