She gazed on it without
seeing it; her beautiful face was clouded, and her brow was puckered in
a wondering perplexity.
Tinker sat on the ground near her, his chin on his knees, observing her
with a sympathetic understanding which would have disquieted her not a
little, had she not been too busy with her thoughts to notice it.
They were still and silent for a long while, until she sighed; then he
said, with unfeigned sadness, "I'm beginning to think he never will."
"Who never will what?" said Dorothy, awaking from her reflections, and
extremely disconcerted by the exactness with which Tinker's remark
echoed them.
"My father--ask you to marry him," said Tinker succinctly.
"Tinker!" cried Dorothy faintly, and she flushed a very fine red.
"It's all very well to say 'Tinker!' like that," he said, shaking his
head very wisely. "But it's much better to look at things straight,
don't you know? You often get a little forrarder that way."
"You are a dreadful little boy," said Dorothy with conviction.
"Yes, yes; I'm not blind," said Tinker patiently. "But the point is,
that my father is ever so much in love with you, and he'll never ask
you to marry him, because you're too rich. I'm sure I've given you
every chance," he added with a sigh.
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