She, redder now than myself, needed no explanation as to what I meant.
"No, not that," she began hastily, "that was not noble, but vile of you!
I mean at the tavern, where you took my part--"
So then I saw that word in some way had come to her of the little brawl
between Harry Singleton and myself. Then indeed my face grew scarlet.
"It was nothing," said I, "simply nothing at all." But to this she would
not listen.
"To protect an absent woman is always manly," she said. (It was the
women of the South who set us all foolish about chivalry.) "I thank you
for caring for my name."
Now, I should have grown warmer in the face and in the heart at this,
but the very truth is that I felt a chill come over me, as though I
were getting deeper into cold water. I guessed her mind. Now, how was I,
who had kissed her at the lane, who had defended her when absent, who
called now in state with his father and mother in the family
carriage--how was I to say I was not of the same mind as she? I pulled
the ears of the hunting dog until he yelped in pain.
We were deep in the great Sheraton orchard, across the fence which
divided it from the house grounds, so far that only the great chimney of
the house showed above the trees.
Pages:
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51