“Oh, I knew uncle would give me a lift; and, if not, I should have enjoyed the walk.”
“Tom has been in. She is a dear girl, and very fond of you, John.”
“Yes; she is most kind and cousinly.”
Mrs. Hunter laughed softly. “I feel sure,” she said, significantly, “that there is much more than a cousinly feeling in Tom’s heart for you. But men are proverbially blind, and cannot see what is plainly before them.”
“Mother, what a fanciful little woman you are! I believe you will never give up dreaming dreams until you become a really old lady.”
“That is no dream, John, but very sober reality. And it is the great hope of my life that you should marry Tom. So it is of hers.”
“I never shall, mother; so I trust you will at once disabuse your mind of the thought.”
“Do not say so. You could never have a more loving and capable wife than Tom would make. And—John—cannot you see that that would be the way out of all your difficulties?”
John’s colour rose. “That is a way I cannot take,” he said. “That will never, never be.”
Mrs. Hunter persisted. “It would undo the harm that I have done,” she said, “and make me feel happy and forgiven.”