"Why--yes. We could come back. People do that sometimes."
"Yes. Must we do what other people do?"
"Would you rather not?"
"Ten thousand times. It seems to me that the biggest mistake people make
is the way they do this thing. Juliet--think of the little house. We made
it--you made it. For years, without doubt, it's to hold us and our
experiences. Do you know I'd like to give it this one to begin with?--I'm
holding my breath!"
Plainly she was holding hers. Her head was turned away--he could just see
her profile outlined against the ruby light. And at the moment there were
footsteps inside a long French window near at hand which lay open into the
library. Mr. Horatio Marcy came out and stood still just behind them.
Anthony sprang to his feet, and came forward up the steps. The older man
greeted him cordially. Anthony pulled a big chair into position, and Mr.
Marcy sat down. He was smoking and wore an air of relaxation. He and his
guest fell to talking, the younger man entering into the conversation with
as much ease and spirit as if he were not fresh from what was to him at
this hour a much more interesting discussion. Juliet sat quietly and
listened.
It grew into an absorbing argument after a little, the two men taking
opposite sides of a great governmental question just then claiming public
interest. Mrs. Dingley came out and joined the group, and she and Juliet
listened with increasing delight in a contest of brains such as was now
offered them. Mr. Marcy himself, while he put forth his arguments with
conviction and with skill, was evidently enjoying the keen wit and wisdom
of his young opponent. The elder man met objection with objection, set up
men of straw to be knocked down, and ended at last with a hearty laugh and
a frankly appreciative:
"Well, Anthony--you have convinced me of one thing, certainly. There are
more sides to the question than I had understood. I will admit that you've
made a strong argument. But when I come back I'll down you with fresh
material. I shall have plenty of it."
"Are you going away soon, sir?" Anthony asked with some surprise. Mr.
Marcy was a frequent traveller, preferring to look after various business
interests in faraway ports himself rather than entrust them to others.
"Yes--I shall be off in a few weeks--and for a longer time than usual. I
haven't told these ladies of my household yet--but this is as good a time
as any. Juliet, little girl--I may be gone all winter this time."
She came quickly to him without speaking, and gave him her regretful
answer silently.
"When do you go, Horatio?" Mrs. Dingley asked.
"About the first of October. I hadn't fully decided till to-day. I had
thought of inviting you two to go with me."
He looked with a smile at his sister and his daughter, then somewhat
quizzically at Anthony. The latter was regarding him with an alert face in
which, as nearly as could be made out in the dim light, were no signs of
discomfiture.
"Horatio," said Mrs. Dingley, "I wish you would come into the library for
a few minutes. This reminds me of a letter I had to-day from one of your
old friends, asking when you were to be at home."
The French window closed on the two older people. Juliet, left sitting on
the arm of her father's chair, found Anthony behind her.
"Do you want to go on a voyage to the Philippines?" he was asking over her
shoulder.
"I'm not sure just what I do want," she answered rather breathlessly.
"The tea-kettle would rust while you were gone."
He got no reply.
"The dust would grow inches deep on the dining-table we polished so
carefully."
Juliet rose and walked slowly to the edge of the steps. Anthony followed.
"Let's go and walk on the terrace," he proposed, and they ran down to the
smooth sward below. It was a warm night, with no dew, and the short-shaven
grass was dry. All the stars were out. Anthony walked beside the figure in
white, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Do white ruffled curtains like those at our windows ever grow musty from
being shut up?" he insinuated gently.
"I don't know."
"Will you write from every port you touch at? It will take a good many
letters to satisfy me."
"I suppose so."
"Suppose what? That you will write?"
Juliet stood still. "You're the greatest wheedler I ever saw," she said.
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's not meant for one. What am I to do when I'm----"
"Married to me?--I don't know, poor child. I can only pity you. What do
you think the prospect is for me, never to be able to get the smallest
concession from you except by every art of coaxing? Yet--if I can get this
thing I want, by any means--I warn you I shall not give up until I've seen
you sail."
"You'll not see me sail."