Part 20 (2/2)
”Ah, ha! You do me proud,” he answered, with a mocking sweep of his hat.
”'Tis sweet to be valued at one's true worth. Don't think for a moment that I would leave you to pine on the stem if I could have my own way.
But I'm my mother's angel baby-boy. She and daddy think that grandfather's health demands a change of air, and they are loath to leave me behind. So, unwilling to deprive them of the apple of their several eyes, I have generously consented to accompany them. But you needn't pine for company,” he added, with a mischievous glance at Lloyd.
”Alex Shelby expects to spend most of the summer with the old doctor, and he'll be a brother to you all, if you'll allow it.”
Lloyd made no answer, so he proceeded to make several more teasing remarks about Alex, not knowing what had taken place before. He even ventured to repeat the warning about her keeping within her own bailiwick, as Bernice's friends.h.i.+p was not the kind that could stand much strain.
To his surprise Lloyd made no answer, but, setting her lips together angrily, rose and went into the house, her head high and her cheeks flushed.
”Whew!” he exclaimed, with a soft whistle. ”What hornet's nest have I stirred up now?”
Joyce and Betty exchanged glances, each waiting for the other to make the explanation. Then Joyce asked: ”Didn't you see the way Bernice snubbed her last night at the gate, when we left The Beeches?”
”Nary a snub did I see. It must have happened when I was groping around in the path for something that I had flipped out of my pocket with my handkerchief. It rang on the ground like a piece of money, and I feared me I had lost one of me ducats. What did she do?”
”I can't tell you now,” said Joyce, hurriedly, lowering her voice. ”Here come Phil and Doctor Bradford.”
”No matter,” he answered, airily. ”I have no curiosity whatsoever. It's a trait of character entirely lacking in my make-up.” Then he motioned toward Mary, who was sitting in a hammock, cutting the pages of a new magazine. ”Does _she_ know?”
Joyce nodded, and feeling that they meant her, Mary looked up inquiringly. Rob beckoned to her ingratiatingly.
”Come into the garden, Maud,” he said in a low tone. ”I would have speech with thee.”
Laughing at his foolishness, but in a flutter of pleasure, Mary sprang up to follow him to the rustic seat midway down the avenue. As Joyce's parting glance had not forbidden it, she was soon answering his questions to the best of her ability.
”You see,” he explained, ”it's not out of curiosity that I ask all this.
It's simply as a means of precaution. I can't keep myself out of hot water unless I know how the land lies.”
That last day of the house-party seemed the shortest of all. Betty and Miles Bradford strolled over to Tanglewood and sat for more than an hour on the shady stile leading into the churchyard. Lloyd and Phil went for a last horseback ride, and Mary, watching them canter off together down the avenue, wondered curiously if he would have anything more to say about the bit of turquoise and all it stood for.
As she followed Joyce up-stairs to help her pack her trunk, a little wave of homesickness swept over her. Not that she wanted to go back to the Wigwam, but to have Joyce go away without her was like parting with the last anchor which held her to her family. It gave her a lonely set-adrift feeling to be left behind. She took her sister's parting injunctions and advice with a meekness that verged so nearly on tears that Joyce hastened to change the subject.
”Think of all the things I'll have to tell you about when I get back from the seash.o.r.e. Only two short months,--just eight little weeks,--but I'm going to crowd them so full of glorious hard work that I'll accomplish wonders. There'll be no end of good times, too: clambakes and fis.h.i.+ng and bathing to fill up the c.h.i.n.ks in the days, and the story-telling in the evenings around the driftwood fires. It will be over before we know it, and I'll be back here ready to take you home before you have time to really miss me.”
Cheered by Joyce's view of the subject, Mary turned her back a moment till she had winked away the tears that had begun to gather, then straightway started out to make the most of the eight little weeks left to her at The Locusts. When she went with the others to the station ”to give the house-party on wheels a grand send-off,” as Kitty expressed it, her bright little face was so happy that it brought a smiling response from every departing guest.
”Good-by, Miss Mary,” Miles Bradford said, cordially, coming up to her in the waiting-room. ”The Pilgrim Father has much to thank you for. You have helped him to store up some very pleasant memories of this happy Valley.”
”Good-by, little Vicar,” said Phil next, seizing both her hands. ”Think of the Best Man whenever you look at the Philip on your s.h.i.+lling, and think of his parting words. _Do_ profit by that dreadful dream, and don't take any rash steps that would lead to another cat-fight. We'll take care of your sister,” he added, as Mary turned to Joyce and threw her arms around her neck for one last kiss.
”Lieutenant Logan will watch out for her as far as he goes, and I'll keep my eagle eye on her the rest of the way.”
”Who'll keep an eagle eye on you?” retorted Mary, following them out to the platform.
He made a laughing grimace over his shoulder, as he turned to help Joyce up the steps.
”What a good time they are going to have together,” thought Mary, watching the group as they stood on the rear platform of the last car, waving good-by. ”And what a different parting this is from that other one on the desert when he went away with such a sorry look in his eyes.”
He was facing the future eagerly this time, strong in hope and purpose, and she answered the last wave of his hat with a flap of her handkerchief, which seemed to carry with it all the loyal good wishes that shone in her beaming little face.
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