Christopher having served her, stood by the window. "It's a bad storm."
"I like it."
"Well, so do I," said Christopher, "if there's somebody I like to sit by my fire."
Sally looked up at him, "Suppose you knew that for years and years somebody was going to sit by your fire that you didn't like? What would you do?"
Christopher stood with his hands on his hips, considering it seriously, "I'd ask the good Lord to deliver me—"
Sally, out of a long silence, said, in a little voice, "Do you think the good Lord would—listen?"
"Sure thing. . . ."
"Oh," said Sally, and that was all. She finished her chocolate, gave Columbus a farewell hug, and was off in the rain, unheeding Christopher's advice that she'd better wait until the downpour lessened.
Galloping back, her head down against the beating storm, Christopher's words seemed to beat an echo to the horse's hoofs:
"I'd ask . . . the good Lord . . . to deliver me. . . ."
Did people really pray for things and get them. Did they? Crispin had told her once to pray for a good husband. If she gave up Neale, would the good Lord let her marry Merry?
But Merry didn't want her. He wanted Hildegarde. Life was like that. One had to take what one could get. Not what one wanted.
When she got back to Round Hill she found a note from Merry. He said in it practically what he had said
