“Yet you did not inquire,” Alison remarked in a quiet voice.
“That is so,” Kit admitted with some embarrassment. “All the same——”
He stopped, for Alison gave him a queer smile.
“You thought you ought not? Well, a good friend is worth much, and I’d sooner not think you were altogether willing to let me go. But Austin has put the engine straight, and Carrie wants help to serve our lunch.”
She joined Mrs. Austin, but Kit stopped and pondered. His emotions were rather mixed, but he was glad Alison had not wanted him to let her go. Now he thought about it, it was all she had really told him. Alison did not try to move one; one liked her for her friendly calm.
Lunch was a cheerful and rather noisy function, for Florence and Harries disputed and sometimes she entangled Kit in humorous argument. When the meal was over and the others went off he helped Mrs. Austin clean the plates. He knew she wanted him to stop, and after they re-packed the basket he brought her a rug and sat in the grass. The wind dropped and the calm lake shone. The afternoon was hot, but the shadow of the bluff crept across the spot.
Mrs. Austin was young, but Kit, studying her, got a sense of maturity; he knew her thoughtful and sincere. Although she was obviously cultivated, she was somehow franker than the Englishwomen he had known. She told him to smoke and he lighted a cigarette. He felt she waited for him to talk, and although she did not indicate the line she wanted him to take, he thought he knew.
“Until Bob told me Miss Forsyth was at the creamery and came to your house I was anxious for her,” he said. “Now I know she has good friends, I want to thank you, ma’am.”
“We thought you philosophical,” Mrs. Austin remarked, and gave him a steady glance.
Kit hesitated, and then took a photograph from his wallet.