So he sent her this message, and that evening at dinner Miss Winthrop spoke to him of another matter.
"I don"t think you have shown much attention to her parents this summer. Oughtn"t you to see them and let them know what you intend?"
"Tell Stuyvesant?" he exclaimed.
"Why should he object?" she asked.
"I don"t know as he will. Then again he might. You see, I"ve never told him just how Dad tied things up."
"What difference does that make?" she demanded. "With the house and what you"re earning, you have enough."
"It isn"t as much as he expects a man to give his daughter, though,--not by a long shot."
"It"s enough," she insisted. "Why, even without the house it would be enough."
"Yes," he answered, with a smile. "When you say it--it"s enough. I wish Stuyvesant knew you."
The blood came into her cheeks. She wished he wouldn"t say things like that.
"It seems to me you ought to see him and tell him," she said thoughtfully.
He shook his head.
"What"s the use of seeing him until I"ve seen Frances?"
"It"s all settled about her."
"That she"ll marry me in September?"
"Of course," she answered excitedly. "Why, she"s been waiting a whole year. Do you think she"ll want to wait any longer? As soon as she knows how well you"ve done, why--why, that"s the end of it. Of course that"s the end of it."
"I wish I were as confident as you!"
"You must be," she answered firmly. "You mustn"t feel any other way.
The house is all ready, and you are all ready, and--that"s all there is to it."
"And Frances is all ready?"
"When she promised to marry you she was ready," she declared. "You don"t understand. I guess women are different from men. They--they don"t make promises like that until they are quite sure, and when they are quite sure they are quite ready. This last year should have been hers. You made a mistake, but there"s no sense in keeping on with the mistake. Oh, I"m quite sure of that."
She was wearing a light scarf,--this was at Jacques",--and she drew it over her shoulders. Somehow, the unconscious act reminded him of a similar act on the beach at Coney....
CHAPTER XXIV
VACATIONS
During this next week--the week Frances was on the ocean and sailing toward him--he gained in confidence day by day. Miss Winthrop was so absolutely sure of her point of view that it was difficult in her presence to have any doubts.
Frances was due to arrive on Monday, and for Sunday he had arranged at Jacques" a very special little dinner for Miss Winthrop. Miss Winthrop herself did not know how special it was, because all dinners there with him were special. There were roses upon the table. Their odor would have turned her head had it not been for the realization that her trunk was all packed and that to-morrow morning she would be upon the train. She had written to an aunt in Maine that she was coming--to this particular aunt because, of the three or four she knew at all, this aunt was the farthest from New York.
As for him, he had forgotten entirely that Monday marked the beginning of her vacation. That was partly her fault, because for the last week she had neglected to speak of it.
Ordinarily she did not permit him to come all the way back to the house with her; but this night he had so much to talk about that she did not protest. Yes, and she was too weak to protest, anyway. All the things he talked about--his fears, his hopes, speculations, and doubts--she had heard over and over again. But it was the sound of his voice to which she clung. To-morrow and after to-morrow everything would be changed, and she would never hear him talk like this again.
He was excited to-night, and buoyant and quick with life. He laughed a great deal, and several times he spoke very tenderly to her.
They had reached her door, and something in her eyes--for the life of him he could not tell what--caused him to look up at the stars. They were all there in their places.
"Look at "em," he said. "They seem nearer to-night than I"ve ever seen them."
[Ill.u.s.tration: "I GUESS WOMEN ARE DIFFERENT FROM MEN"]
She was a bit jealous of those stars. It had been when with her that he had first seen them.
"You aren"t looking," he complained.
She turned her eyes to the sky. To her they seemed farther away than ever.
"Maybe Frances is looking at those same stars," he said.
She resented the suggestion. She turned her eyes back to the street.
"Where"s the star I gave you?" he asked.
"It"s gone," she answered.
"Have you lost it?"
"I can"t see it."
"Now, look here," he chided her lightly. "I don"t call that very nice.
You don"t have a star given you every night."
"I told you I didn"t need to have them given to me, because I could take all I wanted myself. You don"t own the stars too."
"I feel to-night as if I did," he laughed. "I"ll have to pick out another for you." He searched the heavens for one that suited him. He found one just beyond the Big Dipper, that shone steadily and quietly, like her eyes. He pointed it out to her.
"I"ll give you that one, and please don"t lose it."
She was not looking.
"Do you see it?" he insisted.
She was forced to look. After all, he could afford to give her one out of so many, and it would be something to remember him by.
"Yes," she answered, with a break in her voice.