At last he heard a footstep and his hostess came in. Her dress was not of the latest fashion, but it somehow struck him as out of place; she ought to have been attired in the mode of a century ago, with powder in her hair. Nevertheless, fragile as she was, with her fine carriage and her gracious smile, she made an attractive picture in the ancient room.
“I’ve come on an unpleasant errand—to say good-by—and to thank you for many favors shown to a stranger,” he said.
“I think you were never that from the beginning,” she told him. “By and by we learned the reason—you really belong to us.”
He made a gesture of humorous expostulation.
“I like to believe that I belong here, but not because of the explanation you give. It doesn’t seem to be much to my credit that my forefathers lived in this part of the country; I’d rather be taken on my actual merits, if that isn’t, too egotistical.”
“They did live here,” she rejoined. “You can’t get over that—it has its influence.”
It was the point of view he had expected her to take.
“We are very sorry you are going,” she continued; “somehow we hardly anticipated it. Have you ever thought of coming back for good?”
She was unconsciously giving him the lead he desired, but he would not seize it precipitately; he was half afraid.
“No,” he answered, smiling; “my work’s out yonder. I couldn’t sit idle. I think Miss Gladwyne hit it when she told me that I was one of the pioneers.”