Now it had come—that proposal, and I did not want it. It filled me with embarrassment and fright. When I got home, I burst into Ada’s room, and gasped:
“It’s done! He did propose! B-but I said—I said—” I hadn’t said anything at all.
“Well?” demanded Ada.
“Why, I’m not going to, that’s all,” I said.
Ada returned to the plaiting of her hair. Then she said sceptically:
“Hm, that’s very queer. Are you sure he proposed, because I heard he was all the time engaged to a girl in Côte des Neiges.”
“Oh, Ada,” I cried, “do you suppose he’s a bigamist? I think I’m fortunate to have escaped from his snare!”
The next day Madame Prefontaine told mama that St. Vidal had said he couldn’t imagine what in the world I had run away suddenly from him like that for, and he said:
“Maybe she had a stomach ache.”