“No, she stays at Old Place until her knight departs. He had better go soon or I shall meet him in the woods. Alone. At midnight. What is he trifling with her for? Does he intend to marry her?”
Was this his thorn? Could he love a shallow girl like Sue Greyson?
“Ought we to talk about her?” she asked gently.
“You are her friend. You are older than she is. She will not listen to me. Her father takes no more care of her than he does of you.”
“She has not cared for me lately.”
“She does care for you. You must pull her through this. Towne made a fool of a girl I know—she is married, though; it didn’t smash her affections very deep; married rich, too. But it will be a pity for Sue to have a heartache all for nix; she is a guileless piece; I would be sorry for her to have a disappointment.”
“Motherless children are always taken care of,” she answered trying to speak lightly.
In the twilight she sat alone at the parlor grate; it was beginning to rain; through the mist the lights in kitchen and parlor opposite were gleaming; Dinah and Bridget were laughing in the basement; a quick, hard cough, then her father’s voice in a concerned tone sounded through the stillness.
Why was she feeling lonely and as if her heart would break, unless somebody should come, or unless somebody gave her something, or unless something happened? In story-books, when one was in such a mood, in a misty twilight something always happened.
Why were there not such strong helpers in her life as women in books always found? Compared with the grand, good, winning lover in books, what were the men she knew? Why, Dr. Lake was frivolous, Felix Harrison weak, Gus Hammerton practical and pedantic, and Mr. Towne heartless and stupid!