The girl’s return put a stop to the discussion, which could end in nothing but confusion anyway.
Lee Virginia said good-bye to Mrs. Redfield with grateful appreciation of her kindness, and especially of her invitation to come again, and the tears in her eyes profoundly affected the older woman, who, with a friendliness which was something more than politeness, invited her to come again. “Whenever Roaring Fork gets on your nerves we’ll be very glad to rescue you,” she said in parting.
Hugh Redfield the girl thoroughly understood and loved, he was so simple-hearted and so loyal. His bitter criticisms of the West were not uttered in a destructive mood—quite the contrary. His work was constructive in the highest degree. He was profoundly impatient of America’s shortcomings, for the reason that he deeply felt her responsibility to the rest of the world. His knowledge of other republics and “limited monarchies” gave his suggestions power and penetration; and even Bridges, besotted in his provincial selfishness, had advised his selection as Supervisor. Of his own fitness for the work, Redfield himself took a dispassionate view. “I am only filling the place till the right man comes along,” he said to his friends. “The man before me was a half-hearted and shifty advocate. I am an enthusiast without special training; by-and-by the real forester will come to take my place.”
On the way to the office, he said to Lee: “I will talk to the doctor if you like.”
“I wish you would,” she responded, fervently.
She remained in the machine while he went in, and as she sat there a train passed on its downward eastward run, and a feeling of loneliness, of helplessness, filled her heart. She had written many brave letters to her Eastern friends, but the vital contests, the important factors of her life, she had not mentioned. She had given no hint of her mother’s physical and moral degeneration, and she had set down no word of her longing to return; but now that she was within sight of the railway the call of the East, the temptation to escape all her discomforts, was almost great enough to carry her away; but into her mind came the thought of the ranger riding his solitary way, and she turned her face to her own duties once more, comforted by the words of praise he had spoken and by the blaze of admiration in his eyes.
Redfield came out, followed by a small man carrying a neat bag. He was of surpassing ugliness, and yet she liked him. His mouth had a curious twist. He had no chin to speak of, and his bright eyes protruded like those of a beetle. His voice, however, was surprisingly fine and resonant.
“You’d better sit behind, Doctor,” said Redfield. “I shall be very busy on this trip.”
“Very well,” replied the other, “if Miss Wetherford remains beside me; otherwise I shall rebel.” He was of those small, plain men whose absurd gallantry is never taken seriously by women, and yet is something more than pretence.
He began by asking a few questions about her mother’s way of life, but as Lee was not very explicit, he became impersonal, and talked of whatsoever came into his mind—motor-cars, irrigation, hunting, flowers—anything at all; and the girl had nothing to do but to utter an occasional phrase to show that she was listening. It was all rather depressing to her, for she could not understand how a man so garrulous could be a good physician. She was quite sure her mother would not treat him with the slightest respect.