Miss Thomas seemed really very sorry. Vane admitted this afterwards, when he sought to reason himself out of his consequent ill-humor. But she was already engaged to ride that day in Mr. Wemyss’s sleigh. It was so unfortunate, and she was so much disappointed! Vane, however, decided to postpone his proposal of marriage to some other occasion; so he drove out sedately with the young and beautiful chaperone. With her he made no sufficient effort at flirtation, and Mrs. Gower never forgave him the omission.
The ice was very good; and Vane was disporting himself meditatively in one corner of the pond when Miss Thomas whirled by him on the “outer edge.” Miss Thomas was a beautiful skater; and, as she passed, she stretched out a crooked cane as if inviting him to join her. Vane had no desire to refuse; and in a minute the two were rolling along in strong, sweeping curves, the girl’s blue eyes gleaming with excitement beneath their long black lashes. Her eyes had the still, violet blue of a cleft in a glacier; Vane could not help looking into them once or twice. The ice was broken.
Neither of them had much to say; but for an hour or more they skated together. The crooked stick, proving too long, was soon discarded; and they skated hand in hand. On the shore, Wemyss was devoting himself to the matron. He could not skate.
Finally, the signal of recall was given. Miss Thomas made no movement in the direction of the return, and Vane was naturally too polite to make the first. They could see Mrs. Gower at the other end of the pond, skurrying about, like a young hen after her chickens. Suddenly Miss Thomas discovered that they ought to go back; but when they returned to the shore they were the last of the party, and had the log, which served the purpose of a seat, to themselves. Vane stooped to take off his companion’s skates, and in shaking them free Miss Thomas brought the blade of one across his hand with some force, causing a slight scratch on the back of his finger. She gave a little cry of horror, and then, as the finger bled profusely, pulled out her own handkerchief, and, before Vane could prevent her, bound it around the wound.
“It was my fault,” said she. “You can give the handkerchief to me when we next meet.”
As they walked back, Vane, dropping behind, unwound the handkerchief and put it in an inside pocket, then drew his glove hastily over the scratch, which had already stopped bleeding.
Going home, Mrs. Gower found Vane much more interesting. The heat of the noon had melted the snow, so that the sleighing was not good, and it was dusk before they got into the city. But when Vane left Mrs. Gower’s house for his own dinner, the sleigh which contained Miss Thomas had not returned, though Wemyss was there, having driven back with Miss Bellamy. Coming to his rooms, Vane unfolded the little handkerchief and kissed it; and that night, when he went to sleep, it was in his hand beneath the pillow. In the morning, he looked at it. It was a cheap little thing enough, made of pieces of linen or muslin stuff, looking like dolls’ clothes sewed together, but giving the effect of lace at a distance.
Vane went to a store on Broadway and purchased a handkerchief of the same size, of old point lace, and the same afternoon called upon Miss Thomas. “I have brought you your handkerchief,” said he, giving her the one he had bought, folded up. “I am very much obliged to you for lending to me.”
Miss Thomas took it, looked at it for a moment, then at him and thanked him. “It was of no consequence,” said she. “It was an old one.” Vane went home, much excited, perhaps a trifle disturbed in mind. Such a rapid victory had hardly been foreseen by him. She had taken from him, as a present, a valuable bit of lace; which must certainly mean that she would take him, if he offered himself. And he was not quite sure, now that the prospect was so near, that he really wished to marry Miss Baby Thomas. He liked her immensely, and she certainly amused him more than any other girl he knew; but he was not quite sure that he wished to marry—at all. Now that the prize was within his reach, he shrank back a little from plucking it. Four years ago, in Brittany, Vane had felt himself an old man; but now it seemed that he was “ower young to marry yet.” These thoughts gave him much trouble; and in the meantime he abstained from further complication by not calling on Miss Thomas, and, at the same time, subjected himself to much self-analysis. Could he honestly be content to go through life with this girl by his side? He knew enough of life to know that it mattered very little how often a man made a fool of himself, if he did not do so on the day when he got married. Now Miss Thomas was certainly a very nice, sweet girl—but did he love her enough to marry her? The outcome of his deliberation was in the affirmative; but—another but.
Ten days had elapsed since he gave her the handkerchief, when finally, one Sunday afternoon, he called to see her. He half expected that he should ask her to marry him. But he did not do so. When the call was nearly over, she excused herself for a moment, and, going up-stairs, returned with the handkerchief in her hand. “You have brought back the wrong handkerchief,” said she. Vane started with a shock of surprise he could not repress.