"Yes, Elmer, you may as well say it. It was Lawrence."
Elmer could think of nothing to say, and wisely said nothing. After a brief pause Alma said slowly, as if talking to herself:
"It was a cruel thing to do."
"I did not mean to be cruel."
"Oh, my dear—cousin, don't think of it in that way. It was Lawrence who was so cruel."
"Yes. It was not very gentlemanly; but perhaps he does not care for—for this person."
"He does. The picture was only confirmation of what I had heard before. I've done with him," she added in a sort of suppressed desperation. "I'm going to break our engagement this very night. I know it will nearly break my heart, and father will be very angry; but, Elmer, come nearer; let me tell you about it. I'm afraid of him. He has such an evil eye, and you remember the chimney—the day you came—I thought he would kill you, he was so angry."
Evidently she was in sore trouble. Even her language was marked by doubt and difficulty.
"Advise me, Elmer. Tell me what to do. I hardly know which way to turn, and I'm so lonely. Father is busy every day, and I can't talk to him. And Lawrence—I dare not trust him."
Here she began to cry softly, and hid her face in her handkerchief. The son of science was perplexed. What should he do or say? All this was new to him. That a young and pretty girl should appeal to him with such earnestness disconcerted him, and he did not know how to act. A problem in triangulation or knotty question in physics would have charmed him and braced him up for any work. This was so new and so peculiar that he said, "Don't cry, cousin," and repented it at once as a silly speech.