“Ready?” his sister looked at him, questioningly. “Ready for what?” she repeated, with sudden suspicion. “Steve, do you know what Mr. Sylvester wishes to see us about?”
Her brother colored and seemed a bit disconcerted. “How should I know?” he muttered.
“Is it something new about the estate or that man who owns it? You do know something! I can see it in your face. What is it?”
“Nothing. How should I know what it is?”
“But you do. I believe you do. Look at me! What does Mr. Sylvester want of us?”
The boy hesitated; then whirled and faced her. “See here, Caro,” he said, “maybe I do know something—or I can guess. Now, whatever happens, you’ve got to be a sensible girl. Certain things have to be dealt with in a practical way, and we’re practical people. Sentiment—and pride—and all that sort of stuff, are well enough, but business is business and an engagement is an engagement. Now it’s right up to you and—”
“Steve, what are you talking about?”
“That’s all right. I know what I’m talking about. Somebody in the family must use common sense, and when it comes to holding a person to a promise, then—Confound it, Sis, we can’t starve, can we?”
“What do you mean?” She rose and advanced toward him. “What do you mean by a promise? What have you been doing?”
His confusion increased. He avoided her eyes and moved sullenly toward the other side of the table.