“I told you the truth and you do not believe me. Don’t you know that the truth is always funnier than a fabrication?”
“If you ask me, perhaps I will come down and stay over a Sunday with you.”
“Will you? Oh, I wish you would! I expect to be homesick. Uncle Knox will be delighted to have you to talk to.”
“I do not think that I shall travel fifty miles on a cold night to talk to him.”
“Then I am sure that you will not to talk to me.”
“You do not know what I would do for you.”
“Yes, I do. Any thing short of martyrdom. Don’t you want to go in and see John Woodstock? He is a pretty boy. There come father and mother. You will excuse me if I do not make my appearance again to-night; you know I have been with Sue and I am so tired.”
“And you will not write to me?”
“What for? You may read Dine’s letters.”
“Tell me true, Tessa,” he answered catching both her hands, “did you refuse to write to Dr. Towne?”