Robert grew red and angry, but he took a card from his pocket-book, and threw it upon the tray, and when the boy had left the room he laughed bitterly, and muttered: "It is a fine thing for Robert Campbell to send his visiting card to his wife." He would not sit down, but stood glaring around the cool, dusky room, so comforting after the heat and sunshine. "I suppose I shall be kept waiting while my wife considers whether to see me or not; but she may consider too long. I will not be snubbed by any woman living."
As he made this resolution, Theodora entered. She came forward with both hands extended, and her face was radiant, and her voice full of happy tones. He would have taken her in his arms, but she kept his hands in hers and led him to a seat. Then Mr. Newton came in with David, and he threw open the windows, and let in the sunshine, and Theodora was revealed in all her splendid beauty. In a long white dress, with a white rose in her hair, she lacked nothing that rich materials or vivid colors could have given her. Her beautiful hair, her sparkling eyes, her exquisite complexion, the potent sense of health and vitality which was her atmosphere, commanded instant delight and admiration; and Robert could only gaze and wonder. How had this brilliant woman been evolved from the pale, frail, perishing Theodora he had last seen?
In a short time the three men went out together to look at the fruit trees and the wonderful flowers, and Theodora assisted her mother to prepare such a meal as she knew Robert enjoyed; and when they sat down to it, she placed Robert at her right hand. They were still at the table when David came galloping home, and in a few minutes he entered the room. Every eye was turned on the boy, but he saw at first no one but his uncle.
"Cousin Agnes won!" he cried, "won by two lengths, uncle. Isn't she great?" Then he noticed his father, and for a few moments seemed puzzled. There was not a word, not a movement as the boy gazed. Theodora held her breath in suspense. But it was only for a few moments; joyfully he exclaimed: "I know! I know!" and the next instant his arms were round his father's neck, and he was crying, "It is father! Father, father! Let me sit beside him, mother." And Theodora made room for the boy's chair between them.
The evening was a revelation to the discarded husband. Theodora sang wonderfully some American songs that Robert had never before heard—music with a charm entirely fresh and new; and David recited an English and Latin lesson, and then at his uncle's request, spoke in good broad Scotch Robert Burns' grand lyric, "A Man's a Man for a' That." Robert said little, but he drew the lad between his knees, and whispered something to him which transfigured the child's face. He trusted his father implicitly, he always had done, and his father had a heartache that night, when he thought of the wrong that might have been done to the helpless child.
Soon after nine o'clock, David Campbell said: "Come, brother, we have a short ride before us, and I like to close my house at ten; also I am sure you are weary."
Robert said he was, but he rose more like a man that had received a blow, than one simply tired. He could scarcely speak his adieus—and he could not answer Theodora's invitation to "call early on the following day" except in single words. "Yes—no—perhaps."
They were outside the Newton grounds before he spoke to his brother, then he said: "David, it is too hard. I don't understand. She never asked me to stay—the Wyntons were asked. I feel as if I had no business here. I had better go back to Glasgow. I will go back to-morrow."
"It is not her house. She rents her classroom, and pays her own and her child's board and lodging there. That is all. She had no right to ask you to remain. It is Mr. Newton's house, and he received you in a Christian and gentlemanly spirit. I do not care to say how I would have received a man who had treated my Agnes, or Flora, in the way Theodora was treated."
"I will go back to Glasgow to-morrow."