“Thank you, Mrs. Tracy!” he said. “It is very kind of you. I’m sure mother will enjoy it; and it will give me great pleasure to come.”
He handed the elder woman into the car, and turned to Ruth. She was still looking away from him.
“Come, Ruth!” said her mother. “The car is waiting. What are you mooning about?”
“I was thinking,” replied Ruth; but just there Westgate interrupted her:
“She was thinking,” he suggested, “what a glorious day it would be to walk home.”
The girl smiled and turned toward him. “If you mean that for an invitation, Philip,” she said, “it’s accepted.”
Mrs. Tracy felt the balmy air sweep her face as she went on alone in luxurious flight, while the contemplation of the incident at the curb and its possible sequel gave her vastly more comfort and satisfaction than had the pious assurances of the Reverend Dr. Marbury in his morning sermon.
Both Ruth and Westgate recalled that September morning, a year before, when they had walked home together from the church, and discord had overtaken them on their way. But neither of them spoke of it. It was a thing too long gone by, and an incident that perhaps it were better, after all, to forget.
It was in the middle of the second block that Westgate said to her: