“I am acquainted with the lady,” said Robert, in so curt a manner that she was abashed.
She fancied that he regretted having been drawn into conversation with the governess of some one whom he knew. She flushed a little, and turned away her head. She expected him to make some excuse and to leave her; but he did not. He stood where he was, filled with the most unaccountable chagrin and disappointment.
She was going to Gina! She would see him there, see him as Old Dog Tray! He felt as if some ineffable happiness had been snatched from him. He felt suddenly middle-aged and preposterously unpleasing.
An instant ago he had really believed that this marvelous girl was interested in him, friendly toward him, even glad of his company. Well, only let her see him climbing the hill with his arms full of bundles, only let her see him playing with the children, being treated with slightly condescending affection by Gina, only let her see Old Dog Tray in his natural habitat, and he would never again be anything but that in her eyes!
“I’ll not go,” he decided. “I don’t doubt they’ll do well enough without me.”
But, thought he, what good would that do? He knew so well Gina’s fatal lack of discretion, her shocking habit of confiding in every one. It was impossible to believe that she could have a governess in the house twenty-four hours without telling—even boasting—about her Old Dog Tray.
“The devil!” he said, dismayed at the prospect.
Then he realized that he had spoken aloud, and he apologized earnestly to his companion. He was surprised and relieved to see her smile—not plaintively and sweetly, like Gina, but with a wide, youthful smile that was almost a grin. With a faint shock he realized that while she was undoubtedly an angel, she was also a delightful human being.
They were suddenly upon a new footing. They began to talk with miraculous ease. They exchanged names. She said she was Anne Kittridge, and instead of being, as he had half imagined, an isolated phenomenon, she had a mother and a home in Philadelphia.
“I’ve never been a governess before,” she said. “I’ve never even been away from mother. I hope—do you think I’ll get on with Mrs. Wigmore’s children?”