She had begun her meal, when
there came and sat down by her a young woman of very different
appearance--our friend, Miss Peckover. They were old
acquaintances; but when we first saw them together it would have
been difficult to imagine that they would ever sit and converse as
at present, apparently in all friendliness. Strange to say, it was
Clem who, during the past three years, had been the active one in
seeking to obliterate disagreeable memories. The younger girl had
never repelled her, but was long in overcoming the dread excited by
Clem's proximity. Even now she never looked straight into Miss
Peckover's face, as she did when speaking with others; there was
reserve in her manner, reserve unmistakable, though clothed with her
pleasant smile and amiable voice.
'I've got something to tell you, Jane,' Clem began, in a tone
inaudible to those who were sitting near. 'Something as'll surprise
you.'
'What is it, I wonder?'
'You must swear you won't tell nobody.'
Jane nodded. Then the other brought her head a little nearer, and
whispered:
'I'm goin' to be married!'
'Are you really?'
'In a week. Who do you think it is? Somebody as you know of, but if
you guessed till next Christmas you'd never come right.
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