“Yes, I will.” The girl rose languidly. “There are some pretty ones near the gate.”
Galt gallantly assisted her down the steps, and, side by side, they moved along the wide brick walk. Dearing heard his uncle chuckling as the old man peered through the twilight at the couple, who now stood facing each other over a bush of choice roses.
“Mark my words, my boy,” he said, “we may have to wait awhile for it, but as sure as you and I are alive, that pair will some day be more closely related to each other than they are now.”
Dearing shrugged his shoulders and remained silent. “You don't think so?” the General pursued, with the eagerness of a child who has discovered a new toy. “They can't help it. He is much older than she is, but it would be an ideal match. The fellow is actually a great man. There is no curbing his ambition. He has accomplished wonders so far, and there is no telling what his particular genius will ripen into.”
“It may be as you say—in time,” Dearing answered, after a pause; “but I'm afraid it will be years before Madge forgets Fred Walton, and if he should take a notion to come back, as such fellows always do, sooner or later, why, we'd only have our trouble over again.”
“But he told you he was going, never to come back?” the old man said, with a touch of resentment even at the thought.
“Yes; he said positively that his conduct, whatever it was, would keep him from ever showing his face in Stafford again.”
“I have been wondering what he could have done,” General Sylvester said, musingly. “I dropped in on his father the other day for no other reason than that he might let out some hint of the situation, but he never said a word. A big change has certainly come over him. His face was haggard and almost bloodless, and his eyes had a queer, shifting look. I am sure he knows all about the affair, whatever it is.”
“Yes; Fred said the old man knew, and would tell it, but it seems he has not,” Dearing answered.
“Ashamed to let it be known, I guess,” Sylvester said.