Arthur hesitated. Then he spoke with decision. “Yes. I have a call to make—won’t you come with me? Miss Livingstone, you know, and my cousin, Miss Holyoke, are here—do you know them?”
“No,” said the other; “but I shall like to.”
“Come along, then,” said Arthur. And they went up the long village street until the road began to twist among the apple-orchards and they got into the dusk that was already at the base of the wooded hills. Derwent pulled out a brierwood pipe and smoked it, and they walked in silence.
At last they came in front of the dignified old house, wearing, like a wig, its high-pitched roof and white balustrade, with its terrace for silk stockings and its dressed front of quaint old flowers as a ruffle of old lace. The gate creaked in its wonted way; and they walked up the familiar gravel-walk. “The ladies were at home;” and the two went into the large living-room, and found Gracie and Mamie Livingstone together. Arthur shook hands with Mamie, and then, after introducing Mr. Derwent, sat down by his cousin, leaving Mamie to his friend, a proceeding which the latter noticed. Derwent talked nearly all the time to Mamie, whose little self he read at once, but his eyes wandered more than once to Gracie and her cousin. Now, Gracie Mamie thought a character far simpler than herself. They all sat so near that when either pair was silent the other’s conversation could be heard. Their call had lasted nearly an hour, when Miss Brevier came in, who was there, matronizing the young people, for a few days only. Then the conversation became more general, save that Derwent talked some half an hour, at the end, with Miss Holyoke. It was after ten before they rose to go.
“So you are going to Lenox to-morrow,” said Gracie. “And after that?”
“After that, I don’t know; perhaps I shall come here?”
“I don’t think you could bear being at the Barrington Hotel,” said Gracie, with a laugh. Arthur bit his lip.
“Well, I suppose a fellow can go somewhere,” said he. “I may have to go back to the shop. Where do you go, Derwent?”
“I am going out among the Rockies of British Columbia, hunting,” said he. “I wish you’d come,” he added, turning to Arthur suddenly, as if the thought had then first struck him.
“Thanks,” said Arthur, ill-naturedly. “Unfortunately, I’m nothing but a broker’s clerk.” But his amour-propre was soothed by the evident increased consideration that Miss Livingstone had shown him; and even to the last moment she pressed him with questions, and hung admiringly upon his history of the trip.