"Only Joe Faxon," said one of the men. "He was bound for the Warings'."
At three Molly Wolcott came, only to disappear promptly in the direction of the golf course. At five-thirty all had arrived with the exception of Della Baker, her taciturn husband,—and Good. But on the next train, which was the last, the first two came. She greeted them as gaily as she could, with studied carelessness inquiring if anyone had been left at the station, and when they assured her that no one had, she abandoned hope definitely.
"You have the darkest, lonesomest woods out here I ever saw," cried Della. "I had all sorts of thrills. Every time I saw a man my heart came up in my mouth!"
"That," said her husband cryptically, "is quite as usual."
But Judith heard him only vaguely. She had caught sight of a familiarly angular figure striding briskly up the drive way, looming grotesquely tall in the dusk. She did not follow the others as they went into the house. She remained on the porch, a prey to conflicting emotions. It was with some difficulty that she restrained the laugh which sprang to her lips as Good came into the light from the hall. His hair had been trimmed, his face was newly shaven, and his finger-nails, she noted, as he held out his hand, were cleaner than she had ever seen them. That was enough to amaze her. But when he flung back his long rain-coat, worn in spite of the continued drought of days, and revealed evening dress—her head swam. He was quite conscious of the effect he had made. Indeed, though she made a strong effort, she could not possibly conceal it. But it did not appear to displease him. He smiled like a child, and turned around twice for her inspection.
"Some rags, eh?" he cried, smoothing out the wrinkles. "Sorry the coat doesn't match, but it was the best I could get."
Almost tearfully she joined in his enthusiasm. She shut her eyes to the antiquated cut of the garment, its unmistakable shininess at the elbows, and what must have been apparent even to himself, the fact that it fitted him only, as one might say, intermittently. But he was too pleased to care, if he had noticed such trifles.
"That's really what I needed the money for," he explained. "I wanted to bloom like a green bay tree before your friends. Pretty cute, eh?" He turned around again, and catching sight of himself in the mirror, stood preening like a peacock. "Makes me feel half dressed, though," he admitted somewhat ruefully. "This open-work front ... I've been trying to hook it together all the way out—but there aren't any hooks! First time I ever wore one of these. Look at the buttons on the vest. Ever seen anything glitter so? I tell you, Solomon in all his glory had nothing on me!"
She had not dressed Roger for nothing, and her keen eye did not miss the numerous minute lapses from perfection in Good's attire. The general effect just missed being what it should be. But his naïve pride was contagious. She found herself forgetting the essential absurdity of his costume in his own unqualified delight.
His collar was prodigiously high, and being so much taller than she, it was impossible for their eyes to meet. He looked for all the world like some grotesque bird, fitted with a more or less painful and wholly unaccustomed harness.