"I wanted to ask you if pap—I mean, if father went to Atlanta to see you," she said, her eyes still bent upon the ground.
"He said he wanted to see me on business," Woodward replied.
"Did he say anything about me?"
"Not that I remember. He never said anything about his business even," Woodward went on. "I told him about some of my little troubles, and when he found I was coming back here, he seemed to forget all about his own business. I suppose he saw that I wouldn't be much interested in anybody else's business but my own just then." Sis lifted her head and looked steadily at Woodward. A little flush appeared in her cheeks, and mounted to her forehead, and then died away.
"Pap doesn't understand—I mean he doesn't understand everything, and I was afraid he had——Why do you look at me so?" she exclaimed, stopping short, and blushing furiously.
"I ask your pardon," said the young man; "I was trying to catch your meaning. You say you were afraid your father——"
"Oh, I am not afraid now. Don't you think the weather is nice?"
Woodward was a little puzzled, but he was not embarrassed. He swung himself off his horse and stood beside her.
"I told your father," he said, drawing very near to the puzzling creature that had so wilfully eluded him—"I told your father that I was coming up here to ask his daughter to marry me. What does the daughter say?"
She looked up in his face. The earnestness she saw there dazzled and conquered her. Her head drooped lower, and she clasped her hands together. He changed his tactics.