For an hour they conversed, seriously, merrily about his experiences in the city. He was a true gentleman, therefore modest; the pronoun "I" was used as sparingly as possible, and there was an absence of egotism that charmed his new-found friend. He was beginning to realize the success he had achieved in the city, but one look into his honest gray eyes proved that he was no braggadocio. She saw that she could safely compliment him on his progress; she compared him as he sat before her with the country boy she had first known, when she told him that she knew then that he was a great diamond that needed little polishing. The magnificence of his surroundings, the beauty of his hostess, the subtle influence of splendor, softened his first rough feelings of apprehension into the mellow confidence of ease and urbanity. It was all so strange and sweet that he lived it over and over again in the days that followed, before he could convince himself that he—poor Jud Sherrod—had not really been in fairyland.
There was no questioning the sincerity of her admiration. Converse sat back and jealously watched the light in her eyes, and listened to the new fervor in her voice as she talked to the man whose demeanor plainly indicated that he considered her his guiding star in the journey from obscurity to light.
"O, yes," she cried, suddenly, a taunting gleam coming to her eyes, "I have forgotten something quite important. What has become of the beautiful sweetheart? I never saw a prettier girl. Is she still down there?"
For a moment the spell was broken. He caught his breath. He had forgotten Justine—his own Justine! His composure fled, his eyes wavered before the laughing eyes of his inquisitor. His lips parted with the impulse to blurt out that she was his wife, when he remembered Converse. He had led Converse with the others to consider him unmarried, unintentionally and innocently he knew down in his heart. His helpless looks from one to the other showed such unmistakable signs of embarrassment that Miss Wood hastily sought to relieve the situation, fearing she had committed a painful blunder.
"I beg your pardon. It is not my affair and I——" she began, but Converse, obtuse and rejoicing in Jud's discomfiture, interrupted.
"O, she's still there, all right, all right. Look at his blushes! I wish I had the luck he has."
"Douglass Converse, I'll send you to the library if you don't keep quiet. I hope you will pardon my natural curiosity, Mr. Sherrod," she said, gravely.
Sherrod caught his breath again and battled for an instant with something in his throat, then allowed a deeper flush to follow the first—the flush that comes with criminal bravery.
"I don't mind telling you about her. She still lives down at my old home and often writes to me about you, wondering whether I have seen you," he said in a hard voice, fully resolved to deceive for the time being.
"Don't forget to let me know what she says when you tell her you have really seen me. I am so interested in her. What is her name?"