great regret was to have missed such training,nor did she remember when her incurious friend had learned her tensedetermination of flight; she could have sworn that she had never spokenof it. Sometimes, so perfectly did they appear to understand each otherbeneath an indifferent conversation, it seemed to her that the wordsmust be the merest symbols, and that the girl who always caught herlightest shade of meaning knew to exactness her alternate hope and fear,the rudderless tossing toward and from her taunting harbor-light.
They sat by an open window, breathing in the moist air from the fresh,upturned earth. The gardeners were working over the sprouting beds; thesun came in warm and sweet.
"Three weeks ago it was almost cold at this time," said the girl. "Inthe springtime I give up going home, and love the place. But two yearsmore--two years!"
"Do you really mind it so much?"
"I think what I mind the most is that I don't like it more," said thegirl slowly. "Mamma wanted it so. She really loved study. I don't, butif I did--I should love it more than this. This would seem so childish.And if I just wanted a good time, why, then this would seem such a lotof trouble. All the good things here seem--seem remedies!"
The older woman laughed nervously. Three weeks--three weeks and no word!
"You will be making epigrams, my dear, if you don't take care," shesaid lightly. "But you're going to finish just the same? The girls likeyou, your work is good; you ought to stay."
The girl flashed a look of surprise at her. It was her only hint ofsympathy.
"You advise me to?" she asked quietly.
"I think it would be a pity to disappoint your mother," with a lighthand on her shoulder. "You are so young--four years is very, little. Ofcourse you could do the work in half the time, but you admit that youare not an ardent student. If nobody came here but the girls that reallyneeded to, we shouldn't have the reputation that we have. The girls towhom this place means the last word in learning and the last grace ofsocial life are estimable young women, but not so pleasant to meet asyou."
Three weeks--but he had waited seven years!
"I am very childish," said the girl. "Of course I will stay. And someof it I like very much. It's only that mamma doesn't understand. Sheoverestimates it so. Somehow, the more complete it is, the more likeeverything else, the more you have to find fault with on all sides. I'drather have come when mamma was a girl."
"I see. I have thought that, too."
Ah, fool, give up your senseless hope! You had your chance--you lost it.Fate cannot stop and wait while you grow wise.
"When that shadow covers the hill, I will give it up forever. Then Iwill write to Henry's wife and ask her to let me come and help take careof the children. She will like it, and I can get tutoring if I wantit. I will make the children love me, and there will be a place where Ishall be wanted and can help," she thought.
The shadow slipped lower. The fresh turf steeped in the last rays, thebirds sang, the warming earth seemed to have touched the very core ofspring. Her hopes had answered the eager years, but her miracle was toowonderful to be.
A light knock at the door, and a maid came toward her, tray in hand. Shelifted the card carelessly--her heart dropped a moment and beat inhard, slow throbs. Her eyes filled with tears; her cheeks were hot andbrilliant.
"I will be there in a moment." How deep her voice sounded!
The girl slipped by her.
"I was going anyway," she said softly. "Good-by! Don't touch yourhair--it's just right."
She did not wait for an answer, but went out. As she passed bythe little reception-room a tall, eager man made toward her withoutstretched hands. Her voice trembled as she laughed.
"No, no--I'm not the one," she murmured, "but she--she's coming!"
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