Part 103 (2/2)

He came daytimes and went on long walks with us. He established his workshop in a most attractive little cave not far beyond far beyond us--the country there is full of rocky ledges and hollows, and sometimes asked us over to an afternoon tea, made on a gipsy fire.

Lois was a good deal older than I, but not really old at all, and she didn't look her thirty-five by ten years. I never blamed her for not mentioning it, and I wouldn't have done so, myself, on any account. But I felt that together we made a safe and reasonable household. She played beautifully, and there was a piano in our big room. There were pianos in several other little cottages about--but too far off for any jar of sound. When the wind was right we caught little wafts of music now and then; but mostly it was still--blessedly still, about us. And yet that Calceolaria was only two minutes off--and with raincoats and rubbers we never minded going to it.

We saw a good deal of Ford and I got interested in him, I couldn't help it. He was big. Not extra big in pounds and inches, but a man with big view and a grip--with purpose and real power. He was going to do things. I thought he was doing them now, but he didn't--this was all like cutting steps in the ice-wall, he said. It had to be done, but the road was long ahead. And he took an interest in my work too, which is unusual for a literary man.

Mine wasn't much. I did embroidery and made designs.

It is such pretty work! I like to draw from flowers and leaves and things about me; conventionalize them sometimes, and sometimes paint them just as they are,--in soft silk st.i.tches.

All about up here were the lovely small things I needed; and not only these, but the lovely big things that make one feel so strong and able to do beautiful work.

Here was the friend I lived so happily with, and all this fairy land of sun and shadow, the free immensity of our view, and the dainty comfort of the Cottagette. We never had to think of ordinary things till the soft musical thrill of the j.a.panese gong stole through the trees, and we trotted off to the Calceolaria.

I think Lois knew before I did.

We were old friends and trusted each other, and she had had experience too.

”Malda,” she said, ”let us face this thing and be rational.” It was a strange thing that Lois should be so rational and yet so musical--but she was, and that was one reason I liked her so much.

”You are beginning to love Ford Mathews--do you know it?”

I said yes, I thought I was.

”Does he love you?”

That I couldn't say. ”It is early yet,” I told her. ”He is a man, he is about thirty I believe, he has seen more of life and probably loved before--it may be nothing more than friendliness with him.”

”Do you think it would be a good marriage?” she asked. We had often talked of love and marriage, and Lois had helped me to form my views--hers were very clear and strong.

”Why yes--if he loves me,” I said. ”He has told me quite a bit about his family, good western farming people, real Americans. He is strong and well--you can read clean living in his eyes and mouth.” Ford's eyes were as clear as a girl's, the whites of them were clear. Most men's eyes, when you look at them critically, are not like that. They may look at you very expressively, but when you look at them, just as features, they are not very nice.

I liked his looks, but I liked him better.

So I told her that as far as I knew it would be a good marriage--if it was one.

”How much do you love him?” she asked.

That I couldn't quite tell,--it was a good deal,--but I didn't think it would kill me to lose him.

”Do you love him enough to do something to win him--to really put yourself out somewhat for that purpose?”

”Why--yes--I think I do. If it was something I approved of. What do you mean?”

Then Lois unfolded her plan. She had been married,--unhappily married, in her youth; that was all over and done with years ago; she had told me about it long since; and she said she did not regret the pain and loss because it had given her experience. She had her maiden name again--and freedom. She was so fond of me she wanted to give me the benefit of her experience--without the pain.

”Men like music,” said Lois; ”they like sensible talk; they like beauty of course, and all that,--”

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