Part 2 (2/2)

When Dic came up to her she handed him the letter over the gate, saying: ”Read it alone. Let no one see it.”

Dic had only time to say, ”Thank you,” when the girl struck her horse and galloped down the forest path, bound for Sukey. When she had pa.s.sed out of sight among the trees, Dic went down the river to a secluded spot, known as ”The Stepoff,” where he could read the letter without fear of detection. He had long suspected that his love for the girl was not altogether brotherly, and his recent trouble with her had crystallized that suspicion into certainty. But he saw nothing back of the letter but friends.h.i.+p and contrition. The girl's love was so great a treasure that he dared not even hope for it, and was more than satisfied with the Platonic affection so plainly set forth in her epistle. We who have looked into Rita's heart know of a thing or two that does not resemble Platonism; but the girl herself did not fully know what she felt, and Dic was sure she could not, under any circ.u.mstances, feel as he did. His mistake grew partly out of his lack of knowledge that woman's flesh and blood is of exactly the same quality that covers the bones and flows in the veins of man, and--well, Rita was Rita, and, in Dic's opinion, no other human being was ever of the quality of her flesh, or cast in the mould of her nature. The letter told him that he still held her warm, tender love as a friend. He was thankful for that, and would neither ask nor expect anything more.

If upon Rita's former visit to Sukey she had been too sad to enjoy the vivacious little maiden, upon this occasion she was too happy. She sat listening patiently to her chat, without hearing much of it, until Sukey said:--

”Dic was over to see me last night. I think he's so handsome, don't you?”

Rita was so startled that she did not think anything at the moment, and Sukey presently asked:--

”Don't you think he has a fine head? and his eyes are glorious. The gray is so dark, and they look right at you.”

Rita, compelled to answer, said, ”I think he is--is all right--strong.”

”Indeed, he is strong,” responded Sukey. ”When he takes hold of you, you just feel like he could crush you. Oh, it's delicious--it's thrilling--when you feel that a man could just tear you to pieces if he wanted to.”

”Why?” asked Rita; ”I don't understand.”

”Oh, just because,” replied Sukey, shrugging her shoulders and laughing softly, her red lips parted, her little teeth glistening like wet ivory, and the dimples twinkling mischievously.

”Just because” explained nothing to Rita, but something in Sukey's laughter and manner aroused undefined and disagreeable suspicions, so she said:--

”Well, Sukey, I must be going home.”

”Why, you just came,” returned Sukey, still laughing softly. She had shot her arrow intentionally and had seen it strike the target's centre.

Sukey was younger than Rita, but she knew many times a thing or two; while poor Rita's knowledge of those mystic numbers was represented by the figure O.

Why should Dic ”take hold” of any one, thought Rita, while riding home, and above all, why should he take hold of Sukey? Sukey was pretty, and Sukey's prettiness and Dic's ”taking hold” seemed to be related in some mysterious manner. She who saw others through the clear lens of her own conscience did not doubt Dic and Sukey, but notwithstanding her trustfulness, a dim suspicion pa.s.sed through her mind that something might be wrong if Dic had really ”taken hold” of Sukey. Where the evil was, she could not determine; and to connect the straightforward, manly fellow with anything dishonorable or wicked was impossible to her. So she dismissed the subject, and it left no trace upon her mind save a slight irritation against Sukey.

Rita felt sure that Dic would come to see Tom that evening, and the red ribbon was in evidence soon after supper. Dic did come, and there was at least one happy girl on Blue.

THE SYCAMORE DIVAN

CHAPTER III

THE SYCAMORE DIVAN

A virgin love in the heart of a young girl is like an effervescent chemical: it may withstand a great shock, but a single drop of an apparently harmless liquid may cause it to evaporate. This risk Dic took when he went that evening to see Tom; and the fact that Rita had written her letter, of which she had such grave misgivings, together with the words of Sukey Yates, made his risk doubly great. Poor Dic needed a thorough knowledge of chemistry. He did not know that he possessed it, but he was a pure-minded, manly man, and the knowledge was innate with him.

”Good evening, Rita,” said Dic, when, after many efforts, she came out upon the porch where he was sitting with her father, her mother, and Tom.

”Good morning,” answered Rita, confusedly, and her mistake as to the time of day added to her confusion.

”Good morning!” cried Tom. ”It's evening. My! but she's confused because you're here, Dic.”

Tom was possessed of a simian acuteness that had led him to discover poor Rita's secret before she herself was fully aware of its existence.

She, however, was rapidly making the interesting discovery, and feared that between the ribbon, the letter, and Tom's amiable jokes, Dic would discover it and presume upon the fact. From the mingling of these doubts and fears grew a feeling of resentment against Dic--a conviction before the fact. She wished him to know her regard for him, but she did not want him to learn it from any act of hers. She desired him to wrest it from her by main force, and as little awkwardness as a man may use. Had Dic by the smallest word or act shown a disposition to profit by what Rita feared had been excessive frankness in her letter, or had he, in any degree, a.s.sumed the att.i.tude of a confident lover, such word or act would have furnished the needful chemical drop, and Dic's interests would have suffered. His safety at this time lay in ignorance. He did not suspect that Rita loved him, and there was no change in his open friendly demeanor. He was so easy, frank, and happy that evening that the girl soon began to feel that nothing unusual had happened, and that, after all, the letter was not bold, but perfectly right, and quite proper in all respects. Unconsciously to her Dic received the credit for her eased conscience, and she was grateful to him. She was more comfortable, and the evening seemed more like old times than for many months before.

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