She abandoned the idea of visiting the clam study, however, and seated herself with frank graciousness by their visitor. Mrs. Carruth having strolled away presently to keep some elderly tryst among the piazza ladies of the hotel, the young people were left alone.
They sat for a moment in sudden, rather awkward silence. Helen looked like a tall June lily, in her summer gown; she had taken her hat off; her hair was a little tumbled and curly; the wind blew in strong from the sea, tossing the lace curtains of the Flying Jib like sails on a toy boat. The scent of the sweet-briar was delicately defined in the room. Bayard looked at her without any attempt to speak. She answered his silent question by saying, abruptly:—
“You know you’ll have to forgive me, whether you want to, or not.”
“Forgive you?”
“Why, for being vexed. I was a little, at first. But I needn’t have been such a schoolgirl as to show it.”
“If you would be so kind as to tell me what I can possibly have done to—deserve your displeasure—” began Bayard helplessly.
“If a man doesn’t understand without being told, I’ve noticed he can’t understand when he is told.... Why didn’t you wait till next fall before you came to see us, Mr. Bayard?”
“Oh!” said Bayard. His happy look came back to his tired face, as if a magic lantern had shifted a beautiful slide. “Is that it?”
He laughed delightedly. “Why, I suppose I must have seemed rude—neglectful, at any rate. But I’ve noticed that if a woman doesn’t understand without being told, she makes up for it by her readiness of comprehension when she is told.”