He was ahead of time. She met him with careful step and a fixed smile of welcome. He was glowing with eagerness; his hands trembled a little as he held them out to her. At sight of him, a moment’s wave of yesterday’s emotion swept over her, but immediately there came a sharp stab of pain, and she caught a quick breath from between the lips that held her smile. His anxious questions were cut short by the bustling entrance of Mrs. Sturgis and Alice.
Jeannette’s mother was at once flatteringly hospitable, inviting the guest to sit down and make himself comfortable, while she established herself with an elegant spread of skirts on the davenport, and began to toss the lacy ruffles of her best jabot with a careless finger.
Were Mr. Beardsley’s parents living? Ah, yes,—in San Francisco. They had fogs out there a great deal, she’d heard. And he had lost his mother. Consumption? Ah, that was indeed a pity! ... And his father was a clergyman? Eminently laudable profession.... And he had wanted to come East to college? Quite right and proper. Princeton was a fine college; nice boys went there.... And he had spent some time in New York? Wonderful city,—but a very expensive place to live,—probably the most expensive in the world....
Jeannette recognized a favorite theme and broke in with an inquiry about dinner. She was suffering miserably; she wondered if she would have the strength to get to the dining-room. Alice already had disappeared; the slam of the back door some moments before had announced her departure for O’Day’s Candy Parlor. Mrs. Sturgis excused herself with many profuse explanations, and departed kitchenward, whence presently there came the bang of pots in the sink and the hiss of running water.
Left together, Roy turned eagerly to Jeannette where she stood beside the mantel, a white hand gripping its edge.
“Dearest, I’ve been so crazy to see you! ... Is anything wrong? You’re not angry with me after yesterday?”
Her eyes softened, but, as if to check for that day any moment’s tenderness, there was again a sharp twinge. Involuntarily she winced.
“Jeannette! You’re not well! What’s the matter?”
She laid her hand on his arm to reassure him and steady herself.
“Nothing,” she breathed. “I hurt my back this morning. I must have wrenched it. It’s really nothing. Now and then it gets me.”