Part 5 (1/2)

Winifred pursed up her lips. ”I understood you met him at the Grange, and you were only there for a few weeks once a year,” she replied.

”After all, that isn't a very great deal. It seems he fell in love with you, which is, perhaps, comprehensible. What I don't quite know the reason for is why you fell in love with him.”

”Ah,” responded Agatha, ”you have never seen Gregory.”

”I haven't,” admitted Winifred sourly; ”I have, however, seen his picture. One must admit that he's reasonably good-looking. In fact, I've seen quite an a.s.sortment of photographs, but it's, perhaps, significant that the last was taken some years ago.”

Agatha smiled. ”Can a photograph show the clean, sanguine temperament of a man, his impulsive generosity, and cheerful optimism?”

Miss Rawlinson rose, and critically surveyed the photograph on the mantel.

”I don't want to be discouraging, but after studying that one I'm compelled to admit that it can't. No doubt it's the artist's fault, but I'm willing to admit that a young girl would be rather apt to credit a man with a face like that with qualities he didn't possess.” She sat down again with a thoughtful expression. ”The fact is, you set him up on a pedestal and burned incense to him when you were not old enough to know any better, and when he came home for a few weeks four years ago you promised to marry him. Now it seems he's ready at last, and wants you to go out to the new country. Perhaps it doesn't affect the question, but if I'd promised to marry a man in Canada he'd certainly have to come for me. Isn't there a certain risk in the thing?”

”A risk?”

Winifred nodded. ”Yes,” she said, ”rather a serious one. Four years is a long time, and the man may have changed. In a new country where life is so different, it must be a thing they're rather apt to do.”

A faint, half-compa.s.sionate, half-tolerant smile crept into Agatha's eyes. The mere idea that the sunny-tempered, brilliant young man to whom she had given her heart could have changed or degenerated in any way seemed absurd to her. Winifred, however, went on again.

”There's another point,” she said. ”If he's still the same, which isn't likely, there has certainly been a change in you. You have learned to see things more clearly, and have acquired a different standard from the one you had then. One can't help growing, and as one grows one looks for more. One is no longer pleased with the same things; it's inevitable.”

She broke off for a moment, and her voice became gentler.

”Well,” she added, ”I've done my duty in trying to point this out to you, and now there's only another thing to say: since you're clearly bent on going, I'm going with you.”

Agatha looked astonished, but there was a suggestion of relief in her expression, for the two had been firm friends and had faced a good deal together.

”Oh!” she exclaimed, ”that gets over the one difficulty!”

Winifred made a little whimsical gesture.

”I'm not quite sure that it does. The difficulty will probably be when I arrive in Canada, but I'm a rather capable person, and I believe they don't pay ninepence a thousand words in Winnipeg. Besides, I could keep the books at a store or a hotel, and at the very worst Gregory could, perhaps, find a husband for me. Women, I hear, are held in some estimation in that country. Perhaps there's a man out there who would treat decently even a little, plain, vixenish-tempered person with a turned-up nose.”

Crossing the room again she banged the cover down on the typewriter, and then turned to Agatha with a suggestion of haziness in her eyes.

”Anyway, I'm very tired of this country. It would be intolerable when you went away.”

Agatha stretched out a hand and drew the girl down beside her. She no longer feared adverse fortune and loneliness, and she was filled with a gentle compa.s.sion, for she knew how hard a fight Winifred had made, and part at least of what she had borne.

”My dear,” she said, ”we will go together.”

Then she opened the second letter, which she had forgotten while they talked.

”They want me to stay at the Grange for a few weeks,” she announced, and smiled. ”An hour ago I felt crushed and beaten--and now, though my voice has probably gone for good, I don't seem to mind. Isn't it curious that both these letters should have come to sweep my troubles away to-night?”

”No,” answered Winifred, ”it's distinctly natural--just what one would have expected. You wrote to the man in Canada soon after you'd seen the specialist, and his answer was bound to arrive in the next few days.”

”But I certainly didn't write the folks at the Grange.”

Winifred's eyes twinkled. ”As it happens, I did, two days ago. I ventured to point out their duty to them, and they were rather nice about it in another letter.”