Yet all the same it’s true, I distinctly heard him say he loved her better than anything on earth.  I don’t think he could have meant better than Rapscallion; he’s awfully fond of that horse.  Probably he forgot Rapscallion for the moment.  Anyhow, Peg was sniffling and saying how she was going back to college—­it was the Easter vacation—­and how she was only a stupid girl and he would forget her.  And he said he’d never forget her one minute all his life—­which was silly, for I’ve often forgotten really important things.  Once I forgot to stop at Lorraine’s for a tin of hot gingerbread she’d had Sally make for me to entirely eat by myself, and Alice got it and devoured it all up, the pig!  Anyway, Dr. Denbigh said that, and then Peggy sniffled some more, and I heard him ask her: 

“What is it, dear?”

“Dear,” your grandmother.  She said, then, why wouldn’t he let her be engaged to him like anybody else, and it was hard on a girl to have to beg a man to be engaged, and then he laughed a little and they didn’t either of them say anything for a while, but there were soft, rustling sounds—­a trout was after my bait, so I didn’t listen carefully.  When I noticed again, Dr. Denbigh was saying how he was years and years older, and it was his duty to take care of her and not allow her to make a mistake that might ruin her life, and he wouldn’t let her hurry into a thing she couldn’t get out of, and a lot more.  Peg said that forty wasn’t old, and he was young enough for her, and she was certain, certain—­I don’t know what she was certain of, but she was horribly obstinate about it.

And then Dr. Denbigh said:  “If I only dared let you, dear—­if I only dared.”

And something about if she felt the same in two years, or a year, or something—­I can’t remember all that truck—­and they said the same thing over a lot.  I heard him murmur: 

“Call me Jack, just once.”

And she murmured back, as if it was a stunt, “Jack”—­and then rustlings.  I’d call him Jack all the afternoon if he liked.

Then, after another of those still games, Peggy said, “Ow!” as if somebody’d pinched her, and that seemed such a queer remark that I stood up to see what they were up to.  Getting to my feet I swung the line around and the bait flopped up the bank and hit Peg square in the mouth—­I give you my word I didn’t mean to, but it was awfully funny!  My! didn’t she squeal bloody murder?  That’s what makes a person despise Peggy.  She’s no sort of sport.  Another time I remember I had some worms in an envelope, and I happened to feel them in my pocket, so I pulled out one and slid it down the back of her neck, and you’d have thought I’d done something awful.  She yelped and wriggled and cried—­she did—­she actually cried.  And you wouldn’t believe what she finished up by doing—­she went and took a bath!  A whole bath—­when she didn’t have to!  She can’t see a joke at all.  Now Alice is a horrid meddler—­she and Maria.  Yet Alice is a sport, and takes her medicine.  I’ve seen that girl with a beetle in her hair, which I put there, keep her teeth shut and not make a sound—­only a low gurgle—­until she’d got him and slung him out of the window.  Then she lammed me, I tell you—­I respected her for it too—­but she couldn’t now, I’m stronger.