it's up to me—and yet that would quite likely hurt his feelings, make him think I don't trust him not to try to persuade me—oh, what a
mess
! Poor old Tom! And perhaps, just a tiny bit, poor me, because it means I've lost the best friend I've ever had!'
In the end, when they were washing up after breakfast, she decided to ask her mother what she ought to do. But it wasn't easy to get started. Finally she blurted out:
'Mother, last night Tom asked me to marry him.'
Mrs Bellairs' hands stilled momentarily in her task. It was the only sign she gave of her disquiet. From the way in which Lisa had told her this, she knew beyond doubt what the answer had been. But wiser not to say that—or ask any questions. Leave it to the child to say what she wanted to.
'I had to say "no" because I just don't feel that way about him,' Lisa explained earnestly. 'I mean, I'm awfully fond of Tom—how can one help being when he's such a dear? But—but—' she shook her head, doubtful of making her mother understand.
'But when he comes into the room, your heart doesn't start beating more quickly?' Mrs Bellairs suggested. 'And you don't feel that a day when you don't see him is so much wasted time?'
'Yes, that's it, exactly,' Lisa said eagerly. 'How did you know?'
'Darling, I was your age once!' her mother reminded her, and contrived to smile, though she was desperately anxious.
She
knew what young love is like because she had experienced it. But who had taught Lisa to recognize it? Instinct? It might be that, but Mrs Bellairs remembered that look—in her own mind she called it THAT LOOK—in Lisa's eyes the previous morning when she and Tom had come back from their early walk. Or had she imagined it? No, she thought not, because, despite her obviously genuine concern for Tom, Lisa still had that shining look about her.
'If you know for sure that you don't love him in that extra special way, then you were quite right to refuse him,' Mrs Bellairs said firmly.
'That's how I felt about it,' Lisa told her earnestly. 'But what I'm afraid of is whether it's going to make things difficult with Tom living here—'
'Difficult for Tom—or you?' Mrs Bellairs asked.
'Both of us. But principally Tom.'
'Yes, you're quite right, of course,' Mrs Bellairs said briskly. 'The best thing for Tom would be for him not to see you any more—to have a chance of getting over the way he feels about you and perhaps being attracted to some other girl.'
'Yes,' Lisa agreed, but again she felt that little pang at the thought of losing Tom's friendship. 'But since that isn't possible, of course, I'd keep out of Tom's way as much as possible—at least, I would have done, but for one thing. Yesterday morning he asked me if I could take on doing more work for him, and I agreed. Now I'm not sure what I ought to do. Tom really does need more help—he told me that if I didn't feel I could take it on, then he'd have to find someone else.'
'Had he anyone else in mind?' Mrs Bellairs asked quickly, and wasn't sure whether she felt relief or regret when Lisa shook her head. She was silent for a moment and then said slowly: 'Of course, Tom can't leave this house. There's absolutely no other place for miles around that would suit him half so well, and frankly, what he pays us is very helpful. But there is another way out.
You
could go away for a time—get a job somewhere—'
'Oh, but I couldn't do that!' Lisa exclaimed as if the idea of such a thing horrified her.
Mrs Bellair's eyes narrowed slightly.
'Why not, dear? Plenty of girls do leave home and work at something or other. And in your case, you'd have to, because there's so little scope for anything but the dreariest of jobs round here!'
'But, Mother, with your arthritis, how could you do without me?' Lisa asked with an uncomfortable sense of guilt. What she had said was true enough, but she knew quite well that it wasn't her real reason for not wanting to leave Addingly.
She must, she simply
must
see Mark
mess
! Poor old Tom! And perhaps, just a tiny bit, poor me, because it means I've lost the best friend I've ever had!'
In the end, when they were washing up after breakfast, she decided to ask her mother what she ought to do. But it wasn't easy to get started. Finally she blurted out:
'Mother, last night Tom asked me to marry him.'
Mrs Bellairs' hands stilled momentarily in her task. It was the only sign she gave of her disquiet. From the way in which Lisa had told her this, she knew beyond doubt what the answer had been. But wiser not to say that—or ask any questions. Leave it to the child to say what she wanted to.
'I had to say "no" because I just don't feel that way about him,' Lisa explained earnestly. 'I mean, I'm awfully fond of Tom—how can one help being when he's such a dear? But—but—' she shook her head, doubtful of making her mother understand.
'But when he comes into the room, your heart doesn't start beating more quickly?' Mrs Bellairs suggested. 'And you don't feel that a day when you don't see him is so much wasted time?'
'Yes, that's it, exactly,' Lisa said eagerly. 'How did you know?'
'Darling, I was your age once!' her mother reminded her, and contrived to smile, though she was desperately anxious.
She
knew what young love is like because she had experienced it. But who had taught Lisa to recognize it? Instinct? It might be that, but Mrs Bellairs remembered that look—in her own mind she called it THAT LOOK—in Lisa's eyes the previous morning when she and Tom had come back from their early walk. Or had she imagined it? No, she thought not, because, despite her obviously genuine concern for Tom, Lisa still had that shining look about her.
'If you know for sure that you don't love him in that extra special way, then you were quite right to refuse him,' Mrs Bellairs said firmly.
'That's how I felt about it,' Lisa told her earnestly. 'But what I'm afraid of is whether it's going to make things difficult with Tom living here—'
'Difficult for Tom—or you?' Mrs Bellairs asked.
'Both of us. But principally Tom.'
'Yes, you're quite right, of course,' Mrs Bellairs said briskly. 'The best thing for Tom would be for him not to see you any more—to have a chance of getting over the way he feels about you and perhaps being attracted to some other girl.'
'Yes,' Lisa agreed, but again she felt that little pang at the thought of losing Tom's friendship. 'But since that isn't possible, of course, I'd keep out of Tom's way as much as possible—at least, I would have done, but for one thing. Yesterday morning he asked me if I could take on doing more work for him, and I agreed. Now I'm not sure what I ought to do. Tom really does need more help—he told me that if I didn't feel I could take it on, then he'd have to find someone else.'
'Had he anyone else in mind?' Mrs Bellairs asked quickly, and wasn't sure whether she felt relief or regret when Lisa shook her head. She was silent for a moment and then said slowly: 'Of course, Tom can't leave this house. There's absolutely no other place for miles around that would suit him half so well, and frankly, what he pays us is very helpful. But there is another way out.
You
could go away for a time—get a job somewhere—'
'Oh, but I couldn't do that!' Lisa exclaimed as if the idea of such a thing horrified her.
Mrs Bellair's eyes narrowed slightly.
'Why not, dear? Plenty of girls do leave home and work at something or other. And in your case, you'd have to, because there's so little scope for anything but the dreariest of jobs round here!'
'But, Mother, with your arthritis, how could you do without me?' Lisa asked with an uncomfortable sense of guilt. What she had said was true enough, but she knew quite well that it wasn't her real reason for not wanting to leave Addingly.
She must, she simply
must
see Mark
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