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Where The Heart Is
by
“But I shouldn’t have thought you’d care,” she said, with a touch of bitterness. “I should have thought a bovine existence suited you.”
Tots sat up deliberately and put on his hat. His manner betrayed no resentment.
“Really?” he said, with his pleasant smile. “You see, one never knows.”
He reached up a hand to her, and, wondering a little at herself, she gave him her own to assist him to rise.
He got to his feet and stood before her–a loose-limbed, awkward figure that towered above her, making her feel rather small.
“It’s done, then, is it?” he questioned, still keeping her hand in his.
She looked up at him with a nervous laugh. Secretly she was wondering how far he was going to carry the joke.
“Why, of course,” she said. “Can you imagine any sane woman refusing such a magnificent offer?”
Though she suffered that ring of mockery in her voice, she was still thinking as she spoke that it would serve him right if she frightened him well by letting him imagine that she was taking him seriously.
“Good!” said Tots, in the tone of one well pleased with his bargain. “It shall be my business to see that you do not regret it.”
And with the words he drew her hand through his arm, laughing back at her with baffling complacence, and led her down the long lawn with the air of one who had taken possession.
* * * * *
Ruth Carey had been accustomed to fend for herself nearly all her life. Her lot had been cast in a very narrow groove, and it had not contained a single gleam of romance to make it beautiful. The whole of her early girlhood had been spent buried in a country vicarage, utterly out of touch with all the rest of the world. Here she had lived with her grandfather, leading a wild and free existence, wholly independent of society, hewing, as it were, a way for herself in a desert that was very empty and almost unthinkably barren.
Then, when she was eight-and-twenty, a silent, curiously undeveloped woman, the inevitable change had come. Her grandfather had died, and she had gone out at last beyond the sky-line of her desert into the crowded thoroughfares of men.
The gay crowd of cousins with whom she made her home found her unattractive, and took no special pains to discover further. They were all younger than she was, and full to the brim of their own various interests. Of the five girls, three were already engaged, and one was on the eve of marriage.
It was at this juncture that Tots had lounged into Ruth’s consideration and proposed himself as a candidate for her favour.
Tots was a familiar friend of the family. Every one liked him in a tolerant, joking sort of way. No one took him seriously. He was to act as best man at the forthcoming wedding, being a near friend and the host of the bridegroom.
Uniformly kind to man and beast, he had made himself lazily pleasant to the unattractive cousin. Circumstance had thrown them a good deal together, and he had not quarrelled with circumstance. He had acquiesced with a smile.
He made it appear in some fashion absurd that they should not at least be friends, and then, having gained that much, he astounded her by proposing to her. It was a preposterous situation. Having at length freed herself from him, she escaped to the house to review it with burning cheeks. It was nothing but a joke, of course–of course, however he might repudiate the fact, and she resented it with all her might. She would teach him that such jokes were not to be played upon her with impunity. She had no one to defend her from this species of insult. She would defend herself. She would fool him as he sought to fool her.