It was nearly six weeks after the day that she had watched him as far as
the clump of willows that he came again. Sue Greyson had driven him into
Dunellen that morning and had stopped at the gate on her return to tell
her about her "grand splendid, delightful times" at Old Place.
"Cousin Grace has gone away; how we miss her music! Mr. Ralph did not
care for it, but Mrs. Towne and I cared. Mrs. Towne says that I ought to
have a music teacher; but I never did practice when I had one. I can't
apply my mind to any thing; Mr. Ralph says that I learn by observation.
I wonder why wise men choose silly wives always," she added consciously,
playing with the reins.
"Do they?" asked Tessa, picking a lilac leaf from the shrubbery.
[Illustration: "Is not this what we usually call the Indian summer?"
said Tessa, as she extended her hand.]
"Cousin Grace says so. I wish I knew what ails Mr. Ralph. His mother
says that he is having a worry; she always knows when he is having a
worry by his eyes; they do look very melancholy, and last night I
overheard him say to Mrs. Towne, 'A man has to keep his eyes pretty wide
open not to step on peoples' toes.' I didn't think much of that, but he
said afterward, 'A man may do in an hour what he can't _undo_ in a
lifetime.' He never talks much, so I know that something is on his mind,
or he would not have talked so long. She said that he must be patient
and do right."
"Why, Sue, you did not listen!"
"Of course not. They were in the library, and I was on the balcony
outside the window. I heard his voice--he was walking up and down, and, I
confess, I _did_ want to know what it was all about! I thought that it
might be about me, you know. But I can't stay here all day; Mrs. Towne
is to take me to spend the day with the Gesners. It is splendid there.
Mr. John Gesner I don't like, but Mr. Lewis Gesner treats me so
respectfully and talks to me as if he liked to hear me talk. And Miss
Gesner is loveliness personified! Mr. Towne said that he had a call to
make this afternoon, and would walk home. He will be up in the four
o'clock train."
"A call to make!"
The words were in her ears all day; she dressed for her walk, then
concluded to stay at home. How could he undo what he had so
thoughtlessly, so mercilessly, done? Would he come and talk to her as he
had talked to his mother? Would he say, "I am sorry that you have
misinterpreted my words?" Misinterpreted! Did they not both speak
English? Sincere, straightforward, frank English? It was the only
language that she knew. In what tongue had he spoken to her?
Her fluttering reverie was brought to a sudden and giddy end; the sound
of a firm tread on the dried leaves under the maple-trees outside the
gate, a tall figure in plain, elegant black,--the startled color in her
eyes told the rest; she sprang to her feet, dropped her long, white
work, shook off all outward nervousness, brushed her hair, fastened a
bow of blue ribbon down low on her braids, questioned her eyes and lips
to ascertain if they were _safe_, and then passed down the stair-way
with a light, sure tread, and stood on the piazza to welcome Ralph
Towne; her own composed, womanly self, rather more self-repressed than
usual, and with a slight stateliness that she had never assumed with
him. But he only noted that she appeared well and radiant; he understood
her no more--than he understood several other things. Ralph Towne had
been called "slow" from his babyhood.
"Is not this what we usually call the Indian summer? We have not had
frost yet, I think," she said easily.
His dark face crimsoned, he answered briefly, and dropped her hand.
If he had ever prided himself upon his tact, he was aware that to-day it
would be a most miserable failure. How could he say, "You have
misunderstood me," when perhaps it was he who had misunderstood her? He
had come to her to-day by sheer force of will, not daring to stay away
longer--and what had he come for? To assure her--perhaps he did not intend
to assure her any thing; perhaps it was not necessary to assure her any
thing. Not very long ago he _had_ assured her that he could become to
her her "ideal of a friend," if she would "show" him how. Poor Tessa!
This showing him how was weary work. "Yes," he replied, wheeling a chair
nearer the open window, "the country is beautiful."
That look about her flexible lips was telling its own story; she was
just the woman, he reasoned, to break her heart about such a fellow as
he was.
"I have very little time for any thing outside my work," he said,
running on with his mental comments. All a man had to do to make himself
a hero was to let a woman like this fall in love with him.
"What have _you_ been doing?" he asked in his tone of sincere interest.
"All my own doings," she said lightly. "Mr. Hammerton and I have been
writing a criticism upon a novel and comparing notes, and I have sewed,
as all ladies do, and walked."
"You are an English girl about walking."
"I know every step of the way between Dunellen and Mayfield. Do _you_
walk?"
"No, I drive. My life has a lack. My book is falling through. I do not
find much in life."
"Our best things are nearest to us, close about our feet," she answered.
He did not reply. Ralph Towne never replied unless he chose.
He opened his watch; he had been with her exactly ten minutes.
"I have an engagement at six," he said.