Now Eglah was reminded of the wide, curious eyes raised to hers when she had repeated:
"I fancy the fairies make merry,
With thorns for their knives and forks;
They have currants for bottles of sherry,
And the little brown heads are the corks.
A leaf makes the tent they sit under,
Their ballroom's a white lily-cup;
Shall I know all about them, I wonder,
For certain, when I am grown up?"
Laying her flowers beside her, she broke the seal of a letter from Mrs. St. Clair, postmarked New York, and after a moment the sheet fell into her lap. Raising it, she read a second time:
"We are so shocked and grieved to find that Mr. Herriott is actually going on that North Pole expedition we thought he had abandoned. He has been much fêted since his return last year, and all of our set are heartily sorry to give him up. Some of us believe you could put a stop to this nonsense, if you would only come to your senses, and use your influence. The idea of such a man going into the grewsome business of eating blubber and seal, and possibly Eskimo dog steak! Hunting a graveyard among hummocks! I suggested to him that a better plan would be to go down into a cold-storage vault, throw away the key and slam the spring-lock door. Then we should be allowed the consolation of covering him with flowers."
She replaced the letter in the envelope, and fell into a profound revery. If Mr. Herriott sailed away and never returned, her father could no longer cling to his sole condition of reconciliation. Years ago her own responsibility had ended, and even had she desired to reconsider the proposal of marriage, no opportunity to do so had been given her. She had not seen Mr. Herriott since that afternoon in the old Greco-Roman theatre. Two kind, brief, merely friendly letters had reached her, followed by a box containing for herself some fine Oriental embroideries, and an exquisitely carved ivory triptych; for Mrs. Mitchell a copy of a quaint circular picture in the old Byzantine style, representing a group of young lambs asleep around the standing figure of the child Jesus, whose body rayed light, as in the "Notte," one little hand extended over them, while he looked up to an angelic guard only dimly outlined by the gleaming tips of hovering pinions.
If Mr. Herriott never returned? Her eyes filled with unshed tears. For so many years he had been her devoted and loyal friend, and she honored and trusted him supremely. Never to see him again would grieve her deeply, but she felt assured he no longer loved her as formerly—that sincere friendship was the only sentiment he now entertained. Were his heart still hers, could he have maintained the total repression that marked recent years? He had given his word not to refer to a matter that distressed her, but when men really loved, such compacts were forgotten, and it must have been easy for Mr. Herriott to keep his promise of absolute silence.
Gathering up her flowers, letters and parasol, she walked slowly across the lawn and reached the house by a side door, without meeting any of the servants.
On the library table lay Judge Kent's unopened mail; hence she knew he had not yet returned from the fishing trip on which he started at daylight. Over the door opening into his adjoining bedroom a heavy portière of crimson plush usually hung, but a few days previous winter draperies had been replaced by Madras curtains that resembled stained glass. Lifting this summer portière, Eglah went into the bedroom, filled a vase with water and arranged the drooping violets on her father's bureau. Only during his absence did she ever come into this apartment, so long her grandmother's reliquary, where the girl seemed always to see old Hector crouching against his dead mistress, and that white face, whose fixed blue eyes pierced beyond the orange dawn and fronted God.
The memory of her childish terror on the night of Mrs. Maurice's death haunted the room, despite her effort to dispel it, yet to-day she sat down on a lounge and re-read Mrs. St. Clair's letter. If her father knew of the contemplated Arctic journey, he had given no hint. Perhaps the vessel had already sailed. Then at last she could find peace and reconciliation. Possibly Mr. Herriott might change his plans. If ever he renewed his offer would she—could she yield to her father's wishes? She set her teeth.
"Sell myself—even for father's love? Never!"