He tried to propitiate me with the news that I was to go with them.
"And what do you propose to do with our guest?"
"Take her along. Why not? It's as hard a trip as any I know of, for the distance. Her troubles won't keep her awake, nor spoil her appetite, after the first day's ride."
"I don't know but you are right," I said; "but wild horses couldn't drag her if he goes. And how about the other Harshaw—the one she has promised to marry?"
"She isn't going to marry him, is she? I should think she had gone about far enough, to meet that fellow halfway."
Even if she wasn't going to marry him, I said, it might be civil to tell him so. She had listened to his accuser; she could hardly refuse to listen to him.
"I think, myself, the dear boy has skipped the country," said Tom, who is unblushingly on Cecil's side. "If he hasn't, the letter will fetch him. She will have time to settle his hash before we start."
"Before we start! And when do you propose to start?"—I shouldn't have been surprised if he had said "to-morrow," but he considerately gives me until Thursday.
The truth is, Lou, it is years and years since I have been on one of these wild-goose chases with Tom. I have no more faith in this goose than in any of the other ones, but who wants to be forever playing the part of Wisdom "that cries in the streets and no man regards her"? One might as well be merry over one's folly, to say nothing of the folly of other people. I confess I am dying to go; but of course nothing can be decided till the recreant bridegroom has been heard from.
This morning, when I went to Kitty's door for her letter, I found she hadn't written it. She made me come in while she "confessed," as she said.