"Yes," he answers, rousing himself. She sees the effort, and allows a thrill to speed along her pulses. "But—there is no haste, surely? You would not want to go to the city until cool weather. I hope to be there a good deal myself this winter. I have some plans,—if I can ever get this business off my mind."
There is a curious little exultation in her heart now, but her moods and features are well trained. Her face is full of sympathy as she raises her beguiling eyes.
"It is a difficult place to fill, to give satisfaction," she says, "and you are so new to business. As I remember, you did not like it in the old days."
"No." He gives a short laugh. "And, thinking of myself, I find more excuse for Eugene's distaste. Yet if I were to let it go, the family fortunes would go with it, and I might justly be blamed. I must keep it for the year, at all events."
"Is it—very bad?" she asks, timidly.
"I cannot seem to get any true understanding of the case. When Mr. St. Vincent comes back we shall go at it in real earnest. And, in any event, your portion shall be made safe."
"Oh, do not think of that, it is such a mere trifle! I supposed mamma had drawn it all out until I looked over her papers. Then I had a notice of the settlement, but I should have come home in any event. I had grown tired of Europe, very tired. I dare say you think me ennuied, whimsical."
"Indeed, I do not," warmly. "Home is to a woman what the setting is to a diamond. And though the advice of such a rambler may not be worth much, still, whatever I can do——"
He pauses and his eye rests upon her, takes in her exceeding beauty, grace, and repose; the admirable fitness for every little exigency that society training gives. She seems a part of the morning picture, and akin to the fresh, odorous air, the soft yet glowing sun, the rippling river, the changeful melody of flitting birds. He is fresh now, not vexed and nervous with the cares of the day; he has been reading an old poet, too, which has softened him.
An oriole perches on the tree near him and begins an enchanting song. Both turn, and she leans over the railing, still in range of his eyes. He remembers like a sudden flash that they were here years ago, planning, dreaming, hoping, she his promised wife. Does it stir his soul? Was that merely a young man's fancy for a pretty girl, engendered by friendly companionship? She glances up so quickly that he flushes and is half ashamed of speculating upon her.