After that, Charlie drew Robert into the conversation. Each man had taken the measure of the other, and approved. They had talked indifferently for awhile on matters pertaining to the town, when the front door opened and a step was heard in the hall.
Robert, looking at Charlie Walker, saw a light leap into his eyes, as he turned toward the door leading into the hall. “What manner of woman is this?” he asked himself, “who can bring such a look to a man’s face after so many years of married life?” All unconsciously his eyes wandered to Meg.
Mrs. Walker was pretty, in rather a coquettish way; with soft brown hair and eyes, a weak red mouth, and a complexion which still retained its girlish fairness. Her hands were little, white, helpless ones, and about her was an air of childish innocence and irresponsibility. Her dress was in keeping with the furnishing of the room, cheaply pretentious and ornate.
Robert felt instinctively that while such a woman could never possess any attraction for him, she was the type some men would die for,—notably, her husband.
The talk was desultory for a while, and then Meg asked her cousin to play for them, “Which was generous of me,” she confided later, to Robert, “for it showed her to the best advantage.”
Without demur she seated herself at the piano and at once began to play with such sweetness and power that Robert was amazed. Glancing toward her husband, whose face reflected his appreciation of the music, as well as his adoration of the performer, Robert felt that he held the key to the puzzle.
As they were walking home, Meg asked him suddenly, “What did you think of my kin-folks?” As he paused, she continued, “Never mind the house,—I know what you thought of that,—but tell me what you think of Charlie?”
“He is a man I could love like a brother. I have never felt so drawn to a stranger.”
“You dear boy!” cried Meg impulsively; “I always knew you were nice, but I never dreamed you were _that_ nice. You see, Cousin Charlie is my hobby, for I think he is a grand character, and I want him to be appreciated.”
“I thought that, but I didn’t want to judge her hastily,” commented Robert.
“She does not appreciate him,” Meg vehemently exclaimed. “I wish I could shake a little sense into her. He was too sick a man to be left this afternoon, but she didn’t know it, or didn’t care if she did know it. Why, if I had a husband like that, and he had nothing more serious the matter with him than a boil, I would stay with him!”