“Why, that, you know, is to—well, they always do that.”
“Everybody?”
“Why, yes, everybody that’s in love with each other. Do you remember what I wrote on the slate?”
“Ye—yes.”
“What was it?”
“I shan’t tell you.”
“Shall I tell you ?”
“Ye—yes—but some other time.”
“No, now.”
“No, not now—tomorrow.”
“Oh, no, now . Please, Becky—I’ll whisper it, I’ll whisper it ever so easy.”
Becky hesitating, Tom took silence for consent, and passed his arm about her waist and whispered the tale ever so softly, with his mouth close to her ear. And then he added:
“Now you whisper it to me—just the same.”
She resisted, for a while, and then said:
“You turn your face away so you can’t see, and then I will. But you mustn’t ever tell anybody— will you, Tom? Now you won’t, will you?”
“No, indeed, indeed I won’t. Now, Becky.”
He turned his face away. She bent timidly around till her breath stirred his curls and whispered, “I—love—you!”