His step-mother did not appear to resent the thrust. She went on, in the same tone of affectionate persuasion: “Yes: I must have seemed to you too subject to Givre. Perhaps I have been. But you know that was not my real object in asking you to wait, to say nothing to your grandmother before her return.”
He considered. “Your real object, of course, was to gain time.”
“Yes–but for whom? Why not for you?”
“For me?” He flushed up quickly. “You don’t mean—-?”
She laid her hand on his arm and looked gravely into his handsome eyes.
“I mean that when your grandmother gets back from Ouchy I shall speak to her—-” “You’ll speak to her…?”
“Yes; if only you’ll promise to give me time—-”
“Time for her to send for Adelaide Painter?”
“Oh, she’ll undoubtedly send for Adelaide Painter!”
The allusion touched a spring of mirth in both their minds, and they exchanged a laughing look.
“Only you must promise not to rush things. You must give me time to prepare Adelaide too,” Mrs. Leath went on.
“Prepare her too?” He drew away for a better look at her. “Prepare her for what?”
“Why, to prepare your grandmother! For your marriage. Yes, that’s what I mean. I’m going to see you through, you know —-”
His feint of indifference broke down and he caught her hand. “Oh, you dear divine thing! I didn’t dream—-”
“I know you didn’t.” She dropped her gaze and began to walk on slowly. “I can’t say you’ve convinced me of the wisdom of the step. Only I seem to see that other things matter more–and that not missing things matters most. Perhaps I’ve changed–or your not changing has convinced me. I’m certain now that you won’t budge. And that was really all I ever cared about.”
“Oh, as to not budging-I told you so months ago: you might have been sure of that! And how can you be any surer today than yesterday?”
“I don’t know. I suppose one learns something every day—- ”
“Not at Givre!” he laughed, and shot a half-ironic look at her. “But you haven’t really been at Givre lately–not for months! Don’t you suppose I’ve noticed that, my dear?”
She echoed his laugh to merge it in an undenying sigh. “Poor Givre…”
“Poor empty Givre! With so many rooms full and yet not a soul in it–except of course my grandmother, who is its soul!”
They had reached the gateway of the court and stood looking with a common accord at the long soft-hued facade on which the autumn light was dying. “It looks so made to be happy in—-” she murmured.
“Yes–today, today!” He pressed her arm a little. “Oh, you darling–to have given it that look for me!” He paused, and then went on in a lower voice: “Don’t you feel we owe it to the poor old place to do what we can to give it that look? You, too, I mean? Come, let’s make it grin from wing to wing! I’ve such a mad desire to say outrageous things to it –haven’t you? After all, in old times there must have been living people here!”
Loosening her arm from his she continued to gaze up at the house-front, which seemed, in the plaintive decline of light, to send her back the mute appeal of something doomed.
“It IS beautiful,” she said.
“A beautiful memory! Quite perfect to take out and turn over when I’m grinding at the law in New York, and you’re—-” He broke off and looked at her with a questioning smile. “Come! Tell me. You and I don’t have to say things to talk to each other. When you turn suddenly absentminded and mysterious I always feel like saying: ‘Come back. All is discovered’.”
She returned his smile. “You know as much as I know. I promise you that.”
He wavered, as if for the first time uncertain how far he might go. “I don’t know Darrow as much as you know him,” he presently risked.
She frowned a little. “You said just now we didn’t need to say things”
“Was I speaking? I thought it was your eyes—-” He caught her by both elbows and spun her halfway round, so that the late sun shed a betraying gleam on her face. “They’re such awfully conversational eyes! Don’t you suppose they told me long ago why it’s just today you’ve made up your mind that people have got to live their own lives–even at Givre?”