Still facts were facts, and there could be no doubt about it that Alice showed a great preference for Tom, and, in spite of the fact that her father and mother were not at all pleased, had allowed him to accompany her home on several occasions.
"What are you going to do, Tom?" asked the girl.
"What am I going to do?" queried Tom. "I don't know that I am going to do anything. What do you mean, Alice?"
"I mean that you must make your choice."
"Choice? What choice?"
"I should not have met you this afternoon," replied Alice Lister quietly, "but for the fact that I want to come to an understanding. I have not been blind, neither have I been deaf, these last few months; a change has come over you, and—and you will have to choose."
Tom knew what she meant well enough, but he pretended to be ignorant.
"What has come over you, Alice? What do you mean? Surely," he went on, "you are not taking any notice of what Emily Bilson said. Just as though a lad can't speak to any lass but his own!"
"Tom," went on the girl quietly, "you know what you told me twelve months ago; you know, too, what my father and mother said when they saw us together; it has not been pleasant for me to listen to people's gossip, especially when I know that most of it is true. I have been very fond of you and I don't deny it; if I hadn't I should not have walked out with you, but I want to tell you this—you have to make your choice this afternoon; either you are going to give up me, or you are going to give up the Thorn and Thistle and all it means."
"You're jealous of Polly Powell," said Tom, with an uneasy laugh.