I had forgotten it; we were, in truth, neither of us presentable.
"Well, you must come to-morrow," said I, in as matter-of-fact a tone as I could muster. "Mother expects you, and my sister is home now."
He stepped forward in front of me and opened the front door, which always stood on the latch. The brightness from within dazzled me for a moment as he stood aside to let me pass, and there in the brightness stood Joyce.
How well I remember it! She had on a soft white muslin dress, that fell in straight, soft folds to her feet, and made her look very tall and slender, very fair and white. The light from the lamp fell down on her shining golden hair; her blue eyes were just raised under the dark lashes, gentle and serene. Suddenly, for the first time in my life, there flashed upon me a sense of the contrast between myself and her.
I stood there an instant in my dripping old brown frock looking at her. Then I turned round to introduce Mr. Harrod. But the house door had closed behind me again. He was gone.
CHAPTER XXV.
Trayton Harrod did come to supper the next day.
I remember that mother upbraided him for having been so many days absent, and that he made some kind of an excuse for himself; and I remember that I blushed as he made it, and felt quite awkward when he shook hands with me and asked if I had taken any cold of the night before. But I was happy—very, very happy. I was happy even in fancying that I saw a certain self-consciousness in him also, in the persistence with which he talked to mother, and in something that crossed his face when our eyes met, which was almost as often as his were not fixed on Joyce, where she sat in her old place by the window.