Part 46 (1/2)

As he sat down beside her, her hand sought his under the table.

He looked down at her. ”Happy, little girl?”

”Very happy, lover.”

III

Caroline Paine was having the time of her life. She wore a new dress of thin midnight blue which Randy had bought for her and which was very becoming; her hair was waved and dressed, and she had Major Prime as an attentive listener while she talked of the past and linked it with the present.

”Of course there was a time when the men drank themselves under the tables. Everybody calls them the 'good old times,' but I reckon they were bad old times in some ways, weren't they? There was hot blood, and there were duels. There's no denying it was picturesque, Major, but it was foolish for all that. Men don't settle things now by shooting each other, except in a big way like the war. The last duel was fought by the old fountain out there--one of the Merriweathers met one of the Paines. Merriweather was killed, and the girl died of a broken heart.”

”Then it was Merriweather that she loved?”

”Yes. And young Paine went abroad, and joined the British army and was killed in India. So n.o.body was happy, and all because there was, probably, a flowing bowl at the harvest ball. I am glad they don't do it that way now. Just think of my Randy stripped to his s.h.i.+rt and with pistols for two. We are more civilized in these days and I'm glad of it.”

”Are we?” said the Major; ”I'm not sure. But I hope so.”

Randy came by just then and spoke to them. ”Are you getting everything you want, Mother?”

”Yes, indeed. The Major looked after me. I've had salad twice, and everything else----”

”That sounds greedy, but it isn't, not when you think of the groaning boards of other days. Has she been telling you about them, Major?”

”Yes, she has peopled the room with ghosts----”

”Now, Major!”

”Pleasant ghosts--in lace ruffles and velvet coats, smoking long pipes around a punch bowl; beautiful ghosts in patches and powder,” he made an expressive gesture; ”they have mingled with the rest of you--shadow-shapes of youth and loveliness.”

”Well, if anybody can tell about it, Mother can,” said Randy, ”but I don't believe there were ever any prettier girls than are here to-night.”

”Becky looks like an angel,” Mrs. Paine stated, ”but she's pale, Randy.”

”She is tired, Mother. I think she ought to go home. I shall try to make her when I come back. She dropped her fan and I am going to get it.”

He had not told Becky where he was going. He had slipped away--his mind intent on regaining her property. But when he reached the bushes and flashed his pocket-light on the ground beneath, there was no fan.

It must have fallen here. He was sure he had made no mistake.

He decided finally that someone else had found it. It seemed unlikely, however, for the spot was remote, and the thickness of the bushes offered a barrier to anyone strolling casually through the grounds.

He went slowly back to the house. Ever since that night when Becky had said she would marry him he had lived in a dream. They were pledged to each other, yet she did not love him. How could he take her? And again, how could he give her up? She had offered herself freely, and he wanted her in his future. And there was a fighting chance. He had youth and courage and a love for her he challenged any man to match.

Why not? Was it beyond the bounds of reason that some day he could make Becky love him?

They had agreed that no one was to be told. ”Not until I come back from Nantucket,” Becky had stipulated.

”By that time you won't want me, my dear.”

”Well, I shan't if you talk like that,” Becky had said with some spirit.