"DON'T talk as if you were going to be married, Sammy! It's too awful—you don't know how aunty and I feel about it! Why, darling, we want you to go back with us to New York! Sammy—"
The firm pressure of her aunt's foot against her own stopped her.
"I knew you would feel that way about it, Mary," said Sammy, very quietly, but with blazing cheeks; "but I am of age, and father says that Anthony has as much right to ask for the girl he loves as any other man, and that's all there is to it!"
"You have it all thought out," said Mary, very white; "but, I must say, I am surprised that a sister of mine, and a granddaughter of Judge Peters—a girl who could have EVERYTHING!—is content to marry an ordinary country carpenter! You won't have grandmother's money until you're twenty-one; there's three years that you will have to cook and sweep and get your hands rough, and probably bring up—"
"Mary! MARY!" said Mrs. Bond.
"Well, I don't care!" said Mary, unreproved. "And when she DOES get grandma's money," she grumbled, "what good will it do her?"
"We won't discuss it, if you please, Mary," said little Sammy, with dignity.
There was a silence. Tom lighted a cigarette. They watched the game, Mary fighting tears, Sammy defiant and breathing hard, Mrs. Bond with absent eyes.
"Stunning fellow who made that run!" said the elder woman presently. "Who is he, dear?"
"That's Anthony!" said Sammy, shortly, not to be won.