"Go, by all means, if you feel in that way," said Winthrop. "I haven't the least desire to prevent it—as you seem to think; I only say that I shall go too."
"Yes; and that is what I don't want." She turned away and stepped out on the balcony to scan the sky.
A dark haze edged the eastern horizon. It was far away at present, lying low down on the sea, but it would come, it was already coming, westward; a clear, empty-looking space of cold pearl-hued light preceded it. Here on the lagoon the atmosphere was breathlessly still, not a sound of any kind stirred the warm silence. "Perhaps it will be only a rain," said Margaret, rather helplessly. She looked very uncomfortable.
"Yes, I reckon that's all it will be," said Betty, who had followed her to the balcony door. "And then, too, if it should be anything more, Mr. Winthrop will be with you, of course; that is, in case you decide to go; and if you don't go, why then he won't, you know; so either way, it's all for the best."
Margaret turned and came back into the drawing-room. Winthrop was standing by the table where she had left him; his eyes met hers, she saw that he would not yield. "I don't dare give it up, I don't dare wait," she broke out with sudden agitation. "Something has happened, nothing less could have kept both of the men from writing, when I gave them my express orders. I don't understand why you don't agree with me."
"You see probabilities, and Lanse isn't a devotee of probabilities, as a general thing. Didn't the last letter say that he had begun to walk a little?—with the aid of two canes? By this time it is one cane, and he is camping out. And he has carried off the whole force of the house to cook for him."
Betty thought this an excellent joke, and laughed delightedly over it.
"If he is camping out, it is quite time I was back," answered Margaret, trying to speak lightly. She took up her gloves. "Good-by, Aunt Betty; you will write to me?"
"Yes, indeed, I will," said Betty, kissing her. "Poor dear, you're like Mahomet's coffin, aren't you? suspended between heaven and—and the other place. And I'm so glad you've decided as you have, because you will be much easier in your mind, though of course, too, Mr. Winthrop was quite right of course, about being afraid for you in case you were alone, for sometimes we do have the most dreadful gusts, and the pine-trees are blown down all over the barrens and right across the roads; but then, all the same, if you hadn't decided, you would be so uncomfortable, like the old man and his son and the donkey, who never got anywhere, you know, because they tried to please too many people, or was it that they had to carry the donkey at last? at any rate, certainly, there's no donkey here. Well, good-by, dear; I shall be so dreadfully anxious about you."
"I am quite sure"—this was called down the stairs after Margaret had descended—"I'm quite sure, dear, that it will be nothing but a rain."