“I said, ‘Come if you wish.’”
“And I did wish. You give me a cold reception.”
“I could not take you to the house. Questions would be asked which I could not answer without prevarication.”
“Your conscience is growing to have a certain virgin tenderness,” he said, in a low, melodious voice.
“I have no conscience. I spoke one deliberate lie this evening. I said the man who had come looked rough, we had best not have him in the house; therefore I brought him here. It was a deliberate lie, and I hate lies. I tell them if I must, but they hurt me.”
“Well, you do not tell lies to yourself, at all events. You are candid, so far.”
She interrupted him.
“You got my short letter?”
“Yes; that is why I come. You sent a very foolish reply; you must take it back. Who is this fellow you talk of marrying?”
“A young farmer.”