He hesitated a little, and then said, doggedly “On one condition.”
“And that is?”
“Keene must explain. He must answer my question.”
“Do you accept?” I asked Keene.
“Yes and no!” he replied. “No! to answering Graham’s question. He is not
the person to ask it. I wonder that he does not see the impropriety, the
absurdity of his meddling at all in this affair. Besides, he could not
understand my answer even if he believed it. But to the explanation,
I say, Yes! I will give it, not to Graham, but to you. I make you this
proposition. To-morrow is Sunday. We shall be excused from service if we
tell the master that we have important business to settle together. You
shall come with me on one of my long walks. I will tell you all about
them. Then you can be the judge whether there is any harm in them.”
“Does that satisfy you?” I said to Graham.
“Yes,” he answered, “that seems fair enough. I am content to leave it in
that way for the present. And to make it still more fair, I want to take
back what I said awhile ago, and to ask Keene’s pardon for it.”
“Not at all,” said Keene, quickly, “it was said in haste, I bear no
grudge. You simply did not understand, that is all.”
So we turned to go down the hill, and as we turned, Dorothy met us,
coming out of the shadows.
“What are you men doing here?” she asked. “I heard your voices from
below. What were you talking about?”
“We were talking,” said Keene, “my dear Dorothy, we were talking--about
walking--yes, that was it--about walking, and about views. The
conversation was quite warm, almost a debate. Now, you know all the
view-points in this region. Which do you call the best, the most
satisfying, the finest prospect? But I know what you will say: the view
from the little knoll in front of Hilltop. For there, when you are tired
of looking far away, you can turn around and see the old school, and the
linden-trees, and the garden.”
“Yes,” she answered gravely, “that is really the view that I love best.
I would give up all the others rather than lose that.”