“Yes, it was nice of him,” replied Goddard; “but, of course, I declined.”
“Oh, Daniel! How could you? It would have been so much more genteel.”
The word jarred upon him. It set the matter in a new light, and made it look very ugly. Besides, it afforded him a not very satisfactory peep into Lizzie’s spiritual horizon.
“You don’t mind my being a working-man, do you, Lizzie?” he asked, with some reproach.
“Oh, never mind. What’s the odds? We needn’t trouble about it. If you like to wear a dirty apron and have your ’ands all covered over with varnish and turpentine, I’m sure I don’t care.”
She tossed her head, and drew a little away from him, so that only his fingers touched her arm.
“I don’t think we need discuss that,” said Goddard stiffly—“unless you think I am not good enough for you. In that case you might as well tell me at once.”
“Now you’re unkind,” said Lizzie.
They walked a few steps in silence, and then Lizzie pulled out a pocket-handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. The young man’s heart softened miraculously. He slid back his arm beneath hers, and drew her a little closer.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Liz. Indeed, I didn’t. What can I do to say I’m sorry?”