“Dear Miss Sartwell,” cried Marsten, with more of his affection for the girl in his voice than he was aware of, “I would not cause you suffering for anything in the world!”
Edna looked at him with wide-open eyes, surprised at his vehemence; then she laughed merrily.
“Why, how serious you are! After all, I shall soon forget about it; and although I won’t make rash promises again, I’ll think it all over, and if——but then, what is the use of ‘ifs’? I shall say to my father tonight that you came to see him, and that I talked with you about the strike.”
“That wouldn’t be true, Miss Sartwell. I didn’t come to see him; I came to see you.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, and you would have to tell him I climbed the wall. You can’t go in for half-truths, you know, and we haven’t talked much about the strike, have we?”
“Ah, but you came for that, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Oh, yes, of course. Nothing else; but you see it wouldn’t do to say anything about this visit to your father unless you told him everything. He would want to know why I came over the wall.”
“And why did you? Iam sure you might just as well have come through the gate. It would have been much easier.”
“I will next time I come. But you know the wall is there, and I came over it; so, without making any promise, I beg of you to say nothing about it to Mr. Sartwell, for he will want all sorts of explanations that I don’t quite see how I can give.”