“Why did you do it—attempt to walk such a distance in such uncertain weather?”
Dominick smoothed the rug over his knees. His face, looking down, had a curious expression of cold, enforced patience.
“I was tired,” he said slowly. “I’d worked too hard and I thought the mountains would do me good. I can get time off at the bank when I want and I thought I’d take a holiday and come up here where I was last summer. I knew the place and liked the hotel. I wanted to get a good way off, out of the city and away from my work. As for walking up here that afternoon—I’m very strong and I never thought for a moment such a blizzard was coming down.”
He lifted his head and turned toward the window, then raising one hand rubbed it across his forehead and eyes. There was something in the gesture that silenced the young girl. She thought he felt tired and had been talking too much and she was guiltily conscious of her laughter and loquacity.
They sat without speaking for some moments. Dominick made no attempt to break the silence when she moved noiselessly to the stove and pushed in more wood. His face was turned from her and she thought he had fallen asleep when he suddenly moved and said,
“Isn’t it strange that I have never met you before?”
She was relieved. His tone showed neither feebleness nor fatigue, in fact it had the fresh alertness of a return to congenial topics. She determined, however, to be less talkative, less encouraging to the weakening exertions of general conversation. So she spoke with demure brevity.
“Yes, very. But you were at college for four years, and the year you came back I was in Europe.”
He looked at her ruminatingly, and nodded.
“But I’ve seen you,” he said, “at the theater. I was too sick at first to recognize you, but afterward I knew I’d seen you, with your father and your brother Gene.”