§ 13
He came near; and she reined up her chafing steed. “I beg pardon,” she said.
He raised his hat, and holding it, looked at her inquiringly.
“I think my horse must have a stone in his foot.”
“Oh!” he said, and was off in a moment, throwing the reins of his mount over its head and handing them to her.
“Which foot?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
He bent down and examined one hoof, then another, and so on for all four, without a word. Then, straightening up, he said, “I don’t see anything.”
He looked very serious and concerned. How “easy” he would be! “There really must be something,” she said. “He’s all in a lather.”
“There might be something deep in,” he answered, making his investigation all over again. “But I don’t see any blood.” (What a fine back he has! thought Sylvia.)
He stood up. “Let me see his mouth,” he said. “Are you sure you’ve not held him too tight?”
“I am used to horses,” was her reply.
“Some of them have peculiarities,” he remarked. “Possibly the saddle has rubbed——”
“No, no,” answered Sylvia, in haste, as he made a move to lift the cloth.
It was always hard for her to keep from laughing for long; and there was something so comical in his gravity. Then too, something desperate must be done, for presently he would mount and ride away. “There’s surely no stone in his foot,” he declared.
Whereat Sylvia broke into one of her radiant smiles. “Perhaps,” she said, “it’s in your horse’s foot!”
He looked puzzled.
“Don’t you see?” she laughed. “Something must be wrong—or you couldn’t be here talking to me!”
But he still looked bewildered. “Dear me, what a man!” thought she.
A color was beginning to mount in his cheeks. Perhaps he was going to be offended! Clearly, with such a man one’s cue was frankness. So her tone changed suddenly. “Are you Mr. Shirley?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“And do you know who I am?”
“Yes, Miss Castleman.”
“Our families are old friends, you know.”
“Yes, I know it.”
“And then, tell me—” She paused. “Honestly!”
“Why—yes.”
“I’ve been honest and told you—I’m not really worried about my horse. Now you be honest and say why you rode out this morning.”
He waited before replying, studying her face—not boldly, but gravely. “I think, Miss Castleman, that it would be better if I did not.”
Then it was Sylvia’s turn to study. Was it a rebuke? Had he not come out on her account at all? Or was it still the ghost of his father’s prison-suit?
He did not help her with another word. (I can hear Frank’s laugh as he told me about this episode. “We silent fellows have such an advantage! We just wait and let people imagine things!”)
Sylvia’s voice fell low. “Mr. Shirley, you have me at a great disadvantage.” And as she said this she gazed at him with the wonderful red-brown eyes, wide open, childlike. So far there had never been a man who could resist the spell of those eyes. Would this man be able? The busy little brain behind them was watching every sign.
“I don’t understand,” he replied; and she took up the words:
“It is I who don’t understand. And I dare not ask you to explain!”
She was terrified at this temerity; and yet she must press on—there was no other way. She saw gates opening before her—gates into wonderland!
She leaned forward with a little gesture of abandonment. “Listen, Frank Shirley!” she said. (What a masterstroke was that!) “I have known about you since I was a little girl. And I understand the way things are now, because I am a friend of Miss Atkinson’s. She asked you to come over and meet me, and you didn’t. Now if the reason was that you have no interest in me—why then I’m annoying you, and I’m behaving outrageously, and I’m preparing humiliation for myself. But if the reason is that you think I wouldn’t meet you fairly—that I wouldn’t judge you as I would any other man—why, don’t you see, that would be cruel, that would be wicked! If you were afraid that I wanted to—to patronize you—to do good to you——”
She stopped. Surely she had said enough!
There was a long silence, while he gazed at her—reading her very soul, she feared. “Suppose, Miss Castleman,” he said, at last, “that I was afraid that you wanted to do harm to me?”
That was getting near to what she wanted! “Are you afraid?” she asked.
“Possibly I am,” he replied. “It is easy for those who have never suffered to preach to those who have never done anything else.”
Sylvia did not know quite how to meet that. It was so much more serious than she had been looking for, when she had slipped that ring under the saddle-cloth! “Oh,” she cried, “what shall I say to you?”
“I will tell you exactly,” he said, “and then neither of us will be taking advantage of the other. You are offering me your friendship, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, can you say to me that if I were to accept it, the shame of my family would never make any difference to you?”
She cried instantly, “That is what I’ve been trying to tell you! Of course it would not.”
“You can say that?” he persisted. “It would make no difference whatever?”
She was about to answer again; but he stopped her. “Wait and think. You must know just what I mean. It is not a thing about which I could endure a mistake. Think of your family—your friends—your whole world! And think of everything that might arise between us!”
She stared at him, startled. He was asking if he might make love to her! She had not meant it to go so far as that—but there it was. Her own recklessness, and his forthrightness, had brought it to that point. And what could she say?
“Think!” he was saying. “And don’t try to evade—don’t lie to me. Answer me the truth!”
His eyes held hers. She waited—thinking, as he forced her to. At last, when she spoke, it was with a slightly trembling voice. “It would make no difference,” she said.
And then she tried to continue looking at him, but she could not. She was blushing; it was a dreadful habit she had!
It was an absolutely intolerable situation, and she must do something—instantly. He never would—the dreadful sphinx of a man! She looked up. “Now we’re friends?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Then,” she said, laughing, “reach under the saddle-cloth and get out my ring. I might lose it.”
Bewildered, he got the ring, and understanding at last, laughed with her. “And now,” cried Sylvia, in her friendliest tone of voice, “get on your horse again and behave like a man of enterprise! Come!” She touched her mount and went galloping; she heard him pounding away behind her, and she began to sing:
“Waken, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day,
All the jolly chase is near
With hawk and hound and hunting-spear!”