Terrill turned his head, only for an instant, just long enough for her to see on his face a smile she never forgot.
“I would if I were you, Mrs. Leadenhall,” he said. “Set your mind at rest about—your husband.”
There was nothing in his voice but honest, chivalrous kindness. He did not resent her trickery, he did not despise her. He was only kind—so kind that in the dusk she wept a little to herself.
VII
They set off together across the fields. Stafford was burdened with a tremendous sack, which he did not know how to carry properly. Jacqueline could have given him good advice, for she had had five years’ experience of girls’ camps; but she tactfully refrained.
Whenever they came to an unusually rough bit of the trail, Stafford took her arm, to render her assistance, which she did not in the least require; but she accepted it with polite gratitude. There was absolutely nothing of the pal in Stafford. He would only have thought the less of her for knowing how to carry heavy sacks, and for being able to look out for herself.
A canoe was waiting for them at the head of a lake. As a matter of course Jacqueline took up the second paddle, but Stafford earnestly entreated her to put it down. He paddled in a very amateurish fashion, and she could have done much better; but she held her tongue, and listened to Stafford while he reassured her about Barty.
Barty’s foot had not been badly injured in the first place, and it was now almost healed.
“He’s walking about,” said Stafford. “He could just as well have come to-day, but I thought I’d like to try it alone.”
The shores of the lake, where trees and bushes grew, were densely black, but in the center of the lake there was a dim reflection of the moonlight, though the moon itself was not yet visible. It was very still. The woods were all alive with bird, beast, and insect, and the water beneath the canoe[Pg 215] was teeming with life, but no sound reached their human ears but the dip of the paddle. Stafford’s voice broke the stillness.