"But I never saw a happier creature than she was the day she was married!
And John is a fine fellow, and she has everything a woman could want."
"A woman wants a good many things these days."...
They chatted on about Isabelle and her love of people, and then about St.
Louis and the old days at Grafton. For the first time since he had landed, it seemed to Vickers, he was permitted to ignore his failure,--he was at home. When he rose to go, Alice protested:--
"But you aren"t going back,--it is just our dinner-time, and we haven"t said half what we have to say!"
So he dined with the brood of children in the large front room, and afterwards Alice walked down the lane with him.
"I hope you are going to stay here?" she asked warmly.
"Oh, I don"t know! America doesn"t seem to need me," he replied, endeavoring to joke; "not that I know any place which does. I am waiting to be called."
In spite of the joking manner there was sadness in the voice. Alice was silent for a time and then replied earnestly:--
"Perhaps you are called here--for the present."
"You mean over there?" he asked quickly, nodding in the direction of Grafton.
"Yes!"
"Why do you think so?"
"You know Isabelle really cares for you as she doesn"t for any one else in the world!"
"Yes,--we have always been close."
"But she cares for what you _think_--"
Vickers made a gesture, as if it were impossible that any one could do that.
"Yes," Alice continued gently; "a woman never gets wholly away from the influence of one she has admired as Isabelle admired you."
"But one"s experience," he mused, "no matter how costly it has been, never seems to be of any use to any one else."
"Can you tell--until the end? ... What we don"t see in life is so much more than what we see!"
Vickers looked at her gratefully. He would like to feel that he was needed somewhere in this hurried world. Presently there was a childish uproar behind them, and Alice turned back.
"My brood is getting tempestuous; I must say good-by!"
She held Vickers"s hand in her warm, firm grasp.
"I hope we shall see you often.... I think that you are called here!"
Vickers returned to the Farm, thinking of Alice Johnston. She had given him of her peace, of her confidence, her large way of taking the issues of life. "And I used to say that she was a commonplace dumpy country girl!" he mused. He pondered what she had spoken,--the suggestion, vague but comforting, of purpose, of a place for him in the world to fill. Just what was she thinking of? "We"ll see," he murmured, as he mounted the steps of the terrace. As Alice had said, the unseen in life was so much more than the seen.
In the formal garden the pretty little English governess was conducting the social game for the two girls. Marian Lane, having shown Delia her pony and her rabbits without eliciting much enthusiasm, now sat and stared at her with politely suppressed scorn for the dull red frock that Vickers had designed for his charge.
"Have you been to dancing school?" she demanded.
"What is that?" Delia asked.
She was dully uncomfortable in the company of this very dainty little creature, who was always dressed in delicate, light fabrics, and seemed to have many possessions. And Miss Betterton had a well-bred manner of putting the stranger outside the little social game. So when Delia spied Vickers, she cried, "There"s father!" and ran towards him.
"Uncle Vickers is not Mabel"s father," Marian a.s.serted to Miss Betterton.
"Hush, dearie!" the well-bred Miss Betterton replied; "we mustn"t talk about that."
When Isabelle and Cairy came up to the house from their afternoon ride, they found Vickers playing croquet with Miss Betterton and the two little girls, who in his society were approaching something like informality in their manner of addressing each other.
"He looks quite domestic," Cairy jeered.
"h.e.l.lo, Vick! Come over and see the horses," Isabelle called.
At the stable Marian"s new pony that Cairy had selected was exhibited. Lane drove up with a friend he had brought from the city for the week end, and the party played with the pony and laughed at his tricks, which Cairy showed off.
"He looks like a cross between an Angora cat and a Newfoundland dog," Cairy remarked, leaning down to feel of his legs. As he stooped the ivory handle of a small revolver pushed out of the hip pocket of his riding breeches.
"What"s that, Uncle Tom?" Marian asked, pointing to the pistol.
Cairy drew out the pistol and held it up, with a slight flourish,--"A family weapon!"
Holding the pony with one hand and pointing the revolver at a blossom on a magnolia tree a few paces away, he fired and the white petals came fluttering down. A second report and another blossom fell. The pony jumped and snorted, but it did not disturb Cairy"s aim. A third blossom fell, and then he quickly shot the descending bud which had been cut by the previous shot.
"Steady hand!" Lane commented.
"It"s an old habit of mine to carry it and practise when I have a chance,"
Cairy remarked, breaking the revolver. After extracting the sh.e.l.ls, he handed the pistol to Isabelle.
"Made in Paris," she read from the chased plate.
"Yes; it"s a pretty toy, don"t you think?"
"It"s a curious sh.e.l.l," Lane remarked, picking up one of the empty sh.e.l.ls from the ground.
"Yes, I have to have them specially made," replied Cairy. The toy was handed around and much admired.
"But, Uncle Tom," Marian asked, "why do you carry a pistol?"
"In the South gentlemen always carry pistols."
"Is it very dangerous in the South?" the little girl inquired. Then the older people laughed, and Cairy looked rather foolish.