Part 42 (2/2)
”Nice Esther,” she cooed. ”I'm sorry I called you a pig.” Then, in a change of tone as they left Aunt Amy resting in the hammock, ”Esther, why is Auntie so afraid of mother lately? She says such queer things I don't know what she means.”
”Neither do I, dear. But I think it is just a pa.s.sing fancy. She was very much hurt about the ring being sold. When she gets it back she will forget about it.”
”She looks at mother as if she hates her.”
”Oh, no!” in a startled tone. ”How can you say such a thing, Jane?”
”But she does. I've seen her. I don't blame her. I think it was horrid--”
”That's enough. You know nothing about it. Little girls who do not understand have no right to criticise.”
”Fred says it was the most underhan--”
”Jane, one word more and you shall have no berries to-night. Duck, don't you realise that you are speaking in a very unkind way of your own mother.”
The child's eyes filled with ready tears, but her little mouth was stubborn. ”Auntie's more my mother, Esther, and so are you. And it was mean to take the ring and I don't care whether I have any berries or not.”
Supper was a very quiet meal that night. Mrs. Coombe, interrupted in the process of dressing, came down in an old kimono, but ate almost nothing, Jane was sullen, Aunt Amy silent and Esther happily oblivious to everything save her own happy thoughts.
As soon as she could, she slipped away to her own room, and, choosing everything with care, began to dress herself as a maiden dresses for the eye of her lover. She was to be all in white, her dainty dress, her petticoats, stockings and shoes. White made her look younger than ever, absurdly young. He had never seen her all in white and she knew quite well how soft it made the shadows of her hair, how startlingly blue her eyes, how warm and living the ivory of her lovely neck.
”Oh, I am glad I am pretty!” she whispered to her mirror. ”Glad, glad!”
Then with a laugh at her own childishness she ”touched wood” to propitiate the jealous fates and ran down stairs to hide herself in the duskiest corner of the veranda.
It was delightful there. The cooling air was sweet with the mingled perfumes of the garden border below, an early star had fallen, sparkling, upon the blue-grey train of departing day, a whispering breeze crept, soft-footed, through the shrubbery. Esther lay back in the long chair and closed her eyes. For thirty perfect moments she waited until the click of the garden gate announced his coming. Then she sprang up, smiling, blus.h.i.+ng,--peering through the screen of vines--
A man was coming up the path. At first sight he seemed a stranger, some one who walked heavily, slowly--the doctor's step was quick and springing. Yet it was he! She drew back, shyly, yet looked again. Some one, in a pretty green silk gown, had slipped out from under the big elm and was meeting him with outstretched hands.
”Mother,” thought Esther, ”how strange!”
They had paused and were talking together. Mary's high, sweet laugh floated over the flowers, then her voice, a mere murmur. His voice, lower still. Then silence. They had turned back, together, down the lilac walk.
Esther sat down again. She felt numb. She closed her eyes as she had done before. But all the dreams, all the happy thoughts were gone. She opened them abruptly to find Aunt Amy staring down upon her, dumbly, wringing her hands. In the warm summer air the girl s.h.i.+vered.
”What is it?” she asked a little sharply. But Aunt Amy seemed neither to see nor hear her. She flitted by like some wandering grey moth into the dim garden, still wringing her hands.
Esther sat up. ”How utterly absurd,” she said aloud. Indeed she felt heartily ashamed of herself. To behave like a foolish child, to startle Aunt Amy into a fit and all because her mother and Dr. Callandar had gone for a stroll down the lilac walk--the most natural thing in the world. They would return presently. She had only to wait. But the waiting was not quite the same. Those golden moments already sparkled in the past. Nothing could ever be quite the same as if he had come straight up the path to where she waited for him in the dusk.
In the living-room, Jane who had small patience with twilight, had lighted the lamp. Its shaded beams fell in golden bars across the veranda floor. The sky was full of stars, now, but the voice of the breeze was growing shrill, as if whistling up the rain.
They were coming back along the side of the house. Esther rose quickly and slipped into the safety of the commonplace with Jane and the lighted lamp. Mrs. Coombe entered first, there was an instant to observe and wonder at her. She seemed a different woman, young, pretty, sparkling; even her hair seemed brighter. Behind her came Callandar and when Esther saw his face her heart seemed to stop. It was the face, almost, of a man of middle age, a firm, quiet face with cold eyes.
”Esther!” Mrs. Coombe's voice held incipient reproof.
The girl came forward and offered her hand. The doctor, this new doctor, took it, let it drop and said, ”Good evening, Miss Esther,” then turned to Jane with a politely worded message from Ann and Bubble.
”You can tell them I won't go,” said Jane crossly. ”They think they are smart. Just because--”
<script>