"That"s good. I guess you"ve done pretty well for them, Saxton. But I hope we shan"t lose you from Clarkson. We need young men out there; and I guess we"ve got as good a town as there is anywhere west of Chicago."
"I"m sure of that," said John; and he rose to go.
"I"m sorry the rest of them are not here," said Mr. Porter. "Evelyn ought to have been home before this. But you must come again. Come out and try the golf course and have dinner with us any time. I"m playing a little myself this summer. Evelyn and Grant can outdrive me all right; but they"re not in it with me on putting. I"m one of the warmest putters on the links. You can find the sh.o.r.e path this way." He led John to an exit at the rear of the house, where there was an old apple orchard.
"After you pa.s.s the lighthouse you come to a road that leads right into the village."
John left his greetings for the rest of the household and turned away.
It had all happened much more easily than he had expected. He had burned all his bridges behind him now; he would mail his letter in the village; not that it would be delivered any sooner, but because it fell in with his spirit of renunciation that it should go hence with the Orchard Lane postmark.
He took it from his pocket and carried it in his hand. He found the walk very pleasant, with the rough sh.o.r.e of the bay on one hand and pretty villas on the other. Orchard Lane was not wholly a fiction of nomenclature. There were veritable lanes that survived the coming of fashion and wealth, and spoke of simpler times on these northern sh.o.r.es.
The path was not altogether straight, but described a tortuous line past the lighthouse which crouched on a point of the bay. There was a train at six o"clock; it was now five and he loitered along, stopping often to look out upon the sea. A group of people was gathered about a tea table on the sloping lawn in front of one of the houses. The colors of the women"s dresses were bright against the dark green. It was a gay company; their laughter floated out to him mockingly. He wondered whether Evelyn was there, as he pa.s.sed on, beating the rocky path with his stick.
Evelyn was not there; but her destination was that particular lawn and its tea table. Turning a fresh bend in the path he came upon her. He had had no thought of seeing her; yet she was coming down the path toward him, her picture hat framed in the dome of a blue parasol. He had renounced her for all time, and he should greet her guardedly; but the blood was singing in his temples and throbbing in his finger tips at the sight of her.
"This is too bad!" she exclaimed, as they met. "I hope you can come back to the house."
She walked straight up to him and gave him her hand in her quick, frank way.
"I"m sorry, but I must go in to town on this next train," he answered.
He turned in the path and walked along beside her.
"This happened to be one of our scattering days, for all except father."
"We had a nice talk, he and I. Your place is charming."
They descended the sh.o.r.e path until they came to the villa where the tea drinkers were a.s.sembled.
"Don"t let me detain you. I"m sure you were going to join these lotus eaters."
"I don"t believe they need me," she answered, evasively. "They seem pretty busy. But if you"re hungry--or thirsty, I can get something for you there." They pa.s.sed the gate, walking slowly along. He knew that he ought to urge her to stop, and that he must hurry on to catch his train; but it was too sweet to be near her; this was the last time and it was his own!
"I seem to remember your tea drinking ways," she said. "You use only sugar and the hot water."
"But that was in the winter," he responded. He wished she had not referred to that afternoon, when he had been weak, just as he was proving weak now. A yacht was steaming slowly into the bay. It was a pretty, white plaything and they paused and commended its good qualities with the easy certainty of superficial knowledge. They walked on, pa.s.sing the lighthouse, and slowly nearing the entrance to Red Gables.
She led the talk easily and her light-heartedness added to his depression; every step he took was an error; but he would leave her at the gate when they came to it and go on to the village and his train.
She paused abruptly and looked across a meadow which lay between them and the Red Gables orchard.
"I really believe it"s a cow; yes, it is a cow," she declared, with quiet conviction.
"I thought it was a yacht. Was I as dull as that?" he demanded.
"Be it far from me to say; but I was getting a little breathless. Even the professional monologuists in the vaudeville have to rest."
He was not in a humor for frivolous conversation; but she had never been so gay. He had committed himself to general chaos and yet she was smiling amid the ruin of the world.
"I don"t believe there are any letter boxes along here," she continued, looking straight ahead. He remembered his letter; he was stupidly carrying it in his hand; his fingers were cramped from their clutch upon it. It was not easy to resist her mood, and he now laughed in spite of himself.
"I"m disappointed. I thought they had all the necessities of a successful summer resort here,--even mails."
"Rather poor, don"t you think? I suppose you were carrying the letter to get an opening for that."
They paused and John held open the little gate in the stone wall. He was grave again, and something of his seriousness communicated itself to her. Clearly, he thought, this was the parting of the ways. He had not relaxed his hold upon the letter; it was a straw at which he clutched for support.
"Won"t you come in? There are plenty of trains and we"d like you to dine with us."
A great wave of loneliness and yearning swept over him. Her invitation seemed to create new and limitless distances that stretched between them. In fumbling with the latch of the gate he had dropped his letter.
The wind caught and carried it out into the gra.s.s.
He went soberly after it and picked it up. There was a dogged resignation in his step as he walked slowly across the gra.s.s. While he was securing the bit of paper, she sat down on a rustic bench and waited for him.
"The fates don"t agree with you about the letter, Mr. Saxton. You were looking for a letter box and they tried to thwart you."
"I"m not superst.i.tious," said John, smiling a little.
"One needn"t be,--to act on the direct hints of Providence."
She sat at comfortable ease on the bench, holding her parasol across her lap. There was room for two, and John sat down.
"Suppose it were a check on an overdrawn account; would Providence intervene to prevent an overdraft?"
"That"s a commercial hypothesis; I think we should be above such considerations." Then they were silent. John bent forward with his elbows on his knees, playing with his stick and still holding the letter. The wind came up out of the sea and blew in their faces. The bra.s.s mountings of the yacht shone resplendent in the slanting rays of the lowering sun. It was very calm and restful in the orchard. Two robins came and inspected them, and then flew away to one of the gnarled old trees to gossip about them.
"It happens to be important," said John, indicating the letter.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
"Oh, pardon me!" with real contrition. It was not her way to flirt with a young man over a letter. John held up the envelope so that she saw the superscription. She knew the name very well. It was constantly in the newspapers, and the owner of it had dined once at her father"s house.
"He"s the head of the syndicate that has bought the Traction Company. He has asked me to stay in Clarkson and run the street cars."
"That"s very nice. But merit gets rewarded sometimes."
"But I have refused the offer," he said quietly. He had not intended to tell her; but it was doubtless just as well; and it would alter nothing.
"My work in Clarkson is finished," he went on. "Warry"s affairs will make it necessary for me to go back from time to time, but it will not be home again."
"I"m sorry," she said. "I thought you were to be of us. But I suppose there is a greater difference between the East and the West than any one can understand who has not known both." They regarded each other gravely, as if this were, of course, the whole matter at issue.
"I can"t go back,--it"s too much; I can"t do it," he said wearily.
"I know how it must be,--this last year and Warry! It was all so terrible--for all of us." She was looking away; the wind had freshened; the yacht"s pennant stood out against the blue sky.
John rose and looked down at her. It was natural that she should include herself with him in a common grief for the man who had been his friend and whom she had loved. She had always been kind to him; her kindness stung him now, for he knew that it was because of Warry; and a resolve woke in him suddenly. He would not suffer her kindness under a false pretense; he could at least be honest with her.
"I can"t go back, because he is not there; and because--because you are there! You don"t know,--you should never know, but I was disloyal to Warry from the first. I let him talk to me from day to day of you; I let him tell me that he loved you; I never let him know--I never meant any one to know--" He ceased speaking; she was very still and did not look at him. "It was base of me," he went on. "I would gladly have died for him if he had lived; but now that he is dead I can betray him. I hate myself worse than you can hate me. I know how I must wound and shock you--"
"Oh, no!" she moaned.
But he went on; he would spare himself nothing.