He spoke gently; her heart was at rest again.
“You say that you can not understand whether I am wily or sincere?”
“Neither can I. But I _think_ that I am sincere!”
“And please be careful how you change your attitude towards her; you are unconventional enough to refuse a woman upon the slightest pretext. I know that you will say ‘I regret exceedingly, Miss Sue, that you have misinterpreted my friendly attentions.’”
“I would like to; I think many things that I do not speak, Miss Tessa.”
“Your head and heart would echo a perpetual silence if you did not,” she laughed. “The Sphinx is a chatterbox compared to you.”
As they drove up under the maple-trees before the low iron gate, he said, “Has this year been a happy year to you? Do you sleep well?”
“Wouldn’t you like to look at my tongue and feel my pulse?” she returned in her lightest tone.
“Will you not answer me?” he asked gravely.
“This year has been the best year of my life.”
“So has it been my best year. This winter I shall decide several things pertaining to my future; it is my plan to practice for awhile—and not marry!”
Were those last words for her? Discomfited and wounded—oh, how wounded!—her lips refused to speak.
“Good-by,” she said, just touching his hand.
He turned as he was driving off and lifted his hat, the sunshine of his eyes fell full upon her; her smile was but a pitiful effort; what right had he to say such a thing to her?
“I hope,” she said, as she walked up the path, “that I shall never see you again.”
“I wish that I had never seen her,” he ejaculated, touching his horse with the whip.
And thus a part of the old year died and was buried.
Shaking with cold, not daring to go away by herself, she irresolutely turned the knob of the sitting-room door; her face, she was aware, was not in a state to be taken before her mother’s critical eyes; but her heart was so crushed, she pitied herself with such infinite compassion, that she longed for some one to speak to her kindly, to touch her as if they loved her; any thing to take some of the aching away from that place in her heart where the tears were frozen.
When she needed any mothering she gave it to herself; with her arms around her shivering, shrinking self, she was beseeching, “Be brave; it’s almost over.”