By this time it might be said that the edge, at least, of hunger was taken off. All had eaten quite heartily, except Louise. But even Louise, though she dimly felt this was not as it should be, had found it possible to do at least a little nibbling. Of course it would be out of the question to expect her to eat like the rest. It was another case of Richard. Probably she would not eat just like the rest for a good while to come. Still, she would manage to keep going. One always did that in real life.
The Rev. Needham, however, was at length coming definitely to notice things. Louise, some more of the lamb? No? Surely more of the creamed carrots? But you're so fond of them! Ah, yes. There were sharp and anxious glances in the direction of this baffling elder daughter. She wasn't eating right. And when any of the Needhams didn't eat right, you could be very sure there was something wrong with the heart.
But now, anxious paternal orbs, let your troubled gaze shift to another plate—the next plate nearer your own. Oh, man of God, what cheer? Barry, another slice? Ah, but never you mind that—no one stops at a second helping here! No more potatoes, either? Tz, tz! Oh, reverend sir, what a load to fetch back to your expectant flock in the fall! Oh, if anything should happen now—now, just as life was becoming so kind! Oh, now—and those prickles in the heels occurring with less and less frequency, even despite the upsetting presence of Marjory! To have something go wrong—at his time of life.... To find the world running all to sixes and sevens....
Oh, it must be a wild and overwhelming fancy, nothing more than that! Barry (he rambled wildly in his mind) for mercy's sake more carrots? And aloud: "Just a few more, Barry?" Good! No, no, one hasn't heaped them up. One only wants to be sure. And if there is no absolute assurance in this hard world, one so beset can be forgiven for taking refuge behind appearances—even behind appearances of one's own manufacture, in an extremity like this! Yes, by hook or by crook one must contrive to keep the best foot foremost!
Barry, as a matter of fact, was doing pretty well and feeling pretty wretched. He had got through the afternoon coolly enough on a kind of momentum generated partly by the decision that he had simply been a fool to dream such dreams, and partly by that hopeful, wise, desperate little word of counsel, that fine word, patience. But here, all at once, was a pang of reaction. All the old, warm, wistful love came rushing back. The ancient dreams of home and wife and children returned to taunt and torture him. Only last night, on the deck of the steamer, with the moon so soft on the sea—ah, only last night.... How he had let himself go! How he had even pictured things: the fireplace here, perhaps the piano there.... And how his cigar had gone out, and he hadn't noticed. But now he was sitting beside her at her father's table, and he did not know whether she loved him or not. And in his pocket was a box with a ring inside it—a ring for which there might never be any use.
Mrs. Needham noticed, too. But Louise had already explained that she had a headache. The mother did not suspect that there was anything necessarily portentous in the air, and her heart beat placidly enough. Her life seemed settling and settling. The current grew more and more tranquil. She had times of feeling so kind of still.
Later the talk centred in Arizona.
Barry glanced at Louise, and found her, as it happened, gazing sadly, quizzically, and with some abstraction at him. He looked away at once, trembling a little; and he carried on the theme:
"Of course Arizona strikes people in different ways. Some find the flatness and the sand depressing."
"Is it sand all over?" asked Hilda.