“Then you will, won’t you?”
Lulu considered a moment. The temptation to yield was very strong, but the more she reflected, the deeper grew her conviction that to do so would be disobedience; disobedience to the kindest, dearest, most indulgent of fathers; one who never denied her any pleasure that he deemed good for her.
“Come now, do say you will,” urged Edith, coaxingly. “Even if your father should be a little vexed at first, he will soon forgive you.”
“Perhaps so; but it would be a long time before I could forgive myself,” Lulu said, then added firmly, “No, Edith, I thank you very much for your invitation, but I can’t go. I am quite sure it would be disobedience, and how could I be so ungrateful as to so grieve such a father as mine? I couldn’t bear to see the sorry look that would come into his eyes when he heard of it.”
“Oh, we won’t tell on you,” Edith said laughingly.
Lulu looked indignant at that. “I should tell on myself,” she said. “I could never be happy while concealing anything from papa.”
Marian had left them to consult with her mother in regard to her own acceptance of the invitation, and now came back to report a favorable reply. She was much disappointed to hear that Lulu would not go, and joined her entreaties to Edith’s that she would reconsider and accept.
But Lulu was firm, both then and later, when, ready to start on their little expedition, they again urged her to accompany them.
“I think we’ll have a nice time,” Edith said; “it’s just a pleasant walk, winding about a little way among the hills, and there are lovely wild flowers to gather as well as berries. Oh, do change your mind and come along with us!”
“I do wish you would, Lulu,” put in Marian, “I shan’t half enjoy myself without you, and thinking how lonely you’ll be here by yourself.”