David was silent, marveling at his ignorance of his own brother, his ignorance of the developing and unfolding that had been taking place in the boy. No longer was Ralph just an unformed human being of obvious impulses. What reserves of feeling and determination and thought had been assembling in him during this year in which he had assumed both a new gentleness and a new harness? David felt a new sense of respect for his brother, and also and rather sadly he felt more remote from him.
Trying to read his brother, he kept glancing at him while they walked quietly along the grassy wood road. Suddenly Ralph stopped; David, following the direction of his gaze, saw seated on a knoll under some pine trees a little way ahead a man and a girl; the man’s arm was round the girl’s waist, and their heads were close together. Their faces were not visible; but the white hat with the cherry-colored ribbon and the white dress with the cherry-colored sash made David know that the girl was Ruth, and the man he recognized as Lester.
Noiselessly and without looking behind them, Ralph and David retraced their steps. Neither of them spoke for some time.
“You won’t tell any one,” David said.
“No, of course not.” Ralph’s tone was indignant. Then the schoolboy in him found expression. “Blatch and Manners will be all broken up. I bet they soak it to the fellows in Latin and mathematics when they learn. They’ll just have to take it out on somebody.”
“You don’t sound very sympathetic with them.”
“Well, it seems ridiculous to think of them or anybody else imagining that they had a chance when there was Wallace!”
“Yes,” said David, “it does seem ridiculous.”
He spoke gayly, and in truth there was nothing but unselfish gladness in his heart. A year ago such a discovery as he had just made might have occasioned other emotions. But it was all right now; it was all just as it should be. Lester was a mighty lucky fellow, and when you came right down to it, David loyally added, Ruth Davenport was a mighty lucky girl.