Part 52 (1/2)

”We'll leave it that way,” Martie said gratefully.

”I believe you'll wire,” Silver said, with another searching look. She only shrugged her shoulders wearily in answer.

They were silent for a few minutes, and then John came out of the house with his bag in his hand. Lydia followed him down the steps.

Lydia was somewhat puzzled by the manner of the visitors, but relieved to see that they were not planning to strain the hospitality of the house for lunch. It was merely a question of thanks and good-byes now, and these she had come forth to receive with dignity.

”Your suitcase is in?” John said to his friend. He put his own into the rumble, snaps were snapped and locks closed. He did not look at Martie.

He lifted his cap, and took Lydia's hand. ”Good-bye, Miss Monroe, and thank you. Good-bye, Martie. Everything all right, Dean?”

He got into his seat. Lydia gave her hand in turn to the novelist.

”You mustn't count on a visit from this girl here, at Glen Mary,” Lydia said in pleasant warning. ”She's going to be a pretty busy girl from now on, I expect!”

”So she was saying,” Dean Silver said gravely. ”Our own plans may be changed,” he added casually. ”I may yet persuade Dryden here to sail up the Nile with me!”

”I certainly think any one who has such a wonderful opportunity would be foolish to decline it,” Lydia observed cheerfully.

”Good-bye,” said the writer to Martie. ”You'll wire me if you can, I know!”

”Good-bye,” she said, hardly conscious of what was being done and said, in the fever of excitement that was consuming her. ”And thank you!”

He jumped into the car. Martie, trembling, stepped back beside Lydia as the engine began to throb.

”Good-bye, John,” she faltered. John lifted his cap; the driver waved a gloved hand.

They were gone.

”I'm so glad you told him about your engagement, Martie!” Lydia said approvingly. ”It was the only honest thing to do. And dear me, isn't it quite a relief to think that they've had their visit, and it's over, and everything is explained and understood?”

”Isn't it?” Martie echoed dully.

She went upstairs. The harsh light of the summer noon did not penetrate the old Monroe house. Martie's room was full of greenish light; there was an opaque streak across the old mirror where she found her white, tired face.

She flung herself across the bed. Her heart was still beating high, and her lips felt dry and hot. She could neither rest nor think, but she lay still for a long while.

Chief among her confused emotions was relief. He had come, he had frightened and disturbed her. Now he was gone again. She would presently go down to mash Teddy's baked potato, and serve watery canned pears from the pressed gla.s.s bowl. She would dress in white, and go driving with Cliff and Teddy and Ruth in the late afternoon. Life would resume its normal placidity.

A week from to-day Rose and Sally would give her the announcement party. Martie resolutely forced her thoughts to the hour of John's arrival: of what had she been thinking then? Of her wedding gown of blue taffeta, and the blue straw hat wreathed with roses. She must go down to the city, perhaps, for the hat--?

But the city brought John again to her mind, and for a few delicious minutes she let herself remember his voice, his burning words, his deep, meaning look.

”Well, it's wonderful--to have a man care that way!” she said, forcing herself to get up, and set about dressing. ”It's something to have had, but it's over!”

CHAPTER VI

Over, however, the episode was not, and after a few days Martie realized with a sort of shame that she did not wish it to be over. She could not keep her memory away from the enchanted hours when John's presence had lent a glory to the dark old house and the prosaic village. She said with a pang: ”It was only yesterday--it was only two--only three--days ago, that he was here, that all the warmth and delight of it was mine!”