“All right,” she agreed. “If you are not too tired we can work over a few hard places before dinner. We have an hour.”
This eager, plausible young man had better know exactly what he might expect out of “Red Jacket,” and the earlier the better. The documents were not such an enigma to her as she had pretended, and she was not so young as not to be aware that men—and mothers—had often speculated on her desirability as a moneyed “catch.” Not that she believed Walter’s theory about Richard. He was no “bad man.” Her half-suspicions of Richard had faded almost as quickly as they had come. The night’s sleep had banished them. One might as well not have eyes and a mind if the guileless man before her were ever guilty of anything except kindness and improvidence. But improvidence he could be guilty of, and on a colossal scale. Besides, he was so different from other men that it would be just like him to rest satisfied at “Red Jacket.” He would take it with no more shame than those sparrows were taking Phœbe’s oats. So she would lead him straight to the documents and exhibit the accounts.
When Phœbe heard their voices at the dock she fled to the garden and seized a hoe. Reticence was not one of her virtues, and she had the sense to know it. “It’s awful to have the gift of oratory,” she chuckled as she dived in back of the corn. “An’ it’s never myself that thought I would be runnin’ away from a chance to show it off!” Nevertheless she stayed out of sight until they dressed and had left the cottage.
They took the steep hill leisurely, stopping occasionally to rest and look back on the view; but they found speech as unessential here as on the long swim together. And, besides, the delicious fatigue had left little inclination for conversation.
They crossed the single trolley track that led from Penn Yan to Branchport and walked slowly up the lawn.
“Is there any better sensation than honest weariness?” he asked.
“None in the world,” she agreed, although she mentally made note of several better ones.
“Do you really feel like figures?” he asked temptingly.
“Not in the least,” she laughed, and noted his eager look towards the little open summer-house before them.
“Let’s!” he suggested.