When the judge had gone to a political meeting, and May to entertain visitors in the drawing room, Mrs. Gilchrist divined the purport of the impending communication. Her fair hand grew clammy in toying with the short chestnut curls; in the silence through which she could hear the tinkle of the fountain on the lawn, she wet her dry lips that they might not be unready with loving rejoinder to what her idol was preparing to say. She knew March too well to expect conventional preamble. He was always direct and genuine. She did not start when he spoke at length.
“It has come to me at last, and in earnest.”
“I surmised as much.” It was plain to see where he got his dislike of circuitous methods. “Is it Mrs. Wayt’s sister?”
“It is Hetty Alling. She is a true, noble woman. I shall try to win her love. Should I succeed, you will love her for my sake, will you not?”
“You know that I will. But this is sudden. You have known her less than a fortnight. And, dear, it is out of the fullness of my love that I speak—I am afraid that the family is a peculiar one. Be prudent, my son. You are young, and life is long. I cannot bear that you should make a mistake here. Should this young girl be all that you think—even all that I hope to find in her—it is best not to force her decision. Give her time to study you. Take time, and make opportunities to study _her_. I ask it because you bear the names of two honorable men—your father and mine—and because it would break your mother’s heart to see her only boy unhappy.”
He drew her hand to his lips—the high-bred hand that would always be beautiful—and held it there for a moment. She had his pledge.
Hetty had followed Hester into the house. It was half-past five, and there were strawberries to be capped for the half-past six dinner. A parishioner had left a generous supply of Southern berries at the door while the girls were out, and had taken Mrs. Wayt and her little daughters to drive. Aunt and niece sat down at a table drawn before the dining-room window and fell to work. Hester’s high chair brought her tiny, dexterous fingers to a level with Hetty’s. The task went forward with silent rapidity, and neither noted the direction of her companion’s eyes. Hetty seemed to her dazed self to bear about with her the charmed atmosphere of the nook under the king apple tree.