“Is that all?” asked Sophy, blushing to the very eyes at the mention of Philip’s name. “I thought your news was bad.”
“And don’t you really care about it?” said Archie. “Let me look in your eyes, Sophy, and see if you are in earnest—if you really do not care.”
“No, indeed, I do not,” said Sophy, looking in Archie’s face with a smile which spoke entire truth. “I should not care if he had married all the girls in Brookville.”
“You thought differently once,” said Archie, “and I am not sure, Sophy, that you will care to hear an old story of true love over again, after the last talk we had on the subject.”
“Oh, Archie! will you never forget that foolish business!” exclaimed Sophy, bursting into tears.
“People forgive easier than they forget, sometimes,” said Archie; “and I can’t, for my life, forget any thing that concerns you. I may be mistaken, but I think, that, after Philip Greyson, you care more for me than any one else; and now that he is married—”
Sophy answered him with a glance, which told a whole story of penitence, and a world of reproach.
“And if you think I could make you happy, as I would try to do, dear Sophy,” he continued, “why then, perhaps, you wont object to go back to Brookville, and live with me at the ‘old place,’ and take grandfather and grandmother with you, hey, Sophy?”
Poor Sophy was crying so heartily, from a mingled feeling of joy and sorrow, that she could not answer, and so Archie proceeded.
“I have been very fortunate this last year. I suppose, because I had nothing to draw me off from business, and have been able to buy the place from Mr. Wilson. I will put it in good order again, and we shall be so happy there—shan’t we, Sophy, darling? But you don’t speak.”