“It was very good of you to come,” said Jane Ray, gravely. “It—made all the difference. Mr. Munson told us he didn’t ask you—you offered. But it’s impossible not to wonder how you knew.”
“My housekeeper came from somewhere near this region—she told me. It was very easy to come—easier than to stay away, after knowing. What a day this is—and what a view! Don’t let me keep you—good-bye.” And he turned away even before Red, always in a hurry though he was, would have suggestively speeded his throbbing motor—a device by which he was accustomed to make a get-away from a passer-by who had held him up. As he went on Red put out an arm and waved a parting salute to the man behind him, at which Black, seeing the friendly signal, smiled at the landscape in general, addressing it thus:
“You wouldn’t do that, Red-Head, if you weren’t beginning to like me just a bit—now would you?”
The car was barely out of sight when he heard a shriek behind him, and turning, found himself pursued by one of the women who had been in the cottage. She was waving a parcel at him—a small parcel done up in a ragged piece of newspaper, as he saw when he had returned to meet her. She explained that it contained some few belongings of Sue Dunstan which the girl had forgotten.
“They ain’t much, but she might want ’em. She won’t be comin’ back, I guess—not if that Miss Ray keeps her that kept Sade before. She better keep a lookout on Sue—she’s the same blood, an’ it ain’t no good.”
“Thank you—I’ll take this to her,” Black agreed. His hat was off, as if she had been a lady, this unkempt woman who regarded him curiously. He was saying to himself that here was a place to which he must come again, it was so near—and yet so very, very far.
She would have stayed him to gossip about both Sadie and Sue, but he would have none of that, turned the talk his own way, and presently got away as adroitly as ever Red had done, leaving her looking after him with an expression of mingled wonder and admiration. Somehow he had given her the impression of his friendliness, and his democracy—and yet of the difference between herself and him. There was, once, a Man, beside a wayside well, who had given that same impression.
Until late evening he was busy; calls—a manse wedding—a committee meeting—an hour’s study—so the rest of the June day went. But just as dusk was falling he tucked the newspaper parcel under his arm and went down Jane Ray’s side street. He did not know at all if she could be found at this hour, but he had an idea that Jane lived above her shop, and that if she were at home a bell which he had seen beside the door would bring her.
The shop was softly lighted with many candles, though no one seemed to be inside. When he tried the door, however, it was locked, and he rang the bell. A minute later he saw Jane coming through the shop from the back, and the suggestion of the hostess moving through attractive apartments was more vivid than ever. The door opened. Black held out his parcel.
“I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, Miss Ray, but I believe it’s something the little girl left behind, and I thought she might want it to-night. I couldn’t get here earlier.”