Part 67 (2/2)
”You don't--yet. But I hope you will be glad when you do. Jed, you like Major Grover, don't you?”
Jed did not move perceptibly, but she heard his chair creak. He was still leaning forward and she knew his gaze was fixed upon her face.
”Yes,” he said very slowly. ”I like him first-rate.”
”I'm glad. Because--well, because I have come to like him so much.
Jed, he--he has asked me to be his wife.”
There was absolute stillness in the little room. Then, after what seemed to her several long minutes, he spoke.
”Yes . . . yes, I see . . .” he said. ”And you? You've . . .”
”At first I could not answer him. My brother's secret was in the way and I could not tell him that. But last night--or this morning--Charlie and I discussed all our affairs and he gave me permission to tell--Leonard. So when he came to-day I told him.
He said it made no difference. And--and I am going to marry him, Jed.”
Jed's chair creaked again, but that was the only sound. Ruth waited until she felt that she could wait no longer. Then she stretched out a hand toward him in the dark.
”Oh, Jed,” she cried, ”aren't you going to say anything to me-- anything at all?”
She heard him draw a long breath. Then he spoke.
”Why--why, yes, of course,” he said. ”I--I--of course I am. I-- you kind of got me by surprise, that's all. . . . I hadn't--hadn't expected it, you see.”
”I know. Even Charlie was surprised. But you're glad, for my sake, aren't you, Jed?”
”Eh? . . . Yes, oh, yes! I'm--I'm glad.”
”I hope you are. If it were not for poor Charlie's going away and the anxiety about him and his problem I should be very happy-- happier than I believed I ever could be again. You're glad of that, aren't you, Jed?”
”Eh? . . . Yes, yes, of course. . . .”
”And you will congratulate me? You like Major Grover? Please say you do.”
Jed rose slowly from his chair. He pa.s.sed a hand in dazed fas.h.i.+on across his forehead.
”Yes,” he said, again. ”The major's a fine man. . . . I do congratulate you, ma'am.”
”Oh, Jed! Not that way. As if you meant it.”
”Eh? . . . I--I do mean it. . . . I hope--I hope you'll be real happy, both of you, ma'am.”
”Oh, not that--Ruth.”
”Yes--yes, sartin, of course . . . Ruth, I mean.”
She left him standing by the writing table. After she had gone he sank slowly down into the chair again. Eight o'clock struck and he was still sitting there. . . . And Fate chose that time to send Captain Sam Hunniwell striding up the walk and storming furiously at the back door.
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