The perfection with which Virginia played her part in the little drama
of deception at their parting was a new source of surprise and anger to
Vassar. Her acting was consummate. Neither the children nor her parents
could suspect for a moment that there had been the slightest break in
their relations.
Self-respect compelled him to act the part with equal care in detail.
The old soldier had grown very fond of Marya. He held her in his arms
chattering like a magpie.
“Now don’t you go back on me when you get to town and fail to take that
cottage!” he protested.
“Oh, we’re coming on Tuesday--aren’t we, Uncle John?” she cried.
Virginia watched his face. He caught the look and answered its challenge
by an instant reply.
“Certainly, dear. Everything’s fixed. I can’t be with you much but
grandpa’ll be here every day.”
The child clapped her hands.
“You see”--
“All right,” Holland answered. “I’ll meet you at the station! The fact
is--“ his voice dropped to confidential tones--“between you and me--I
haven’t any little girl. My girl’s grown clean up and out of my world.
She’s going on a wild goose chase over the country and leave her old
daddy here to die alone. But you’ll be my little girl, won’t you,
honey?”
Marya slipped her arms around his neck and whispered:
“I’d like two granddaddies. I never had but one you know--”
Virginia wondered at Vassar’s audacity in persisting in the plan of
thrusting himself and his people under her nose. She had thought he
would have the decency to change his plans now that any further
association between them had become impossible. She listened in vain for
any protest on his part against the plans of happiness between her
father and his little niece. His face was a mask of polite indifference.
She had worked herself into a rage when he extended his hand in parting.
The others were looking or he would have omitted the formality. He made
up his mind to part without a word.
The children and his father turned to enter the coach. Billy was saying
good-bye to Zonia assuring her for the tenth time that he would drive
with his father to the train for them on Tuesday.
With the touch of her hand Vassar’s angry resolution melted. Soul and
body was fused suddenly into a resistless rush of tenderness. If she
felt this she was complete mistress of her emotions. There was no sign.
In a voice of studied coldness she merely said:
“Good-bye.”
His hand closed desperately on hers in spite of her purpose to withdraw
it instantly.
“I won’t say it,” he answered fiercely. “I won’t give you up. You
haven’t treated me fairly. I won’t submit. I’m coming again--do you
hear?”
She stared at him a moment with firmly set lips and answered:
“There is nothing in common between us, Mr. Caveman. We live in
different worlds. We were born in different ages--”
He dropped her hand and sprang to the platform of the moving train
without looking back.