Part 7 (2/2)

She had no intention of riding home alone. She knew she would die from fright before she had ridden a hundred yards into the black forest, so she said demurely:--

”Of course, if you will go with me after--”

”I would go with you after anything,” he answered, but she thought he spoke with a touch of anger.

Had Dic ever hoped to gain more than a warm friends.h.i.+p from the girl that hope had been shattered for all time, and never, never, never would he obtrude his love upon her again. As a matter of fact, he had not obtruded it upon her even once, but he had thought of doing it so many times that he felt as if he had long been an importunate suitor.

UNDER THE ELM CANOPY

CHAPTER V

UNDER THE ELM CANOPY

Dic and Rita rode home through the forest in silence. His anger soon evaporated, and he was glad she had refused to pay the forfeit. He would be content with the friends.h.i.+p that had been his since childhood, and would never again risk losing it. What right had he, a great, uncouth ”clodhopper,” to expect even friends.h.i.+p from so beautiful and perfect a creature as the girl who rode beside him; and, taking it all in all, the fault, thought he, lay entirely at his door. In this sombre mood he resolved that he would remain unmarried all his life, and would be content with the incompleted sweet of loving. He would put a guard upon himself, his acts, his words, his pa.s.sion. The latter was truly as n.o.ble and pure as man ever felt for woman, but it should not be allowed to estrange his friend. She should never know it; no, never, never, never.

Rita's cogitations were also along the wrong track. During her silent ride homeward the girl was thinking with an earnestness and a rapidity that had never before been developed in her brain. She was, at times, almost unconscious that Dic was riding beside her, but she was vividly conscious of the fact that she would soon be home and that he also would be there. She determined to do something before parting from him to make amends for her conduct at the social. But what should she do? Hence the earnest and rapid intellection within the drooping head. She did not regret having refused to kiss Dic. She would, under like circ.u.mstances, again act in the same manner. She regretted the circ.u.mstances. To her, a kiss should be a holy, sacred thing, and in her heart she longed for the time when it would be her duty and her privilege to give her lips to the one man. But kissing games seemed to her little less than open and public shame.

She could not, for obvious reasons, tell Dic she was sorry she had refused him, and she certainly would not mend matters by telling him she was glad. Still less could she permit him to leave her in his present state of mind. All together it was a terrible dilemma. If she could for only one moment have a man's privilege to speak, she thought, it would all be very simple. But she could not speak. She could do little more than look, and although she could do that well, she knew from experience that the language of her eyes was a foreign tongue to Dic.

When they reached home, Dic lifted Rita from her saddle and stabled her horse. When he came from the barn she was holding his horse and waiting for him. He took the rein from her hands, saying:--

”It seems almost a pity to waste such a night as this in the house. I believe one might read by the light of the moon.”

”Yes,” murmured the girl, hanging her head, while she meditatively smoothed the gra.s.s with her foot.

”It's neither warm nor cold--just pleasant,” continued Dic.

”No,” she responded very softly.

”But we must sleep,” he ventured to a.s.sert.

She would not contradict the statement. She was silent.

”If the days could be like this night, work would be a pleasure,”

observed Dic, desperately.

”No,” came the reply, hardly louder than a breath. She was not thinking of the weather, but Dic stuck faithfully to the blessed topic.

”It may rain soon,” he remarked confusedly. There was not a cloud in sight.

”Yes,” breathed the pretty figure, smoothing the gra.s.s with her foot.

”But--but, I rather think it will not,” he said.

The girl was silent. She didn't care if it snowed. She longed for him to drop the subject of the weather and to say something that would give her an opportunity to speak. Her manner, however, was most una.s.suring, and convinced Dic that he had offended beyond forgiveness, while his distant, respectful formality and persistency in the matter of the weather almost convinced the girl that he was lost to her forever. Thus they stood before each other, as many others have done, a pair of helpless fools within easy reach of paradise. Dic's straightforward habits of thought and action came to his aid, however, and he determined to make at least one more effort to regain the girl's friendly regard.

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