And, poor Cyrus! It was quite evident that he was struggling with jealousy whether he were aware of it or not. For a moment I was so angry with both these young chits that I could scarcely bring myself to speak to them. And yet Cyrus ought to have known that one must woo one’s sweetheart if he hopes to win her. But it seemed to me doubtful whether Cyrus would know how, while it was as natural to Dave to be gallant as to be stroke-oar in the college crew.
“That boy will always be pretty-spoken, whatever else he ain’t,” had been Loveday’s dictum before he had reached a decade.
“Why, has Mr. Dill gone already!” exclaimed Alice Yorke with a pretty little start and a widening of her bright eyes.
“He hasn’t time to spend in idleness and nonsense,” I said so harshly that they both colored. I was ashamed of myself but I was not going to have Alice Yorke fancy that he had been vexed by her foolish trifling.
I caught sight of a glimmer of Estelle’s light blue dress, among the orchard trees and I went to meet her. There had been Dave’s favorite pudding for dessert and she was bringing him some of it.
“Well, was Dave delighted to know that you had discovered that he wasn’t a sneak after all?” she said sarcastically. These things had worn on Estelle; that was undeniable.
“He—he wouldn’t listen to me,” I faltered, meekly. “And, Estelle, I don’t dare to show him this! I’m afraid he will think I was meddling.” And I poured into her ears all the little tale of the design.
“Ned Carruthers! It wouldn’t be strange if Dave thought you were meddling,” she exclaimed, even while her eyes shone with pride and delight. “I don’t know how you could talk to him about it, Bathsheba! It’s the hardest of anything to forgive people for having been mean.”
“He thought Dave was a hypocrite; he had his provocations,” I retorted. “And it was well that I could forgive him sufficiently to talk to him about the design since he is really repentant and anxious to do all that he can for Dave, and he is in a position to have influence with Mr. Salter.”
“Dave doesn’t need influence; his drawings can stand on their own merits,” she answered obstinately. But I felt sure that she was trying to maintain a righteous indignation against young Carruthers and that she really knew that sufficient outside influence to secure the prompt examination of one’s work is not a bad thing. And then she suddenly drew a long, deep breath.