Part 48 (1/2)

Her words fell on him with a chill. His smile faded, and he looked away for a moment.

”But I hope Cicely will be here often,” he said.

”Oh, I hope so too,” she rejoined, with seeming unconsciousness of any connection between the wish and her previous words.

Amherst hesitated. He had meant to propose a visit to the old Eldorado building, which now at last housed the long-desired night-schools and nursery; but since she had spoken he felt a sudden indifference to showing her anything more. What was the use, if she meant to leave Cicely, and drift out of his reach? He could get on well enough without sympathy and comprehension, but his momentary indulgence in them made the ordinary taste of life a little flat.

”There must be more to see?” she continued, as they turned back toward the village; and he answered absently: ”Oh, yes--if you like.”

He heard the change in his own voice, and knew by her quick side-glance that she had heard it too.

”Please let me see everything that is compatible with my getting a car to Hanaford by six.”

”Well, then--the night-school next,” he said with an effort at lightness; and to shake off the importunity of his own thoughts he added carelessly, as they walked on: ”By the way--it seems improbable--but I think I saw Dr. Wyant yesterday in a Westmore car.”

She echoed the name in surprise. ”Dr. Wyant? Really! Are you sure?”

”Not quite; but if it wasn't he it was his ghost. You haven't heard of his being at Hanaford?”

”No. I've heard nothing of him for ages.”

Something in her tone made him return her side-glance; but her voice, on closer a.n.a.lysis, denoted only indifference, and her profile seemed to express the same negative sentiment. He remembered a vague Lynbrook rumour to the effect that the young doctor had been attracted to Miss Brent. Such floating seeds of gossip seldom rooted themselves in his mind, but now the fact acquired a new significance, and he wondered how he could have thought so little of it at the time. Probably her somewhat exaggerated air of indifference simply meant that she had been bored by Wyant's attentions, and that the reminder of them still roused a slight self-consciousness.

Amherst was relieved by this conclusion, and murmuring: ”Oh, I suppose it can't have been he,” led her rapidly on to the Eldorado. But the old sense of free communion was again obstructed, and her interest in the details of the schools and nursery now seemed to him only a part of her wonderful art of absorbing herself in other people's affairs. He was a fool to have been duped by it--to have fancied it was anything more personal than a grace of manner.

As she turned away from inspecting the blackboards in one of the empty school-rooms he paused before her and said suddenly: ”You spoke of not seeing Westmore again. Are you thinking of leaving Cicely?”

The words were almost the opposite of those he had intended to speak; it was as if some irrepressible inner conviction flung defiance at his surface distrust of her.

She stood still also, and he saw a thought move across her face. ”Not immediately--but perhaps when Mr. Langhope can make some other arrangement----”

Owing to the half-holiday they had the school-building to themselves, and the fact of being alone with her, without fear of interruption, woke in Amherst an uncontrollable longing to taste for once the joy of unguarded utterance.

”Why do you go?” he asked, moving close to the platform on which she stood.

She hesitated, resting her hand on the teacher's desk. Her eyes were kind, but he thought her tone was cold.

”This easy life is rather out of my line,” she said at length, with a smile that draped her words in vagueness.

Amherst looked at her again--she seemed to be growing remote and inaccessible. ”You mean that you don't want to stay?”

His tone was so abrupt that it called forth one of her rare blushes.

”No--not that. I have been very happy with Cicely--but soon I shall have to be doing something else.”

Why was she blus.h.i.+ng? And what did her last phrase mean? ”Something else--?” The blood hummed in his ears--he began to hope she would not answer too quickly.

She had sunk into the seat behind the desk, propping her elbows on its lid, and letting her interlaced hands support her chin. A little bunch of violets which had been thrust into the folds of her dress detached itself and fell to the floor.

”What I mean is,” she said in a low voice, raising her eyes to Amherst's, ”that I've had a great desire lately to get back to real work--my special work.... I've been too idle for the last year--I want to do some hard nursing; I want to help people who are miserable.”