Part 62 (2/2)
”I--oh, Ann--I don't know. His letter just said that when I came home it would be our--wedding night!”
”Why, then it sure will be. An' f'r a weddin' supper, y' couldn't have nothin' better 'n s.h.i.+n o' beef. I'll go an' watch over that stoo with care unfailin', my dear; believe me, that stoo's goin' t' be a stoo as is a stoo! What, half after five? Land sakes, how time flies!”
CHAPTER XXIX
IN WHICH HERMIONE MAKES A FATEFUL DECISION
When Mrs. Trapes was gone, Hermione stood a long time to look at herself in her little mirror, viewing and examining each feature of her lovely, intent face more earnestly than she had ever done before; and sometimes she smiled, and sometimes she frowned, and all her thought was:
”Shall I make him happy, I wonder? Can I be all he wants--all he thinks I am?”
So, after some while, she combed and brushed out her glorious hair, shyly glad because of its length and splendour; and, having crowned her shapely head with it, viewed the effect with cold, hypercritical eyes.
”Can I, oh, can I ever be all he wants--all he thinks I am?”
And then she proceeded to dress; the holey stockings were replaced by others that had seen less service; the worn frills and laces were changed for others less threadbare. This done, Hermione, with many supple twists, wriggled dexterously into her best dress, pausing now and then to sigh mournfully and grieve over its many deficiencies and shortcomings, defects which only feminine eyes, so coldly critical, might hope to behold.
Scarcely was all this accomplished when she heard a soft knock at the outer door, and at the sound her heart leapt; she flushed and paled and stood a moment striving to stay the quick, heavy throbbing within her bosom; then breathlessly she hastened along the pa.s.sage and, opening the door with trembling hands, beheld Bud M'Ginnis. While she stared, dumb and amazed, he entered and, closing the door, leaned his broad back against it.
”Goin' away, Hermy?” he enquired softly, looking her over with his slow gaze.
”Yes.”
”Goin' far, Hermy?”
”I don't know.”
”Goin'--alone, Hermy?”
”Why are you here? What do you want?”
”T' save ye from--h.e.l.l!” he answered, his voice rising loud and harsh on the last word. ”Oh, I know,” he went on fiercely, ”I know why you're all dolled up in your best. I know as you mean t' go away to-night with--him.
But you ain't goin', girl--you ain't.”
”To-night,” she said gently, ”is my wedding night.”
M'Ginnis lifted a hand and wrenched at the silken neckerchief he wore as though it choked him.
”No!” he cried, ”you ain't a-goin' t' get no wedding, Hermy; he don't mean t' give ye a square deal. He's foolin' ye--foolin' ye, girl! Oh,”
said he through shut teeth, ”ye thought I was safe out o' the way, I guess. You ought t' known better; th' p'lice couldn't hold me, they never will. Anyway, I've kept tabs on ye--I know as you've been meeting him--in a wood! I know,” here M'Ginnis seemed to choke again, ”I know of you an' him--kissin' an' cuddlin'--oh, I've kept tabs on ye--”
”Yes,” she said gently, ”I saw your spy at work.”
”But y' can't deny it. Y' don't deny it! Say, what kind o' girl are you?”
”The kind that doesn't fear men like you.”
”But y' can't deny meetin' him,” he repeated, his hoa.r.s.e voice quivering; ”you don't deny--kissin' him--in a wood! Only deny it, Hermy, only say you didn't, an' I'll choke th' life out of any guy as says you did--only deny it, Hermy.”
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