"They are so full of gush," said Weston, calmly smoking.

He seemed very indifferent, and to be more listening to the cries of
the dogs working around the hollow than to the affairs of the Hope
family.

"Gush is the word for it," I answered. "Tim never gives me a line
about himself. It's all Edith--Edith--Edith."

"And he is engaged to Miss Smyth?" Weston struck his legging a sharp
blow with his stick. "Confound it!" he cried, "I can't get it out of
my head that our book-keeper's name is Smyth."

"But Tim knows, surely," said I.

"Yes--he must," answered Weston. "Of course I'm wrong. But this Miss
Parker--are they engaged?"

"I can't tell from his last letter," I replied. "It seems that they
must be pretty near it--that's what Mary says, too."

Weston started. Then he rose to his feet very slowly, and wheeling
about looked down on me and smoked.

"Mary says so too," he repeated. "How in the world does Mary know?"

"I read her the letter," said I, apologetically. It did seem wrong to
read Tim's letter that way. From my standpoint it was all right now,
but Weston did not know that, so he whistled softly to himself.