"
"No, Amy, I am not," he said, with an impetuosity very unusual in him. "You
should know me better than even to imagine such a thing."
Before he could say anything more, Burt's mellow voice rang out, "Amy!"
"Oh, I half forgot; I promised to take a drive with Burt this evening.
Forgive me, Webb," she added, gently, "I only spoke in sport. I do know you
too well to imagine I am unwelcome here. No one ever had a kinder or more
patient brother than you have been to me;" and she clasped her hands upon
his arm, and looked up into his face with frank affection.
His arm trembled under her touch, and he felt that he must be alone. In his
usual quiet tones, however, he was able to say: "You, rather, must forgive
me that I spoke so hastily. No; I'm not ill, but very tired. A good night's
rest will bring me around. Go and enjoy your drive to the utmost."
"Webb, you work too hard," she said, earnestly. "But Burt is calling--"
"Yes; do not keep him waiting; and think of me," he added, laughing, "as
too weary for moonlight, roses, or anything but prosaic sleep. June is all
very well, but it brings a pile of work to a fellow like me."
"Oh, Webb, what a clodhopper you're trying to make yourself out to be!
Well, 'Sleep, sleep'--I can't think of the rest of the quotation. Good-by.
Yes, I'm coming!" rang out her clear voice; and, with a smiling glance
backward, she hastened away.
From the shrubbery he watched her pass up the wide garden path, the
moonlight giving an ethereal beauty to her slight form with its white,
close drapery.
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