"Shut up," said David. "You are a silly. Hardy thinks no more of Louisa than he does of you."
"Well, let us make for the pond and leave them alone," said Harry. "I do believe the ice will bear in a day or two."
The boys rushed off to the right, and Alison and Jim walked down the broad center path. Alison's heart was beating wildly. The love which she was trying to slay rose up like a giant in her heart.
"But I won't show it," thought the proud girl to herself. "He shall never, never think that I fret because he has thrown me over for another. If, loving me, he could care for Louisa, he is not my sort. No, I won't fret, no, I won't; I'll show him that I don't care."
"I'm glad I met you," said Jim. Jim was a very proud fellow, too, in his own way. Alison's queer letter had pierced him to the quick. Not having the faintest clew to her reason for writing it, he was feeling justly very angry.
"I didn't come in yesterday," he continued, "when you made it so plain that you didn't want me; but, all the same, I felt that we must talk this matter out."
"There's nothing to talk out," said Alison. "You knew my mind when you got that letter, and that's about all I've got to say."
"That letter was a lie from first to last," said Jim boldly.
Alison turned and looked full at him. Her face was white. Her big blue eyes blazed and looked dark.
"The letter was true," she said. "Girls can't help being contrary now and then. I don't want to see you again, I don't want to have anything to do with you. I made a mistake when I said I loved you. I found out just in time that I didn't. It was a right good thing I found it out before we was wed, instead of afterwards; I did, and we are safe, and you can give yourself, heart and soul, with a clear conscience, to another."