"Now we can talk, can't we?" she said."I want you to tell me about your mother.How is she?""Just as she was when you saw her," I answered."Mother is always the same.""She is a dear.I had heard so many nice things about her and Iwas not disappointed.I intended to make only a short call and Istayed and stayed.I hope I did not tire her.""Not at all.Mother enjoyed your call exceedingly.""Did she? I am so glad.I really am.I went to your house with a good deal of misgiving, Mr.Paine.I feared that my coming might be considered an intrusion.""I told you that it would not."
"I know.But, under the circumstances--Father's disagreement with--considering all the--the-- Oh, what shall I call it?""The late unpleasantness," I suggested.
Again came the twinkle in her eye.She nodded.
"Thank you," she said."That is a quotation, but it was clever of you to think of it.Yes, considering the late unpleasantness, Iwas afraid my visit might be misunderstood.I was fearful that your mother or--someone--might think I came there with an ulterior motive, something connected with that troublesome Lane dispute.Of course no one did think such a thing?"She asked the question quickly and with intense seriousness.Iremembered Lute's hint and my own secret suspicions, but I answered promptly.
"Of course not," I said.
"You did not think that, did you?"
"No," unblushingly.
"I came because from what I had heard of your mother I was sure she must be a wonderful woman.I wanted to meet her.And she ISwonderful; and so patient and sweet and good.I fell in love with her.Everyone must love her.You should be proud of your mother, Mr.Paine.""I am," I answered, simply.
"You have reason.And she is very proud of you.""Without the reason, I'm afraid."
She did not speak.Her silence hurt.I felt that I knew what she was thinking and I determined to make her say it.
"Without the reason," I repeated.
"I did not say that."
"But you thought it."
My stubborn persistence was a mistake.Again, as at our meeting in the grove, I had gone too far.Her answer was as completely indifferent as speech and tone could be.
"Indeed?" she said, coldly."It is barely possible that I did not think about it at all....Now, Mr.Paine, if you are ready shall we clear away?"The clearing, most of it, was done silently.I washed the plates, the coffee pot and other things, in the pond and she packed them in the basket.As I returned with the knife and forks I found her looking at the coffee pot and smiling.
"What is the matter?" I asked, sulkily.I was provoked with myself for forgetting who and what I was, and with her for making me forget."Isn't it clean?""Why, yes," she answered, "surprisingly so.Did they teach Domestic Science at your college, too?"I started."MY college!" I repeated."How did you know I had been at college? Did Mother tell you?"She laughed gleefully.
"Did Mother tell you?" I demanded."If she did--""Well, what if she did? However, she did not.But you have told me now.Harvard, was it? or Yale?"I tossed the knife and fork into the basket and turned away.
"Princeton, perhaps," suggested Miss Colton.
I walked over and began to unjoint my rod.I was a fool to be trapped like this.No one in Denboro except Mother and George Taylor knew of my brief college career, and now I had, practically, told this girl of it.She might--if she were sufficiently interested to remember, which was fortunately not probable--tell her father and he might ask other questions concerning my history.
Where would those questions lead?
I was angrily tugging at the rod when I heard her step behind me.
I did not turn.
"I beg your pardon," she said.
I pretended not to hear.
"I beg your pardon, Mr.Paine," she said again.
"It's all right," I muttered."No apologies are necessary."I said it like a sullen schoolboy.There was another moment of silence.Then I heard her move away.I looked over my shoulder.
She was walking toward the meadow where Don, the horse, was picketed.There was offended dignity in every line of her figure.
For a moment I fought with my pride and injured self-respect.Then I hurried after her.
"Miss Colton," I said.
"Well?" she neither turned nor stopped.
"Miss Colton, I should not have answered like that.I was rude."She stopped."You were," she said.
"I know it.I am sorry.I apologize."
"No apologies are necessary."
Here was tit for tat.I did not know what more to say, so I said nothing.
"Do I understand that you ask my pardon?" she inquired, still without turning.
"I do.If you will permit me, I will explain.I--"She whirled about and faced me.To my astonishment she was smiling once more.
"Of course you won't explain," she declared."I had no right to ask you about your college.But I couldn't help guessing.I told you that I liked puzzles.We'll say no more about it.I have enjoyed this picnic and I won't have it spoiled.Now why are you taking your rod apart?""Because I know you want to go home and I am going with you to show you the way.""But I don't have to go yet, do I? It is not late.And I thought perhaps you would let me see you catch another bass.Won't you?
Please."
Once more she had me at a disadvantage.I had no desire for more fishing, and I was fearful of further questions, but what could Ido? And it was not late--but a little past two o'clock.
So I rigged the rod again and led the way down the shore to the spot where the sedge extended out into the pond, with the lily pads beyond it.She walked beside me.Then she seated herself on a fallen tree and I baited the hook with a lively minnow and cast.
For some time I got not even a nibble.As I waited she and Italked.But now it was I who questioned.
"Do you like Denboro?" I asked.
