She chattered on, enlarging on her views of that fatal malady, love, quite unmindful of the fact that Dorothea added little to the conversation. She was aware of a certain satisfaction in the fact that Harriot was wrong in her surmises. She knew that April was not in love with Val Tracy, but this did not by any means insure that Val was as indifferent to April.
She managed to escape after a time and went directly to her room. She wanted to think before she talked to Miss Imogene about the afternoon’s adventure. There were many things to consider, and not the least of these was how far she might go in discussing April’s affairs. It gave her no right, as Dorothea saw it, to betray a confidence simply because her cousin had put a wrong interpretation upon her actions. She had done her best to keep the knowledge that Lee Hendon wore a blue uniform to herself. That had plainly been Hal’s wish, and now that two others knew of it she saw no very good reason why she should tell a third. But, on the other hand, how could she explain her position without recounting the facts of the case? She wanted advice, for she felt the time had come when she could no longer stay at her aunt’s, yet she doubted her right to openly explain the matter upon which she sought guidance.
Why Tracy had gone away she could not guess, unless it was that he did not wish to be near April now that he was assured of her love for Lee Hendon. That must have been quite plain to him, for the agony in April’s voice when she shouted to Hendon to run, left no doubt about the state of her feelings toward him. Dorothea concluded that here was the most reasonable explanation for Val’s sudden departure, and she sighed.
On top of this conclusion, she realized suddenly that unless some better excuse than she could then think of for going away was forthcoming she would be obliged to make an explanation to her Aunt Parthenia. It was impossible for her to say, indifferently, that she had decided to go back to England. Mrs. May would never be satisfied with that, and would doubtless forbid her to stir until she had heard directly from her father. But the same scruples that kept her from talking to Miss Imogene were equally effective with her aunt. The matter so closely concerned April that the more Dorothea thought of it the less she felt inclined to discuss it.
“I must wait,” she concluded finally, “and if I have a chance I shall speak to April.”
This definite decision taken, she was forced to act as if nothing had happened, but determined, at the first opportunity that presented itself, to talk openly to her cousin and so put an end to a situation she felt to be intolerable.
But this opportunity failed to come at once. That night at supper April appeared as usual, indeed Dorothea could note no change in her manner; all traces of tears were gone and she seemed her bright vivacious self. There was some talk of Tracy’s sudden departure, but April gave no hint that she was aware of any reason for it, and to those who knew nothing of the afternoon’s occurrences it was easy to account for it as due to the exigencies of the war. Toward Dorothea she showed no change, so far as the girl could see, and this confirmed her conclusion that April wished the matter kept secret. Otherwise she would have spoken out, at least to her mother, and Dorothea was sure that her Aunt Parthenia would not be one to let her rest under any suspicion without giving her a chance to explain the circumstances.
There was just one person who could set the matter straight in the main, at least; and he was lying in bed sorely wounded. Dorothea could not take her grievances to him while he was in this condition, but when Hal had sufficiently recovered to be down on the gallery in the sun Dorothea made up her mind that she would speak to him some day when they were alone together and see that he informed April of the exact circumstances of her meeting with Lee Hendon.
Strangely enough April had come to the same conclusion from an entirely different standpoint. She thoroughly believed in Dorothea’s guilt. There was no doubt in her mind that her accusation had been just and that her cousin was a Red String. To her thinking, the English girl had taken advantage of her relationship with them to come South and spy upon the Confederacy. She was not quite logical even with herself; but although suspicion had more than once entered her mind, it was only when she believed herself thoroughly justified that she permitted these vague doubts to take a definite form. Now that she had seen Dorothea in communication with Lee Hendon she had found the necessary proof for her intuitive distrust, and there was nothing she could not have believed Dorothea capable of to further the cause of the Yankees. She thought it entirely possible that the girl had been in constant communication with Hendon, supplying him with information she had picked up from Hal and Val Tracy or the many officers who had stayed with them from time to time.
Her first intention was to go to her mother and tell her flatly that Dorothea could no longer stay there. But, upon thinking it over, she saw the weakness of her position with Mrs. May. If the spy had been any one but Lee Hendon there would have been no hesitation; but here was the man she loved deeply involved—and she had saved him from capture! That act she excused to herself, and perhaps here lay an added reason for her bitterness toward Dorothea. Also her mother, frankly lukewarm toward the Southern cause, would be ready enough to defend Dorothea to the last; but the argument that had most weight in her thoughts was that here was a matter that concerned primarily the head of the house. Her father should be the one to determine what should be done in such a case; for, in a measure, she conceived the honor of family to be at stake; but Colonel May was quite inaccessible, so naturally she concluded that Hal must take their father’s place.