He was, for the moment, too astonished to make any comments. She spoke as though the sale was decided on, the move settled. He knew that neither of the sisters was aware of the mortgage he held on the property, and he listened to her in staring silence as she went on:
“So that’s why I’m not going to Europe. Virginia’s far enough away from San Francisco. I’ll—I’ll—not see them up there or hear about it as I would down here. And then there was another reason that’s made me glad to stay. When I thought of leaving you and Rosamund—it was so hard—too hard! I don’t seem to be one of those independent women who can go about the world alone far away from the people they love. I’d leave my roots behind me, deep down in the ground I came from. I don’t think I could ever pull them up. And if I tried and pulled too hard they’d break, and then I suppose I’d wither up and die.”
She turned her eyes from the fire to him. She was smiling slightly, her face singularly sad under the smile. He looked at her and said softly:
“My girl!”
He sat on with her for a space, discussing the move and making plans. With some embarrassment he told her of the fact that he had written to Rion Gracey, applying for a position. The thought that he would be in Virginia called the first real color of life and pleasure into her face that he had seen there for weeks. He saw that the excitement of the move, the hope of change from the environment in which she had so suffered, had had a bracing and cheering effect on her. It was evident that she had set her heart on going. Despite her cold and general air of sickly fragility she was more like herself, showed more of her old vivacity and interest, than she had done since the night of the Davenport ball.
On his way down the stairs he decided, if Allen was not in, to wait for him in the sitting-room. But as he reached the stair-foot a faint film of cigar smoke and the more pungent reek of whisky floated from the open doorway, and told him that the master of the house was already there.
Allen was sitting by the table, a decanter and glass near his elbow, his cigar poised in a waiting hand, as he listened to the descending footsteps. The Chinaman had told him that Colonel Parrish had called to see June, and Allen stationed himself by the doorway to catch the visitor on his way out.
“That you, Jim?” he called, as the footfall neared the end of the flight. “Glad you came. Drop in here for a minute before you go. I’ve something I want to talk to you about.”
The Colonel entering, noticed that the other was even more flushed than he usually was at this hour, and that his glance was evasive, his manner constrained. He pushed his cigar-case across the table with a hand that was unsteady, and tried to cover his embarrassment by the strident jocularity of his greeting. The Colonel, sitting down on the arm of a heavy leather chair, did not beat about the bush.
“What’s this June’s been telling me,” he said, “about you all moving to Virginia? Since when have you decided on that?”