Part 24 (2/2)

”Say yes, dear, and I'll let you go--for a little while.”

”Yes,” said Vivian.

The ground jarred beside them, as a tall man jumped the hedge boundary. He stood a moment, staring.

”Well, is this my house, or Coney Island?” they heard him say. And then Morton swore softly to himself as Vivian left him and came out.

”Good evening, Dr. Hale,” she said, a little breathlessly. ”We weren't expecting you so soon.”

”I should judge not,” he answered. ”What's up, anyhow?”

”The boys--and Mr. d.y.k.eman--are giving a garden party for Mrs. St.

Cloud.”

”For whom?”

”For Adela St. Cloud. She is visiting us. Aren't you coming in?”

”Not now,” he said, and was gone without another word.

CHAPTER IX.

CONSEQUENCES.

You may have a fondness for grapes that are green, And the sourness that greenness beneath; You may have a right To a colic at night-- But consider your children's teeth!

Dr. Hale retired from his gaily illuminated grounds in too much displeasure to consider the question of dignity. One suddenly acting cause was the news given him by Vivian. The other was the sight of Morton Elder's face as he struck a match to light his cigarette.

Thus moved, and having entered and left his own grounds like a thief in the night, he proceeded to tramp in the high-lying outskirts of the town until every light in his house had gone out. Then he returned, let himself into his office, and lay there on a lounge until morning.

Vivian had come out so quickly to greet the doctor from obscure motives. She felt a sudden deep objection to being found there with Morton, a wish to appear as one walking about unconcernedly, and when that match glow made Morton's face s.h.i.+ne out prominently in the dark shelter, she, too, felt a sudden displeasure.

Without a word she went swiftly to the house, excused herself to her Grandmother, who nodded understandingly, and returned to The Cottonwoods, to her room. She felt that she must be alone and think; think of that irrevocable word she had uttered, and its consequences.

She sat at her window, rather breathless, watching the rows of pink lanterns swaying softly on the other side of the street; hearing the lively music, seeing young couples leave the gate and stroll off homeward.

Susie's happiness came more vividly to mind than her own. It was so freshly joyous, so pure, so perfectly at rest. She could not feel that way, could not tell with decision exactly how she did feel. But if this was happiness, it was not as she had imagined it. She thought of that moonlit summer night so long ago, and the memory of its warm wonder seemed sweeter than the hasty tumult and compulsion of to-night.

She was stirred through and through by Morton's intense emotion, but with a sort of reaction, a wish to escape. He had been so madly anxious, he had held her so close; there seemed no other way but to yield to him--in order to get away.

And then Dr. Hale had jarred the whole situation. She had to be polite to him, in his own grounds. If only Morton had kept still--that grating match--his face, bent and puffing, Dr. Hale must have seen him. And again she thought of little Susie with almost envy. Even after that young lady had come in, bubbled over with confidences and raptures, and finally dropped to sleep without Vivian's having been able to bring herself to return the confidences, she stole back to her window again to breathe.

Why had Dr. Hale started so at the name of Mrs. St. Cloud? That was puzzling her more than she cared to admit. By and by she saw his well-known figure, tall and erect, march by on the other side and go into the office.

”O, well,” she sighed at last, ”I'm not young, like Susie. Perhaps it _is_ like this--”

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