Elizabeth Farnshaw had started to say that he must know John, and somehow the words got suddenly tangled in her throat, and the sentence was unfinished for the fraction of a moment and then ended differently from what she had intended: “And I shall be so glad to have you for a neighbour, and You’ll marry—now who will you marry?”
Luther, who had begun to like this new Elizabeth even better than the girl of six years ago, had his little turn in the dark shadow of Nathan’s overhanging roof at the mention of this love affair, but he swallowed the bitter pill like a man. The renewed acquaintance had been begun on friendly lines and through all the days which followed it was kept rigidly on that ground. He was glad to have been told frankly and at once of John Hunter’s claims.
In spite of the fact that Elizabeth had stumbled and found herself unable to suggest that John and Luther were to be friends, she talked to Luther of her plans, her hopes of becoming a good housekeeper, her efforts at cooking, and of the sewing she was engaged upon. He learned, in time, of the disagreements with her father, and was not surprised, and with him she took up the subject of the marital relations at home. Luther’s experience was more limited than Susan Hornby’s, but he looked the matter of personal relations squarely in the face and discussed them without reserve. There was always something left to be finished between them, and night after night they walked or sat together on the doorstep till late. Nathan looked on disapprovingly, not understanding the bond between them, but Susan, who heard the girl chatting happily about her coming marriage, saw that the friendship was on safe ground and laughed away his fears.
Nathan had found his first friend since his Topeka experience, and was unwilling to see him come to harm; also, while Nathan had come to love Elizabeth almost as much as his own daughter, and to miss her when she was away, he was uncomfortably aware that she prized a culture which he did not possess, and was subject to fits of jealousy and distrust because of it.
Days passed. Elizabeth could not induce herself to call on her future mother-in-law. The surety that she was cheapened by reports of her home affairs stung her consciousness and made it impossible to make the call which she knew she would certainly give offence by omitting. This, too, she talked over with Luther, and he advised her to go at once. Each day she would promise, and each day she would make excuses to herself and him, till at last the man’s sober sense told him it must not be put off longer.
One evening, after John had been gone two weeks, and Elizabeth explained the fact of not having gone to see Mrs. Hunter because of the extreme heat, Luther suggested that she go over to the “shanty” with him.
“I forgot my coat, and it looks as if it’d rain ’fore mornin’,” he remarked. “I kept th’ harness on th’ horses, so’s t’ drive over.”
As Elizabeth expected, the visit to Mrs. Hunter was the first subject broached after they started.
“You’re goin’ t’ live in th’ house with Mrs. Hunter, Lizzie”—Luther always used the old-fashioned name—“an’ you must be friends with ’er,” he cautioned.
“I know it, Luther. I’ll go to-morrow, sure, no matter what happens,” the girl promised, her words coming so slowly that there was no mistaking her reluctance. “I just can’t bear to, but I will.”