Edith’s sense of justice dictated her answer. “No,” she found herself unexpectedly admitting. “If I had to tramp the roads with him, I’d be bored to death.”
“I think he knew that, Miss Towne. He told me that if he didn’t marry you, your heart wouldn’t be broken. That it would just hurt your pride.”
Edith had a moment of hysterical mirth. How they had talked her over. Her lover—and her uncle’s stenographer! What a tragedy it had been! And what a comedy!
She leaned forward a little, locking her fingers about her knees. “I wish you’d tell me all about it.”
“I don’t know just what to tell. Except that we’ve been writing to each other. I said that we must wait three months. It didn’t seem fair to you to have him marry too soon.”
Uncle Fred’s stenographer sorry for her! “Go on,” Edith said, tensely.
So Lucy told the simple story. And in telling it showed herself so naive, so steadfast, that Edith was aware of an increasing respect for the woman who had taken her place in the heart of her lover. She perceived that Lucy had come to this interview in no spirit of triumph. She had dreaded it, but had felt it her duty. “I thought it would be easier for you if you knew it before other people did.”
Edith’s forehead was knitted in a slight frown. “The whole thing has been most unpleasant,” she said. “When are you going to marry him?”
“I told him on St. Valentine’s day. It seemed—romantic.”
Romance and Del! Edith had a sudden illumination. Why, this was what he had wanted, and she had given him none of it! She had laughed at him—been his good comrade. Little Lucy adored him—and had set St. Valentine’s day for the wedding!