Holcomb reddened. "I'm glad you trusted me," he said, and added, "I hope you will trust me always."
"Why, yes, of course I will!" she exclaimed, brightening. "Oh, you know I will, don't you?"
Holcomb was conscious of a sudden sensation of infinite joy; it seemed to spring up like an electric current from somewhere deep within him, and tingled all over him.
"I'm glad you'll always trust me," he said, as he rose suddenly from his chair and, going over to her, held out his hand. The words he had just spoken he was as unconscious of as his impulsive gesture. "I hope you'll always trust me," he repeated. "You see I wouldn't like to disappoint you ever" he went on gently.
She gave the strong fingers that held her own a firm little squeeze, not knowing why she did it.
"Of course I will. Oh, you know I'll trust you—always—always." She said it simply—like a child telling the truth. "I must be going," she ventured faintly. "You will come to the dinner—I mean—to dine with us as long as they are here—promise me!" Again she looked appealingly into his eyes as if she were speaking in a dream.
"Yes, if you want me," he said softly, almost in a whisper, still thrilled by the pressure of her warm little hand. He stood watching her as she slowly re-crossed the compound. Then he went in and shut the door of his cabin and stood for some moments gazing at the chair in which she had been seated—his heart beating fast.
* * * * *
The dinner was all that Thayor could have wished it. In this he had consulted Blakeman, and not Alice. The soup was perfect; so were a dozen young trout taken from an ice-cold brook an hour before, accompanied by a dish of tender cucumbers fresh from the garden and smothered in crushed ice; so was the dry champagne—a rare vintage of hissing gold poured generously into Venetian glasses frail as a bubble, iridescent and fashioned like an open flower; so was the saddle of mutton that followed—and so, too, were the salad and cheese—and the minor drinkables and eatables to the very end.
Moreover, Alice was in her best humour and in her best clothes; the doctor genial; Thayor beaming; Margaret merry as a lark; Holcomb's ease and personality a delight (Mrs. Thayor had at the last moment sent a special invitation by Margaret, and he had come)—and Jack a never-ending joy. That rare something which made every man who knew him love him, bubbled out of him as ceaselessly as the ascending commotion in the golden vintage. Moreover, this good fellow was overjoyed at the change in his host; he felt that Thayor's splendid health was largely due to his advice.