“You don't know them,” he said. “Mrs. Frobisher and her sister, of Portland. I promised to meet them there and go out to Cambridge with them.”
“What will they think?” asked Alice. “It's too amusing.”
“They'll think I didn't come,” said Mavering, with the easy conscience of youth and love; and again they laughed at the ridiculous position together. “I remember now I was to be at the door, and they were to take me up in their carriage. I wonder how long they waited? You put everything else out of my head.”
“Do you think I'll keep it out?” she asked archly.
“Oh yes; there is nothing else but you now.”
The eyes that she dropped, after a glance at him, glistened with tears.
A lump came into his throat. “Do you suppose,” he asked huskily, “that we can ever misunderstand each other again?”
“Never. I see everything clearly now. We shall trust each other implicitly, and at the least thing that isn't clear we can speak. Promise me that you'll speak.”
“I will, Alice. But after this all will be clear. We shall deal with each other as we do with ourselves.”
“Yes; that will be the way.”