Hillyer’s loyal heart was near to bursting with joy. In all the days of his eager courtship Marion had never seemed so close to him, so fairly within his grasp, as now. She had welcomed him with totally unexpected warmth, considering the many times she had rejected him, and considering, too, the letter he had received from her on her departure. Absence, he thought, had advanced his cause for him. A dozen times he was on the point of boldly violating the six months’ embargo she had placed upon his pleadings; but as often as the fervent words rose to his lips fear froze them there, and he was silent.
As for Marion, she was for the moment absorbed in a little plan that was not for Robert’s knowledge. She was intent upon meeting Philip in Robert’s company; she wanted to bow to him, and smile, and let him see that there was one man at least who prized her, if he did not. But the imp of perversity seemed to have come to abide permanently in the Park. Though Marion, in the first two days of Robert’s visit, guided him, in the big automobile, everywhere except beyond the Ridge and to the glade of the columbines, she had never a glimpse of Philip. All this maddened her; and if Robert had but spoken, there were times when––But Robert did not speak.
Near noon of the third day they met Smythe in the main valley road a mile or so below the post-office. At sight of him bobbing along toward them, almost lost between his horse and his sombrero, Marion’s first impulse was to speed past him without stopping. She was not sure she could trust his discretion; for she had told Robert nothing about Philip Haig. But she did not wish to offend the faithful Smythe; and so, on second thought, she hurriedly acquainted Robert with the identity of the approaching figure, and warned him to control his inevitable mirth.
“He is funny,” she said, laughing in spite of herself, “but he can’t help that. He’s been very good to me, in his way.”
In the meantime Smythe’s horse was deciding the matter on his own account. This was the first automobile the pony had ever seen, and he made up his mind promptly that he did not like it. He reared and bucked, bolting first to one side and the other of the road, and refused to consider Smythe’s well-worded assurance that wise horses were really fond of automobiles, which were taking a great deal of work off their shoulders.
Hillyer stopped the machine, and cut off the power. But the pony’s suspicions had been thoroughly aroused, and the sudden silence seemed to him more portentous than even the noise of the motor. Smythe thereupon had his work cut out for him, but he would not compromise either by dismounting, or by turning and riding away. Slowly and patiently he urged the frightened pony toward the automobile until, after many setbacks and panics, he had brought him near enough for conversation.
“There now, Peanuts!” he said to the prancing animal. “You see you were quite mistaken.” Then, to Hillyer and Marion: “He’s a little like myself. He doesn’t really believe in ghosts, but he’s dreadfully afraid of them.”
“I didn’t know you were such an accomplished horseman,” said Marion.