“I've been looking across here ever since morning,” he said, as soon as the hand-shaking and introduction were over, “and I've only this minute been released.” There was no air of apology in this, but a delicate intimation of impatience at the delay. And still, what an unconscious brute a man is!
“I thought perhaps you had returned,” said Margaret, “until my aunt was just telling me we were asked to dine with you.”
Henderson gave her a quick glance. Was it possible she thought he could go away without seeing her?
“Yes, and I was commissioned to bring you over when you are ready.” “I will not keep you waiting long, Mr. Henderson,” interposed Miss Forsythe, out of the goodness of her heart. “My niece has been taking a long walk, and this debilitating spring weather--”
“Oh, since the sun has gone away, I think I'm quite up to the exertion, since you wish it, auntie,” a speech that made Henderson stare again, wholly unable to comprehend the reason of an indirection which he could feel--he who had been all day impatient for this moment. There was a little talk about the country and the city at this season, mainly sustained by Miss Forsythe and Henderson, and then he was left alone. “Of course you should go, Margaret,” said her aunt, as they went upstairs; “it would not be at all the thing for me to leave you here. And what a fine, manly, engaging fellow Mr. Henderson is!”
“Yes, he acts very much like a man;” and Margaret was gone into her room.
Go? There was not force enough in the commonwealth, without calling out the militia, to keep Margaret from going to the dinner. She stopped a moment in the middle of her chamber to think. She had almost forgotten how he looked--his eyes, his smile. Dear me! how the birds were singing outside, and how fresh the world was! And she would not hurry. He could wait. No doubt he would wait now any length of time for her. He was in the house, in the room below, perhaps looking out of the window, perhaps reading, perhaps spying about at her knick-knacks--she would like to look in at the door a moment to see what he was doing. Of course he was here to see her, and all the business was a pretext. As she sat a moment upon the edge of her bed reflecting what to put on, she had a little pang that she had been doing him injustice in her thought. But it was only for an instant. He was here. She was not in the least flurried. Indeed, her mental processes were never clearer than when she settled upon her simple toilet, made as it was in every detail with the sure instinct of a woman who dresses for her lover. Heavens! what a miserable day it had been, what a rebellious day! He ought to be punished for it somehow. Perhaps the rose she put in her hair was part of the punishment. But he should not see how happy she was; she would be civil, and just a little reserved; it was so like a man to make a woman wait all day and then think he could smooth it all over simply by appearing.