Richard King would not laugh; the very telling his trouble appeared treason in his eyes.
“I know what is the matter,” ejaculated Roger, suddenly. “You have seen some other woman, or you would succumb.”
“I have seen several other women,” he said, thinking only of one,—the girl with a blind mother in Bensalem.
“Don’t let it drive you away from your work.”
“I think she may go away. I think her mother will send her away. I think I would rather face the cannon’s mouth than be left alone half an hour with that old lady.”
“Does she blame you?”
“Not if she has the common sense I think she has. I am the last man for a girl to fall in love with,” he added, ruefully.
“Don’t count too much on that,” advised Roger, gravely.
At six o’clock Daisy was driven around to the stable to be fed; Judith was taking her molasses cake from the oven and heeded neither voices nor footsteps.
“I told you so,” cried Roger, delighted, coming to the kitchen doorway. “See here, King, and look here, and smell here.”