We sat beside the fire where I could watch the clock, but it seemed to me as if the very hands were signaling to her what my plan was. Nichola came in with more coals, which we needed considerably less than more wall paper; but Nichola’s curiosity is her one recreation and almost her one resource, as I sometimes think. I trembled afresh lest she knew all about this, as she did about everything else, and would suddenly face about on the hearth rug and recite the whole matter. She went out in silence, however, and had heard us discuss nothing but the best makes of go-carts, which was the matter that first presented itself to my mind.
“Now, my dear,” said I, when we were alone, “haven’t you thought better of it? Shall we not be married at fifteen past six, after all?”
She shook her head, and the tears started as if by appointment. No; we would not be married that night, it would appear.
“Nor ever?” I put it point-blank. “Evan won’t wait forever, you know.”
She looked forlornly in the fire.
“Not as long as She needs me around.”
“Rubbish!” cried I, at this. “There are a thousand nursemaids as good as you, I dare say—but there is only one wife for Evan.”
“That’s what he keeps a-sayin’,” she cried, and broke down and sobbed.
The hands of the clock pointed rigidly at six. Then and there I cast the die.
“I wish to go for a walk,” I said abruptly. “Will you give me your arm for a block or so?”