For a second longer Sophy stood quite still. Then she ran forward again. She was pale as at an accident to a dear friend.
The locust stretched across the gravel driveway. Its crown lay among the crushed branches of a huge box-shrub. The poor box-shrub had a piteous, feminine look, as though it had tried in vain to support the stricken giant on its soft breast. The boughs and leaves of the prone tree still quivered slightly as in a death-throe. The big vine swung its loose, snaky folds over the ruin. The grass was strewn with leaves and broken limbs. Sophy went up and put her hand on the rough trunk in silence. Her lips quivered.
"What an infernal shame!" said Loring.
He stared all about, then at the wrecked tree again.
"Isn't this where the hammocks used to hang?" he asked.
"Yes," said Sophy.
They stood silent again. Both were thinking of how they had swung day after day in those hammocks in their love-time. Then the scarlet bells of the trumpet-vine had hung above them. It had been like their flowering passion swinging scarlet bells above them. Both felt something sad and ominous in the fall of the great tree just as Loring had arrived.
"I'll send the gardener to see about it," Sophy said at last, turning away. They went together to the house.
"When can I see you ... for a long talk?" asked Loring, as they reached the door.
"As soon as I've changed. You'll want to change, too. Is your luggage here?"