“That—that he is fond of Sally,” stammered Sarah.
“Why, everybody knows that,” returned Dan; “the very gulls must be aware of it by this time, unless they are geese.”
“Yes, of course,” said the poor girl, blushing crimson at the thought of having been led almost to betray her friend’s confidences.
“Well, then,” continued Dan, “Charlie and Sall bein’ so fond o’ one another—”
“I did not say that Sally was fond of Charlie,” interrupted Sarah, quickly.
“Oh dear no!” said Dan, with deep solemnity; “of course you didn’t; nevertheless I know it, and it wouldn’t surprise me much if something came of it—a wedding, for instance.”
Sarah, being afraid to commit herself in some way if she opened her lips, said nothing, but gazed intently at the ground as they walked slowly among the sweet-scented shrubs.
“But there’s one o’ the boys that wants to marry you, Sarah Quintal, and it is for him I want to put in a good word to-day.”
A flutter of surprise, mingled with dismay at her heart, tended still further to confuse the poor girl. Not knowing what to say, she stammered, “Indeed! Who can it—it—” and stopped short.
“They sometimes call him Dan,” said the youth, suddenly grasping Sarah’s hand and passing an arm round her waist, “but his full name is Daniel McCoy.”