“But, Sue, you may get awfully tired of it!”

“Everybody gets awfully tired of everything!” sang Susan, and caught his hand for a last breathless run into camp.

At supper they avoided each other’s eyes, and assumed an air of innocence and gaiety.  But in spite of this, or because of it, the meal moved in an unnatural atmosphere, and everyone present was conscious of a sense of suspense, of impending news.

“Betts dear, do listen!—­the salt,” said Mrs. Carroll.  “You’ve given me the spoons and the butter twice!  Tell me about to-day,” she added, in a desperate effort to start conversation.  “What happened?”

But Jimmy choked at this, Betsey succumbed to helpless giggling, and even Philip reddened with suppressed laughter.

“Don’t, Betts!” Anna reproached her.

“You’re just as bad yourself!” sputtered Betsey, indignantly.

“I?” Anna turned virtuous, outraged eyes upon her junior, met Susan’s look for a quivering second, and buried her flushed and laughing face in her napkin.

“I think you’re all crazy!” Susan said calmly.

“She’s blushing!” announced Jimmy.

“Cut it out now, kid,” Billy growled.  “It’s none of your business!”

“What’s none of his business?” carroled Betsey, and a moment later joyous laughter and noise broke out,—­Philip was shaking William’s hand, the girls were kissing Susan, Mrs. Carroll was laughing through tears.  Nobody had been told the great news, but everybody knew it.

Presently Susan sat in Mrs. Carroll’s lap, and they all talked of the engagement; who had suspected it, who had been surprised, what Anna had noticed, what had aroused Jimmy’s suspicions.  Billy was very talkative but Susan strangely quiet to-night.

It seemed to make it less sacred, somehow, this open laughter and chatter about it.  Why she had promised Billy but a few hours ago, and here he was threatening never to ask Betts to “our house,” unless she behaved herself, and kissing Anna with the hilarious assurance that his real reason for “taking” Susan was because she, Anna, wouldn’t have him!  No man who really loved a woman could speak like that to another on the very night of his engagement, thought Susan.  A great coldness seized her heart, and pity for herself possessed her.  She sat next to Mrs. Carroll at the camp-fire, and refused Billy even the little liberty of keeping his fingers over hers.  No liberties to-night!

And later, tucked by Mrs. Carroll’s motherly hands into her little camp bed on the porch, she lay awake, sick at heart.  Far from loving Billy Oliver, she almost disliked him!  She did not want to be engaged this way, she wanted, at this time of all times in her life, to be treated with dignity, to be idolized, to have her every breath watched.  How she had cheapened everything by letting him blurt out the news this way!  And now, how could she in dignity draw back—–­