She got down and looked at me, affrighted, her lips apart, and all panting like a bird newly ta’en in the hand.
“Oh, Duncan,” she cried, “you will help me, won’t you? You see how fond I am of you!”
I saw, exactly, but refrained from telling her that she had a strange way of showing it.
“I would do anything in the world for you,” she added,—“only I want to marry Tom. Ye see? I have always meant to marry Tom! So I can’t help it, can I?”
Her logic had holes in it, but her meaning was starry clear. I thanked her, and said that the best thing we could do was to take counsel together. Which we did there under the shelter of the great holly-bush. So much so that any one passing that way might have taken us for foolish lovers, instead of two people plotting how to get rid the one of the other.
What helped the illusion greatly was that it was a cold day, with every now and then a few driving flecks of snow. I had on a great rough Inverness cloak of my father’s, far too large for me. I asked Charlotte if she were warm. She said she was, but did not persist too much in the statement. So we left Tom Gallaberry out of the question, and set ourselves to arrange what we were to say to our two fathers.
“It will be terrible hard to pretend!” I said, shaking my head.
“It will be a sin—at least, for long!” she answered.
I exposed the situation. There was to be no immediate talk of marriage. Even her father had allowed that I must get through college first. He was to pay my fees as a doctor. I did not want to be a doctor. Besides, I could not take her father’s money——
Here Charlotte turned with so quick a flounce that she nearly landed herself in the little gutter which I had made with my stick to carry off the drainage of the slope behind.