"You do care, don't you, Milly?" he asked, with a boy's frank ardor.
"You want me to come again?"
All her own delight in youth and the warm naturalness of life had
rushed back upon her.
"Yes," she answered eagerly. "I'll tell you the truth. I always did
tell you the truth. I do want you to come."
"But you don't want me to-night!" He lifted his brows, pursing his lips
whimsically; and Amelia laughed.
"No," said she, with a little defiant movement of her own crisp head,
"I don't know as I do want you to-night!"
Laurie shook himself into his coat. "Well," he said, on his way to the
door, "I'll be round Saturday, whether or no. And Milly," he added
significantly, his hand on the latch, "you've got to like me then!"
Amelia laughed. "I guess there won't be no trouble!" she called after
him daringly.
She stood there in the biting wind, while he uncovered the horse and
drove away. Then she went shaking back to her fire; but it was not
altogether from cold. The sense of the consistency of love and youth,
the fine justice with which nature was paying an old debt, had raised
her to a stature above her own. She stood there under the mantel, and
held by it while she trembled. For the first time, her husband had gone
utterly out of her life.
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