"Well, it's easy to know that," said William. "Come, let us walk down to Mr. Wright's; I bet a hat we'll find the young gentleman eating a late supper with an excellent appetite. Love doesn't kill, Mrs., Richie—at Sam's age."
She was silent.
William took his lantern out of a closet, and made a somewhat elaborate matter of lighting it, wiping off the oozing oil from the tank, and then shutting the frame with a cheerful snap. It would give her time to get hold of herself, he thought.
"I must apologize to Mrs. King," Helena said. "I was so frightened, that I'm afraid I was abrupt."
"Oh, that's all right," said Martha's husband, easily, and opened the outer door of the office. "Come."
She followed him down the garden path to the street: there in the darkness, broken by the gay zigzag of the lantern across the flagstones of the sidewalk, William found it easier to speak out:
"I hope you don't mind my referring to Sam's being in love, Mrs. Richie? Of course, we have all known that he had lost his heart. Boys will, you know. And, honestly, I think if ever a boy had excuse for—that sort of thing, Sam had. But it has distressed me to have you bothered. And to-night is the climax. For him to talk like a—a jack-donkey, because you very properly snubbed him—you mustn't mind my speaking plainly; I have understood the whole thing from the beginning—makes me mad. You're really worn out. Confound that boy! You are too good, Mrs. Richie, that's the trouble. You let yourself be imposed upon."
Her broken "no—no" seemed to him a lovely humility, and he laughed and shook his head.
"Yes, yes! When I see how gentle women are with us clods of men, I really, I—you know—" William had never since his courting days got into such a bog of sentiment, and he stammered his way out of it by saying that Sam was a perfect nuisance.
When they reached the gateway of the senior warden's place, Mrs. Richie said that she would wait. "I'll stand here in the road; and if you will make some excuse, and find out—"