They went straight to the stables. Mr. Carver stood speechless at the remnant of the turnout he had sent to the professor's home early in the morning.
"Mr. Carver," announced Frances coolly, as she slipped from Starlight's back, "the trap is up the road, just this side of the fork. I wish you would send for it."
"One wheel missing, that's all," as if that were a slight affair. "And Mr. Carver," coaxingly, "just have it fixed as soon as you can, and don't say too much about it. It's not a bad break, just one wheel!"
"Bless my soul!" Mr. Carver, with an innate love of beauty, gazed admiringly at flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, "Of course, of course! Come into the office; let me brush your dress for you, it will never do to go home that way." The cloth skirt was covered with long black hairs from the rug.
"Starlight run away?" he asked, as they stood in the little office, while he was busily whisking her skirt.
"Oh, no!" Frances was looking through the open door at Lawson as he went down the stable aisle, his horse's bridle across his arm. He was walking with quick, confident step, shoulders well back, head carried high. She watched him out of sight.
Frances told it as briefly as she could, winding up with her triumphant boast, "But I was first at the finish."
"Good Lord!" laughed her delighted listener. "What will your father say?"
Frances looked around at the open littered desk, the ink-crusted pen and splashed blotter and loose papers, at the thin oak partition of the walls covered with calendars and sporting prints. She was sobered. "I don't know," she said suddenly; "I am going to see. Good-by, thank you!"
She hurried out, she had just missed her car. She waited at the corner impatiently. It was long past the noon, the long string of carriages which had filled the street at an earlier hour was gone, the shops up and down looked deserted, some belated driver drove briskly past, an empty buggy or two waited here and there; the autumn sun blazed on houses and pavement.
"Were you going to leave me?" The tone was distinctly resentful.
"Why--" It nearly slipped her lips that, having started alone, she expected to return alone; and though she caught the words before their utterance, the look of her thought showed so plainly on her face that the young man read it easily enough.
