“I may never tell you, if I do not tell you to-day,” she answered, seriously, in a low voice. Vane looked at her surprised; she bore his gaze for half a second, and then let her own eyes drop. The student was looking on with parted lips. “Oh, Mr. Bronson,” said she, immediately, “I wish you would get me a glass of champagne—and seltzer, too!” She said the “too” with an inflection that made it sound like do.
The youth departed on his errand; and Vane also left, saying that he would be back in a moment; but he was saved a double journey by observing that some one else had brought Mrs. Gower her wine and had taken his seat beside her. Vane returned to Miss Thomas, passing rapidly over in his mind what had happened in the four months since he had asked her that fatal question, and trying to decide upon a course of action for himself. She had made no effort to have him speak to her before to-day. But by her presence the picnic was quite saved from insignificance.
“I have come back, Miss Thomas,” he said, seriously. “What can you have to tell me?”
Miss Thomas looked at the tent, before which Bronson was standing—waiting for her seltzer. Most of the guests had left the place, and the servants were clearing away the dinner. The moon was just rising.
“Will you not come for a walk?” said Vane. Miss Thomas gave him her hand, and he helped her to her feet. “I am forgetting your wine,” he said, afterwards. He was ill at ease and nervous.
“You know that I never drink wine at parties,” she answered; and just as Bronson came back to the place where she had been sitting, they disappeared in the forest. Bronson had a long neck supported by a very stiff standing collar, and when his dignity was compromised he had a way of throwing back his head and resting his chin upon the points of his collar. He did this now, and the Adam’s apple in his throat worked prominently. Then, after looking gravely a moment at the seat which had been Miss Thomas’s, as if to be satisfied that she had really gone, he drank the champagne himself and went back to the tent, where he found a male acquaintance, to whom he proposed a smoke. “It is such a relief to get away for a minute from the women,” he murmured, as he threw himself on the grass and rolled a cigarette. “By the way, did you see that little girl I was with? Nice dress, you know—quiet little thing. Well, by gad, sir, I believe there’s something up between her and that fellow Vane.”
XV.
AFTER they left the place of the dinner, Miss Thomas walked on for some time in silence, and Vane had inwardly resolved not to be the first to break their peace of mind. The woods, being part of a private estate, had received some care. There was no underbrush, and they were walking in a well-kept path. The moon was now high enough to make a play of light among the leafage and to outline with a silver tracery the smooth twigs and trunks of the trees before them.
Vane was silently wondering what Miss Thomas could mean. He became strangely self-possessed and cautious, and it occurred to him that this was the sort of clear-sightedness a man would have who was gambling and playing for a very large amount. He thought to himself that this was just the way fellows usually got married. Vane had been brought up to suppose that the proper way to reach a young lady’s heart, or at least her hand, was through the judgment of her parents; but, somehow, this did not seem to be necessary in New York, certainly not with Miss Thomas; and he felt that there was a danger of his asking Miss Thomas, to-night, to become Mrs. Vane. And, after all, he felt to-night that it was by no means certain that he wished Mrs. Vane to have been Miss Baby Thomas.