Part 30 (1/2)

CHAPTER XXII.

TWO STRINGS TO ONE BOW.

Over the gra.s.s we stepped unto it, And G.o.d He knoweth how blithe we were, Never a voice to bid us eschew it; Hey the green ribbon that showed so fair!

The beck grows wider, the hands must sever On either margin, our songs all done, We move apart, while she singeth ever Taking the course of the stooping sun.

JEAN INGELOW.

That room of Mrs. Watkins's was unusually quiet that May evening, only Fern Trafford was sitting alone by the open window looking out listlessly at the few pa.s.sers-by.

Fern's busy hands were idle to-night, and the work lay unheeded in her lap. There was a shadow too on the fair face, and a little pucker of anxiety on the smooth girlish forehead, as though some hara.s.sing problem were troubling her.

Fern was not quite happy in her mind. Erle Huntingdon had been there that very afternoon, but he had not stayed long, and his manner had been different somehow.

Fern was revolving the visit in rather a troubled way. She wondered if Erle's decided nervousness and want of ease had been owing to her mother's rather cool reception of him. Mrs. Trafford had not been cordial in her manner; she had treated the young man with some restraint and dignity, and had not pressed him to prolong his visit.

Erle must have felt that he was not wanted, for he had very soon risen to take his leave, and had gone away a little sadly.

Fern was too loyal to blame her mother, but she wished she had been a little kinder to poor Erle. Something was vexing him she was sure; he was not in his usual spirits. Once or twice when there had been a moment's pause, she had looked up from her work and found him watching her; and once she was sure that there were tears in his eyes. If they had only been alone she would have asked him what was the matter, and if anything was vexing him. He wanted to tell her something, she was sure, but her mother had been there all the time, and had followed him to the door herself; and though she had gone to the window for a parting look he had not once glanced up--he had walked away very fast with his head bent, as though he were absorbed in thought.

It had not been quite a happy winter to Fern. First Erle and then Crystal had been away, and she had missed them both terribly. It was not as though she had other friends to take their places, and their absence had made quite a blank in her existence.

If her mother could always stay at home and talk to her, if Fluff were older and more of a companion, she might not have missed them so much; but somehow her day-dreams were hardly as consoling as usual. They seemed more shadowy and unreal, and now and then Fern felt a little dull. Ever since her mother and Crystal had given her those hints about Erle, the girl had felt some hostile influence threatening her sweet content. Her thoughts were always straying to that unknown Evelyn Selby of whom Percy had spoken. Now and then she would question Erle about her in her innocent way, but he always evaded these questions.

”Oh, yes, I see her sometimes,” he would answer. ”What makes you so much interested in Miss Selby? I have other lady friends, dozens and dozens of them;” and then Fern would look confused and uncomfortable, and would change the subject; but all the same this girl was never out of her thought. She was rich and well-born and beautiful, and Erle was always meeting her.

Fern tried to hide these thoughts, but Mrs. Trafford often fancied the bright face was a little clouded. Fern laughed and talked as much as ever, and worked as busily for them all; but more than once, when she had returned earlier than usual, she had found Fern with her hands lying idly in her lap, and a very thoughtful look on her face. Fern would jump up at once, with a merry laugh at her own idleness; but her mother did not always forget the look. It was far too dreamy and abstracted, she said to herself, as she watched her child tenderly.

Crystal was thinking much the same as she entered the room rather quietly that May evening--so quietly, indeed, that Fern was not conscious of her presence till she pat her hand on her shoulder with a light laugh.

”Asleep, or only dreaming with your eyes open, Fern. What is the matter, little one?”

”Oh, Crystal, how you startled me,” exclaimed Fern, turning crimson under Crystal's sharp scrutiny. ”What made you come in so noiselessly?

I never even heard your footsteps. Yes, I was dreaming, I believe,”

pus.h.i.+ng back her hair with rather a tired gesture. ”Fluff was sleepy and went to bed, and mother had to help Miss Martingale with the accounts, and one gets stupid sitting alone.”

”I never heard you say that before,” rather incredulously; ”you are the brightest girl I know, Fern; your mother's name 'Little Suns.h.i.+ne'

just suits you; you always seem to me the very essence of suns.h.i.+ne.”

”Oh, one must be dull and stupid sometimes,” returned Fern, with a suspicion of tears in her voice. ”Never mind about me; tell me about your afternoon, Crystal; have you enjoyed yourself?”

”Yes--no--well, the children did. The flowers were beautiful and the gardens so pretty, and there were plenty of gayly dressed people there. Oh, by the bye, I saw Mr. Huntingdon; he was walking with such a handsome girl.”

Fern felt an odd choking sensation in her throat. ”You must have been mistaken, Crystal; Mr. Erle has been sitting with us.”

”Oh, yes, he told us so, for of course he came up to speak to me when Miss Selby had joined her friends; they came in very late, just as we were leaving.”

”And--and--it was Miss Selby?”