Part 8 (1/2)

”He sent me flowers this morning--a big bunch of violets--and of course he will come in this afternoon to get thanked. If I am engaged before dinner I'll put in a postscript to tell you--so that you can get your wedding-present ready!”

As she wrote this last sentence she gave a hard little laugh.

Then she heard a brisk rattle from the telephone-box near the door.

She dropped her pen and went across the room and put the receiver to her ear.

”Yes--I'm Mrs. Randolph,” she said. ”Yes--I'm at home. Yes. Have Mr.

Stone shown up to my parlor.”

Then she replaced the receiver and stood for a moment in thought. She went back to the desk and closed her portfolio, with the unfinished letter inside. She changed the position of the bowl of violets and brought it into the full light. She glanced about the room to see if it was in order; and she crossed to the fireplace and looked at herself in the mirror above.

”I do wish I had slept better last night,” she said to herself. ”I always show it so round the eyes.”

She crossed swiftly to the door which opened into the next room.

”Jemima!” she called.

”Yes, Miss Evelyn,” responded a voice from within.

”Mr. Stone is coming up--and my hair is all wrong. I simply must do it over. You tell him I'll be here in a minute.”

”Yes, Miss Evelyn,” was the answer.

”And after Mr. Stone comes you get the water ready for the tea,” said Mrs. Randolph, as she went into the bedroom. ”Be sure that you have a fresh lemon. The last time Mr. Stone was here his slice was all dried up--and men don't like that sort of thing.”

A minute or two after she had disappeared there was a rap at the door, and Jemima came from the bedroom and admitted Mr. Stone. She told him that Mrs. Randolph would see him at once, and then she went back to her mistress, after giving him a curiously inquisitive look.

Mr. Stone had the walk of a sailor, but he carried himself like a soldier. His eyes were blue and penetrating; his ashen mustache curled over a firm mouth; his clean-shaven chin was square and resolute.

He stood near the door for a moment, and then he went toward the window.

The rain had dwindled, and as he looked out he thought he saw a break in the clouds.

It was full five minutes before Mrs. Randolph returned.

”Oh, Mr. Stone,” she began, in voluble apology, ”it's a shame to keep you waiting so, but honestly I couldn't help it. You took me by surprise so, I really wasn't fit to be seen!”

Mr. Stone gallantly expressed a doubt as to this last statement of hers.

”It's very good of you to think that,” she responded, ”but I hardly hoped to see any one this afternoon, in this awful weather. How did you ever have the courage to venture out? It's so kind of you to come and visit a lonely woman, for it has been such a long day!”

Mr. Stone informed her that it looked as though it was about to clear up.

”Of course you sailors have to know all about the weather, don't you?”

she replied. ”That's the advantage of being a man--you can do things.

Now a woman can't do anything--she can't even go out in the rain for fear of getting her skirts wet!”

In her own ears her voice did not ring quite true. She knew that her liveliness was a little fact.i.tious. She wondered whether he had detected it. She looked up at him, and found that he was gazing full at her. She had never before recognized how clear his eyes were and how piercing.

”I haven't thanked you yet for those lovely violets,” she began again, hastily. ”They are exquisite! But then you have always such good taste in flowers. They have made the day less dreary for me--really they have.