“Well, I don’t know, I’m sure!” said Mrs. Royce to herself, with a sigh. “It beats me!”
For the question which so troubled her was—which young man was the young man?
“Both of ’em as nice, polite young fellers as you’d want to see,” she repeated. “T’ other one’s handsomer, but he’s kind of foreignlike and gloomy. This one’s got more gumption. The way he walked in here, smart as a whip, and asked for Miss Moran, an’ when I says she’s gone to visit the Queltons, why, off he went, after her! I like a man with gumption!”
So did Miss Moran. Charles Houseman seemed to her the only living, vigorous creature in a world of ghosts, the only one whom she could really understand. There were no shadowy corners about him. He was altogether honest, direct, and uncomplicated. He had no tact and no caution. He had come now, in the midst of this wretched tangle, and she completely believed that he would cut the Gordian knot.
He had suggested that they should let the subject drop for a time.
“I think I’ve got the facts straight,” he said; “and now I want to think them over a bit. Let’s take a walk, and talk about something else.”
Lexy agreed to the entire program. If she was tired, she either didn’t know it, or she forgot it in the joy of this beautifully[Pg 357] careless companionship. She could say exactly what came into her head to Charles Houseman. He understood her. He was interested in every word she spoke, and, what is more, she was aware of the profound admiration that underlay his interest. He thought she was wonderful, and that made her strangely happy.
“Do you know,” he said, “the first time I saw you, there in the park, I—I liked the way you talked to me!”
“How?” asked Lexy, with great interest. “I thought I must have seemed awfully irritating and mysterious.”
He grinned.