Rachel stood looking at them a moment, her dark eyes very bright. “To see you two,” she said slowly at length, “is to believe it all.”
The evening promised to be a gay one. The men of the party had sent to town for many lanterns, flags and decorations of the sort, and had made the porch and lawn the setting for a brilliant scene. A dozen young people had been asked out, and came enthusiastically.
“We’ll wind up with a flourish,” said Anthony in his wife’s ear as they descended the stairs together, “and then we’ll send them all off to-morrow where they’ll cease from troubling. I think it was the best plan in the world, but I’ll be glad to prowl about my beloved home without observing Cathcart scowling at Lockwood, Roger Barnes evading Suzanne, or even my good boy Wayne with that eternal wonder on his face as to why his flat does not look like our Eden.”
“Hush—and don’t look too happy to-morrow, Tony. Oh, here comes Rachel. Isn’t she lovely?”
“Now, watch,” murmured Anthony, his face full of amusement. “It’s as good as the best comedy I ever saw. See Suzanne. She never looked toward Rachel, but don’t tell me she wasn’t aware of the very instant Rachel came upon the porch. I believe she read it in Roger Barnes’s face. I’ll wager ten to one his pulse isn’t countable at the present instant.”
“I don’t blame him,” Juliet answered, smiling at her guests. “She’s my ideal of a girl who won’t hold out a finger to the men.”
“Yes, she’s your sort,” admitted Anthony. “I know what it is—poor fellows—I’ve been through it. Your cold shoulder used to warm up my heart hotter than any other girl’s kindness. Look at the boys now. They can’t jump and run away from the other girls, but they’d like to. And they’re all deadly anxious for fear the others will get the start. Say, Julie, you ought not to have asked those new youngsters down from town. They’ll catch it, sure as fate; they’re at the susceptible age. I see five of them now, all staring at Rachel.”
“You positively mustn’t stay here with me any longer,” whispered Juliet. “Go and devote yourself to her and keep them off for a little.”
“Not on your life,” Anthony returned “She can take care of herself. If I mix up in this fray you’re likely to be husbandless. Lockwood and Roger are getting dangerous, and I’m going to keep on the outskirts where it’s safe.”
They were all upon the lawn—Rachel, unable to help herself, according to Anthony’s intimation, the centre of a group of men who would not give each other a chance—when a stranger appeared upon the edge of the circle of light. He stood watching the scene for a moment—a tall, slender fellow, with a pale face and deep-set eyes. Then he asked somebody to tell Miss Redding that Mr. Huntington would like to speak with her. Rachel, thus summoned, rose, looked about her, caught sight of the stranger, and went swiftly down the lawn. A dozen people, among them all the men who had been the guests of the week, saw the meeting. They observed that the newcomer put out both hands, that his smile was very bright, and that he stood looking down into Miss Redding’s face as if at sight of it he had instantly forgotten everything else in the world.