Tom left Rita, and her tears fell unheeded as she finished the after-dinner work. For ten days she had looked forward to this Sunday, and after its tardy arrival it was full of grief, despite her joy at seeing Dic.
At two o'clock Williams left, and the remainder of the afternoon richly compensated the girl for her earlier troubles. Tom went out, and about four o'clock Mr. Bays went for a walk while Justice was sleeping upstairs. During the father's absence, Dic and Rita had a delightful half hour to themselves, during which her tongue made ample amends for its recent silence, and talked such music to Dic as he had never before heard. She had, during the past ten days, made memoranda of the subjects upon which she wished to speak, fearing, with good reason, that she would forget them all, in the whirl of her joy, if she trusted to memory. So the memoranda were brought from a pocket, and the subjects taken up in turn. To Dic that half hour was well worth the ride to Indianapolis and home again. To her it was worth ten times ten days of waiting, and the morning with its wretched dinner was forgotten.
Mrs. Margarita, stricken by Tom's words, had been thinking all the afternoon of the note payable on demand, and had grown to fear the consequences of her conduct at dinner-time. She had hardly grown out of the feeling that Dic was a boy, but his prompt resentment of her cold reception awakened her to the fact that he might soon become a dangerous man. Rita's show of rebellion also had an ominous look. She was nearing the dangerous age of eighteen and could soon marry whom she chose. Dic might carry her off, despite the watchfulness of open-eyed Justice, and cause trouble with the note her husband had so foolishly given. All these considerations moved Margarita, the elder, to gentleness, and when she came downstairs she said:—
"Dic, I am surprised and deeply hurt. We always treat you without ceremony, as one of the family, and I didn't mean that I didn't want you to stay for dinner. I did want you, and you must stay for supper."
Dic's first impulse was to refuse the invitation; but the pleading in Rita's eyes was more than he could resist, and he remained.
How different was the supper from the dinner! Rita was as talkative as one could ask a girl to be, and Mrs. Bays would have referred to the relative virtues of hearing and seeing girls, had she not been in temporary fear of the demand note. Tom was out for supper with Williams. Mr. Bays told all he knew; and even the icy dragoness, thawed by the genial warmth, unbent to as great a degree as the daughter of Judge Anselm Fisher might with propriety unbend, and was actually pleasant—for her. After supper Dic insisted that Mrs. Bays should go to the front room, and that he should be allowed, as in olden times, when he was a boy, to assist Rita in "doing up" the after-supper work. So he, wearing an apron, stood laughingly by Rita's side drying the dishes while she washed them. There were not enough dishes by many thousand, and when the paltry few before them had been dried and placed in a large pan, Dic, while Rita's back was turned, poured water over them, and, of course, they all had to be dried again. Rita laughed, and began her task anew.
"Who would have thought," she whispered, shrugging her shoulders, "that washing dishes could be such pleasant work."
Dic acknowledged his previous ignorance on the subject. He was for interrupting the work semi-occasionally, but when the interruptions became too frequent, she would say: "Don't, Dic," and laughingly push him away. She was not miserly. She was simply frugal, and Dic had no good reason to complain. After every dish had been washed and dried many times, Rita started toward her torture chamber, the front room.
At the door she whispered to Dic:—
"Mr.—that man is in there. He will remain all evening, and I want you to stay till he goes."