Part 2 (2/2)

I can't help being glad that you didn't come in time to forestall me.”

”I'm sure Ted's hospitality might have covered us both,” she said, pulling off her gloves. He recognized the voice. At close range it was even more delightful than he had remembered.

”I doubt it, since he tells me that when you're here he doesn't mind who else is away.”

”Did you say that, Teddy?” she asked, smiling at the boy. ”Then you'll surely give me lunch, though it isn't my day at home. I'm so hungry, walking in this wind. But the air is glorious.”

She went away to remove her hat and coat, and came back quickly, her ma.s.ses of black hair suggesting but not confirming the impression that the wind had lately had its way with them. Her eyes scanned the table eagerly like those of a hungry boy.

”Some of your scholars sick?” inquired Ted.

”Two--and one away. So I'm to have a whole beautiful afternoon, though I may have to see them Wednesday to make up. I am a teacher in Miss Copeland's private school,” she explained to Richard as simply as one of the young women he knew would have explained. ”I have singing lessons of Servensky.”

This gave the young man food for thought, in which he indulged while Miss Roberta Gray told Ted of an encounter she had had that morning with a special friend of his own. This daughter of a distinguished man--of a family not so rich as his own, but still of considerable wealth and unquestionably high social position--was a teacher in a school for girls; a most exclusive school, of course--he knew the one very well--but still in a school and for a salary. To Richard the thing was strange enough. She must surely do it from choice, not from necessity; but why from choice? With her face and her charm--he felt the charm already; it radiated from her--why should she want to tie herself down to a dull round of duty like that instead of giving her thoughts to the things girls of her position usually cared for? Taking into consideration the statement Ted had lately made about his elder brother, it struck Richard Kendrick that this must be a family of rather eccentric notions. Somewhat to his surprise he discovered that the idea interested him. He had found people of his own acquaintance tiresomely alike; he congratulated himself on having met somebody who seemed likely to prove different.

”So you rejoice in your half-holiday, Miss Gray,” Richard observed when he had the chance. ”I suppose you know exactly what you are going to do with it?”

”Why do you think I do?” she asked with an odd little twist of the lip.

”Do you always plan even unexpected holidays so carefully?”

It occurred to Richard that up to the last fortnight his days since he left college had been all holidays, and there had been plenty of them throughout college life itself. But he answered seriously: ”I don't believe I do. But I had the idea that teachers were so in the habit of living on schedules scientifically made out that even their holidays were conscientiously lived up to, with the purpose of getting the full value out of them.”

Even as he said it he could have laughed aloud at the thought of these straitlaced principles being applicable to the young person who sat at the table with himself and Ted. She a teacher? Never! He had known no women teachers since his first governess had been exchanged for a tutor, the st.u.r.dy youngster having rebelled, at an extraordinarily early age, against petticoat government. His acquaintance included but one woman of that profession--and she was a college president. He and she had not got on well together, either, during the brief period in which they had been thrown together--on an ocean voyage. But he had seen plenty of teachers, crossing the Atlantic in large parties, surveying cathedrals, taking coach drives, inspecting art galleries--all with that conscientious air of making the most of it. Miss Roberta Gray one of that serious company?

It was incredible!

”Dear me,” laughed Roberta, ”what a keen observer you are! I am almost afraid to admit that I have no conscientiously thought-out plan--but one. I am going to put myself in Ted's hands and let him personally conduct my afternoon.”

Blue eyes met blue eyes at that and flashed happy fire. Lucky Ted!

”Oh, jolly!” exclaimed that delighted youth. ”Will you play basket-ball in the attic?”

”Of course I will. Just the thing for a rainy day.”

”Bowls?”

”Yes, indeed.”

”Take a cross-country tramp?” His eyes were sparkling.

Roberta glanced out of the window. The rain was das.h.i.+ng hard against the pane. ”If you won't go through the West Wood marshes,” she stipulated.

”Sure I won't. They'd be pretty wet even for me on a day like this. Is there anything you'd specially like to do yourself?” he bethought himself at this stage to inquire.

Roberta shrugged her shoulders. ”Of course it seems tame to propose settling down by the living-room fire and popping corn, after we get back and have got into our dry clothes,” said she, ”but--”

Ted grinned. ”That's the stuff,” he acknowledged. ”I knew you'd think of the right thing to end up the lark with.” He looked across at Richard with a proud and happy face. ”Didn't I tell you she was a peach of a sister?” he challenged his guest.

Richard nodded. ”You certainly did,” he said. ”And I see no occasion to question the statement.”

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