“To mother. Did you not say she wanted us?”
“Oh, you silly child!” returned Phillis, calmly: “does not mother always want us? One must say what comes uppermost in one’s mind in emergencies of this sort. But for me, you would have stood there for an hour staring at them. Mother is out, as it happens: if you like we will go and meet her. Oh, no, I forgot: Dick is a young man, and it would not be proper. Let us go into the kitchen and help Dorothy.” And away they went.
“Phillis is a trump!” thought Dick, as he shut the door. “I love that girl.” And then he marched up to Nan, and took her hands boldly.
“Now, Nan you owe me amends for this; at least you will say you are sorry.”
“No, Dick,” hanging her head, for she could not face his look, he was so masterful and determined with her, and so unlike the easy Dick of old. “I am not a bit sorry: I would not have spoiled your holiday for worlds.”
“My holiday!—a precious holiday it was without you! A lot of stupid climbing, with grinning idiots for company. Well, never mind that,” his wrathful tone changing in a moment. “So you kept me in the dark just for my own good?”
“Yes, of course, Dick. What an unnecessary question!”
“And you wanted me, Nan?”
“Yes,” very faintly, and there was a little tear-drop on one of Nan’s lashes.
She had been so miserable,—how miserable he would never know; but he need not have asked her that.