Part 46 (1/2)

But Mrs. Dale was not satisfied. ”Oh, yes, you'd better go. You've neglected the flowers dreadfully, I don't know how long it is since your father has had any fresh roses in the library.”

”I'll get the garden scissors,” Gifford pleaded; ”it won't take long just to cut some roses.”

”Well,” Lois said languidly.

Gifford went through the wide cool hall for the shears and the basket of scented gra.s.s for the posies; he knew the rectory as well as his own home. Mrs. Dale had followed him, and in the shadowy back hall she gave him a significant look.

”That's right, cheer her up. Of course she feels their going very much.

I must say, it does not show much consideration on the part of the young man to leave her at such a time,--I don't care what the business is that calls him away! Still, I can't say that I'm surprised. I never did like that d.i.c.k, and I have always been afraid Lois would care for him.”

”I think it is a great misfortune,” Gifford said gravely.

”Oh, well, I don't know,” demurred Mrs. Dale. ”It is an excellent match; and his carelessness now--well, it is only to be expected from a young man who would carry his mother off from--from our care, to be looked after by a hired nurse. He thought,” said Mrs. Dale, bridling her head and pursing up her lips, ”that a lot of 'fussy old women' couldn't take care of her. Still, it will be a good marriage for Lois. I'm bound to say that, though I have never liked him.”

The young people did not talk much as they went down into the garden.

Lois pointed out what roses Gifford might cut, and, taking them from him, put them into the little basket on her arm.

”How I miss Helen!” she said at last.

”Yes, of course,” he answered, ”but think how soon you'll see her in Lockhaven;” and then he tried to make her talk of the lumber town, and the people, and John Ward. But he had the conversation quite to himself.

At last, with a desperate desire to find something in which she would be interested, he said, ”You must miss your friends very much. I'm sorry they are gone.”

”My friends?”

”Yes, Mr. Forsythe--and his mother.”

”Oh, no!” she answered quickly.

”No?” Gifford said, wondering if she were afraid he had discovered her secret, and hastening to help her conceal it. ”Oh, of course you feel that the change will be good for Mrs. Forsythe?”

”Oh, I hope it will!” cried Lois, fear trembling in the earnestness of her voice.

Gifford had stepped over the low box border to a stately bunch of milk-white phlox. ”Let's have some of this,” he said, beginning to cut the long stems close to the roots; ”it always looks so well in the blue jug.”

His back was toward her, and perhaps that gave him the courage to say, with a suddenness that surprised himself, ”Ah--does Mrs. Forsythe go abroad with her son?”

Even as he spoke he wondered why he had said it; certainly it was from no interest in the sick lady. Was it because he hoped to betray Lois into some expression of opinion concerning Mr. Forsythe's departure? He despised himself if it were a test, but he did not stop to follow the windings of his own motives.

”Abroad?” Lois said, in a quick, breathless way. ”Does he go abroad?”

Gifford felt her excitement and suspense without seeing it, and he began to clip the phlox with a recklessness which would have wrung Dr. Howe's soul.

”I--I believe so. I supposed you knew it.”

”How do you know it?” she demanded.

”He told me,” Gifford admitted.

”Are you sure?” she said in a quavering voice.