At the evening reception, George was introduced to many of Gertrude's class-mates, and some of her intimate friends whispered, "Mr. Ingram and Gertrude must be engaged! What a handsome pair they will make." George offered his arm to Gertrude, and they walked about the campus under the classical trees that glowed with hundreds of colored paper lanterns; everywhere a throng of pretty happy girls with their relatives and friends. Music by the glee clubs on the college steps, and refreshments, closed pleasantly Gertrude's last night of college life on the beautiful Connecticut.
She went to bed tired, but very happy. That evening her mother and sister had left for New York, and in the morning she and George were to spend the day at Mt. Holyoke. Twice in the night, Gertrude awoke, looked at her watch, and longed for daylight, and then went back to dream of flowers and music.
While she slept, warm southern breezes spread a coverlet of silver gray mist over the homes of energy and thrift up and down the Connecticut Valley. In the morning when Gertrude opened the blinds, and saw the fog against the window panes and over the valley, she exclaimed, "It is too bad, I so wanted George to drive to Mt. Holyoke to-day, and see nature at her best! I hoped this would be the happiest day of my life."
It was a quarter to 8 o'clock when a pair of spirited black roadsters, hitched to a buckboard, were driven in front of the hotel for George Ingram. As he appeared on the porch he looked every inch a gentleman. He was twenty-five years old, had received a practical education, and was filling acceptably the important position of assistant chemist of the Harrisville Iron & Steel Co., to which, six months before, he had been promoted. He had fine physique, dark hair and eyes, and a military bearing that made him the natural commander of men. His firmness, tempered with great kindness of heart, always won for him the respect of both men and women.
He handled the team with skill for he was a member of the driving club at home. At a college window sat Gertrude who was eagerly watching for him, and now she ran down the gravel walk with a sunny face, greeting her manly lover with such sweet voice and grace, that a college girl in passing whispered to her companion. "Look, Bessie, there are true and handsome lovers such as we read about in novels, but seldom meet."
Gertrude insisted, since the fog was lifting, that George should hitch his horses and for five minutes go with her up on the college tower. As they looked out, Gertrude said, "Here, George, on the west are our half dozen cozy college houses; on the smooth green lawn below you see our tennis-courts, and an abundance of shade.
"Now, George, turn to the east and see how kindly the sun has removed the mist and made for us a glorious day. How bright the colors in our flag that floats over the high school yonder! There stands the Soldiers' Memorial Hall, the Edwards Church with graceful spire, and across the green meadows, with its winding stream of silver, rise the ranges of Mt. Tom and Mt. Holyoke, outlined in curves against the blue sky."
"Beautiful!" responded George, "and yet, Gertrude, nothing in nature is half so lovely as your own dear self." Without warning he kissed her rosy cheek, her whole face changing to crimson as she said, "George, we must be going."
Two happy young souls drove away from Smith College out under the Gothic elms, where the birds were mating and building their nests. The plan for the day was to drive to the mountain, and follow the mother and sister on the evening express to New York. The hotel clerk had pointed out the best road to Mt. Holyoke, and following his directions they drove southeast, leaving behind them shady Northampton, Smith College, and delightful memories of Jonathan Edwards, George Bancroft, and others.
A single white parasol was quite enough to protect two lovers from the sun's rays. Circular shadows, photographs of the sun, frolicked with each other in the roadway as gentle breezes swayed the overhanging boughs.