CHAPTER XVI
ENCOUNTERS
"By the way, Rob, I saw Rich Kendrick to-day." Louis Gray detained hissister Roberta on the stairs as they stopped to exchange greetings on acertain evening in March. "It struck me suddenly that I hadn't seen himfor a blue moon, and I asked him why he didn't come round when he was intown. He said he was sticking tight to that new business of his up inEastman, but he admitted he was to be here over Sunday. I invited himround to-night, but to my surprise he wouldn't come. Said he had anotherengagement, of course--thanked me fervently and all that--but there wasno getting him. It made me a bit suspicious of you, Bobby."
"I can't imagine why." But, in spite of herself, Roberta coloured. "Hecame here when he was helping Uncle Calvin. There's no reason for hiscoming now."
Her brother regarded her with the observing eye which sisters find itdifficult to evade. "He would have taken a job as nursemaid for Rosy, ifit would have given him a chance to go in and out of this old house, Iimagine. Rosy stuck to it, it was his infatuation for the home and themembers thereof, particularly Gordon and Dorothy. He undoubtedly wasstruck with them--it would have been a hard heart that wasn't touched bythe sight of the boy--but if it was the kiddies he wanted, why didn't hekeep coming? Steve and Rosy would have welcomed him."
"You had better ask him his reasons, next time you see him," Robertasuggested, and escaped.
It was two months since she had seen Richard Kendrick. He seemed neverso much as to pass the house, although it stood directly on his coursewhen he drove back and forth from Eastman in his car. She wondered if hereally did make a detour each time, to avoid the very chance of meetingher. It was impossible not to think of him, rather disturbingly often,and to wonder how he was getting on.
The month of March in the year of this tale was on the whole anextraordinarily mild and springlike piece of substitution for therigorous, wind-swept season it should by all rights have been. On oneof its most beguiling days Roberta Gray was walking home from MissCopeland's school. Usually she came by way of the broad avenue which ledstraight home. To-day, out of sheer unwillingness to reach that home andend the walk, she took a quite different course. This led her up asomewhat similar street, parallel to her own but several blocks beyond,a street of more than ordinary attractiveness in that it was less of athoroughfare than any other of equal beauty in the residential portionof the city.
She was walking slowly, drawing in the balmy air and noting with delightthe beds of crocuses which were beginning to show here and there onlawns and beside paths, when a peculiar sound far up the avenue caughther ear. She recognized it instantly, for she had heard it often and shehad never heard another quite like it. It was the warning song of acoming motor-car and it was of unusual and striking musical quality. SoRoberta knew, even before she caught sight of the long, low, powerfulcar which had stood many times before her own door during certain weeksof the last year, that she was about to meet for the first time in twomonths the person upon whom she had put a ban.
Would he see her? He could hardly help it, for there was not anotherpedestrian in sight upon the whole length of the block, and the Marchsunshine was full upon her. As the car came on the girl who walkedsedately to meet it found that her pulses had somehow curiouslyaccelerated. So this was the route he took, not to go by her home.
Did he see her? Evidently as far away as half a block, for at thatdistance his motor-cap was suddenly pulled off, and it was with baredhead that he passed her. At the moment the car was certainly not runningas fast as it had been doing twenty rods back; it went by at a pacemoderate enough to show the pair to each other with distinctness.Roberta saw clearly Richard Kendrick's intent eyes upon her, saw theflash of his smile and the grace of his bow, and saw--as if written uponthe blue spring sky--the word he had left with her, "Midsummer." If hehad shouted it at her as he passed, it could not have challenged hermore definitely.
He was obeying her literally--more literally than she could havedemanded. Not to slow down, come to a standstill beside her, exchange atleast a few words of greeting--this was indeed a strict interpretationof her edict. Evidently he meant to play the game rigorously. Still, hehad been a compellingly attractive figure as he passed; that instant'sglimpse of him was likely to remain with her quite as long as a moreprotracted interview. Did he guess that?
"I wonder how I looked?" was her first thought as she walked on--apurely feminine one, it must be admitted. When she reached home sheglanced at herself in the hall mirror on her way upstairs--a thing sheseldom took the trouble to do.
A figure got hastily to its feet and came out into the hall to meet heras she passed the door of the reception-room. "Miss Roberta!" said aneager voice.
"Why, Mr. Westcott! I didn't know you were in town!"
"I didn't intend to be until next month, as you knew. But this wonderfulweather was too much for me."
He held her hand and looked down into her face from his tall height. Hetold her what he thought of her appearance--in detail with his eyes, inmodified form with his lips.
"In my old school clothes?" laughed Roberta. "How draggy winter thingsseem the first warm days. This velvet hat weighs like lead on my headto-day." She took it off. "I'll run up and make myself presentable,"said she.
"Please don't. You're exactly right as you are. And--I want you to gofor a walk if you're not too tired. The road that leads out by the WestWood marshes--it will be sheer spring out there to-day. I want to shareit with you."
So Roberta put on her hat again and went to walk with Forbes Westcottout the road that led by the West Wood marshes. There was not a moreromantic road to be found in a long way.
When they were well out into the country he began to press a questionwhich she had heard before, and to which he had had as yet no answer.
"Still undecided?" said he, with a very sober face. "You can't make upyour mind as to my qualifications?"
"Your qualifications are undoubted," said she, with a face as sober ashis. "They are more than any girl could ask. But I--how can I know? Icare so much for you--as a friend. Why can't we keep on being just goodfriends and let things develop naturally?"
"If I thought they would ever develop the way I want them," he saidearnestly, "I would wait patiently a great while longer. But I don'tseem to be making any progress. In fact, I seem to have gone backward abit in your good graces. Since I saw that young prince of shopkeepers inyour company over at Eastman, I've been wondering--"
"Prince of shopkeepers! What an extraordinary characterization! Ithought he was a most amateurish shopkeeper. He didn't even know thename of his own batiste, much less where it was kept."
"He knew how to skate and to take you along with him. I beg your pardon!But ever since that night I've been experiencing a most disconcertingsense of jealousy whenever I think of that young man. He was such amagnificent figure there in the firelight; he made me feel as old as thePyramids. And when you two were gone so long and came back with such anodd look, both of you--oh, I beg your pardon again! This is mostunworthy of me, I know. But--set me straight if you can! Have you seenmuch of him since that night?"
"Absolutely nothing," said Roberta quickly, with a sense of greatrelief. "To-day he passed me in his car, on my way home from school,over on Egerton Avenue, and didn't even stop."
He scanned her face closely. "And you are not even interested in him?"
"Mr. Forbes Westcott," said Roberta desperately, "I have told you oftenand often that I'm not interested in any man except as one or two are myvery good friends. Why can't all girls be allowed to live along in peaceand comfort until they are at least thirty years old? You didn't haveanybody besieging you to marry before you were thirty. If anybody hadyou'd have said 'No' quickly enough. You had that much of your lifecomfortably to yourself."
He bit his lip, but he was obliged to laugh. His thin, keen face wasmore attractive when he laughed, but there was an odd, tense expressionon it which did not leave it even then.
"I can see you are still hopeless," he owne
d. "But so long as you arehopeless for other men I can endure it, I suppose. I really meant not tospeak again for a long time, as I promised you. But the thought of thatembryo plutocrat making after you, as he has after so many girls--"
"How many girls, I wonder?" queried Roberta quite carelessly. "Do youhappen to know? Has his fame spread so far?"
"I know nothing about him, of course, except that he's a gay youngspendthrift. It goes without saying that he's made love to every prettyface, for that kind invariably do."
"If it goes without saying, why say it?--particularly as you don't knowit. I dare say he has--what serious harm? I presume it's quite as likelythey've run after him. I'm sure it's a matter of no concern to me, for Iknow him very little and am likely to know him much less now that hedoesn't come to work with Uncle Calvin any more. Let's go back, Mr.Westcott. I came out to look for pussy-willows, not forRobby-will-you's!"
With which piece of audacity she dismissed the subject. It certainly wasnot a subject which harmonized well with that of Midsummer Day, and thethought of Midsummer Day, quickened into active life by the unexpectedsight of the person who had made a certain preposterous prophecyconcerning it, was a thought which was refusing to down.
The Twenty-Fourth of June: Midsummer's Day Page 16
