He was very late for lunch.
"Everything's cold," wailed his hostess. "Where have you been,
Mr. Jerningham?"
"Only in the orchard--reading."
"And you've missed May!"
"Missed Miss May? How do you mean? I had a long talk with her
this morning--a most interesting talk."
"But you weren't here to say goodby. Now, you don't mean to say
that you forgot that she was leaving by the two o'clock
train? What a man you are!"
"Dear me! To think of my forgetting it!" said the philosopher
shamefacedly.
"She told me to say good-by to you for her."
"She's very kind. I can't forgive myself."
His hostess looked at him for a moment; then she sighed, and
smiled, and sighed again.
"Have you everything you want?" she asked.
"Everything, thank you," said he, sitting down opposite the
cheese, and propping his book (he thought he would just run
through the last chapter again) against the loaf; "everything in
the world that I want, thanks."
His hostess did not tell him that the girl had come in from the
apple orchard, and run hastily upstairs lest her friend should
see what her friend did see in her eyes. So that he had no
suspicion at all that he had received an offer of marriage--and
refused it. And he did not refer to anything of that sort
when he paused once in his reading and exclaimed:
"I'm really sorry I missed Miss May. That was an interesting
case of hers. But I gave the right answer.
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