Hugh was still on the piazza and alone when she went out. He rose at sight of her. She had never seen him look so serious. He did not advance, just looked at her in silence. She went to him, her hands outstretched.
“I’ve been talking with her,” she said. Her own repressed feelings, the remembrance of Miss Frink’s exaltation, and the wonder of Hugh, himself, overcame her. She could not speak; but her smile and her suddenly flooded eyes made his gravity break into sunshine.
“It’s all right, then, is it, Millicent?” he asked eagerly.
She tried to pull a hand away to get her handkerchief, but he held it fast and, seeing the corner of linen protruding from the low neck of her dress, he took it out and dried her eyes himself.
“I’m not going to cry—much,” she said, smiling, “but she is so happy.”
“I’m a lucky dog, Millicent—if you think I am,” he answered. “It hasn’t been easy.” His eyes clouded.
“I know it, Hugh. I can see it all, now.”
“And I mustn’t walk home with you?”
She hesitated. “I suppose you shouldn’t leave Mr. Ogden alone. He goes so soon and Miss Frink is asleep.”
Hugh smiled down at her. She wished he wouldn’t. She could hardly bear it. “A good excuse for you not to have to try to hide me,” he returned.