“Oh!” says Belle, and she skated on in silence.
“You came down with Alonzo Ringdove?” Bill asked, suddenly, aware of another pang after a moment of peace.
“He came with me and his sisters,” she replied.
Yes; poor Ringdove had dressed himself in his shiniest black, put on his brightest patent-leather boots, with his new swan-necked skates newly strapped over them, and wore his new dove-colored overcoat with the long skirts, on purpose to be lovely in the eyes of Belle on this occasion. Alas, in vain!
“Mr. Ringdove is a great friend of yours, isn’t he?”
“If you ever came to see me now, you would know who my friends are, Mr. Tarbox.”
“Would you be my friend again, if I came, Miss Belle?”
“Again? I have always been so,—always, Bill.”
“Well, then, something more than my friend,—now that I am trying to be worthy of more, Belle?”
“What more can I be?” she said, softly.