“You couldn’t telephone?”
“Where? If he can he’ll come here, if only to get news of her. She’s never let him write to her, has she?”
“He told me she hadn’t when he was here last fall. And she didn’t know where he was.”
“Fellow-conspirator,” whispered Anthony, “we’ll give fate her chance to-night. If she bungles the game we’ll take it into our own hands to-morrow. But I’ve a feeling I’d like to let it happen by itself, if it will.”
When Lockwood had gone—which was not until eleven o’clock, in spite of the way his hosts remained in his vicinity—Rachel stood still upon the porch smiling a little wearily at Juliet.
“My staying all night has been settled for me,” she said. “There was no way to go.”
“Luckily for us,” Juliet answered. “Sit here a little longer, dear. It’s such a perfect night, and I know we shall see little enough of you when you get at work.”
Rachel dropped into the hammock. “I should like to lie here all night,” she said, “and watch the stars until I go to sleep. I’ve done that so many, many nights from under a tent flap.”
All at once she looked up, her eyes widening. Upon the porch step stood a strong figure—as unlike Lockwood’s gracefully slender one as possible. A man’s eyes were gazing steadily down into hers—determined gray eyes, with a light in them. The two faces were plainly visible to each other in the radiance from the open door.