Part 9 (2/2)

”Only what?”

”Only--well----” We were at Lucy's gate. I stopped beneath the lamp-post. ”I don't believe my sister has told you all about me, Mr.

Jennings.”

”Of course not!” He laughed. ”I don't want her to. I don't want to know all that's in a new book I am about to read. It's pleasanter to discover the delights myself.”

I felt conscience-stricken. There were no delights left in me. I ought to tell him. However, all I replied was, ”How nicely you put things!”

And he: ”Do I? Well--when may I come?”

”Why--any night. Only I'm not a very bright book--rather dreary. Truly.

I warn you. You found me in tears, remember.”

”Don't think again about that,” he said to me. ”Please. Listen. I always try to take home to the little white-haired lady something pleasant every night--a rose or a couple of pinks, or an incident of some sort to please her, never anything dreary. _You_, looking at the picture of the little sick girl, are to be the gift tonight.” And then suddenly embarra.s.sed, he added hastily, ”I'm afraid you're awfully wet. I ought to be shot. Perhaps you preferred to ride. You're covered with mist. And perhaps it's spoiled something.” He glanced at my hat.

”No, it hasn't,” I a.s.sured him, ”and good night. I can get in all right.”

”Oh, let me----”

”No, please,” I insisted.

”Very well,” he acquiesced. And I gave him my hand and sped up the walk.

He waited until the door was opened to me, and then, ”Good night,” came his clear, pleasant voice to me from out of the rainy dark.

I went straight upstairs to my room. I felt as if I had just drunk long and deep of pure cold water. Tired and travel-worn I had been, uncertain of my way, disheartened, spent; and then suddenly across my path had appeared an unexpected brook, crystal clear, soul-refres.h.i.+ng. I had rested by it a moment, listened to its cheerful murmur, lifted up a little of its coolness in the hollow of my hand, and drunk. I went up to my room with a lighter heart than I had known for months, walked over to the window, raised it, and let in a little of the precious mistiness that had enshrouded me for the last half hour.

Standing there looking out into the darkness, I was interrupted by a knock on my door.

”I was just turning down the beds, Miss,” explained Lucy's Delia, ”and so brought up your letter.” And she pa.s.sed me the missive I had not noticed on the table as I came in, so blind a cheerful ”good night”

called from out of the rain had made me.

”A letter? Thank you, Delia. Isn't it rainy!” I added impulsively.

”It is, Miss. It is indeed, Miss Ruth!”

”Come,” I went on, ”let me help you turn down the beds. I haven't another thing to do.” The letter could wait. Benevolence possessed my soul.

Later alone in my room I opened my note. It was from Edith. I had recognized her handwriting instantly. She seldom harbors ill-feeling for any length of time.

”Three cheers!” the letter jubilantly began. ”Run up a flag. We win!” it shouted. ”Prepare yourself, Toots. We have been bidden to Gra.s.smere!

Also I have received a personal note from the great Mogul herself. You were right, I guess, as always. Let's forgive and forget. Mrs. Sewall writes to know if we will honor her by our presence at a luncheon at Gra.s.smere. What do you say to that? With pleasure, kind lady, say I! I enclose your invitation. You'll be ravis.h.i.+ng in a new gown which I want you to go right in and order at Madame's--_on me_, understand, dearie.

I'm going to blow myself to a new one, too. Won't the girls be surprised when they hear of this? The joke will be on them, I'm thinking. Probably you and Breck will be patching up your little difference, too. I don't pretend to fathom Mrs. S.'s change of front, but it's changed anyhow!

That's all I care about. Good-by. Must hurry to catch mail. Hustle home, rascal. Love, Edith.”

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