Only Richard and Phœbe knew the full significance of the accusation of “gallivanting.” He remembered her etymology, “From ‘galli,’ ‘a woman,’ and ‘vantin’,’ ‘wantin’ ’em bad.’” So he nodded his head and confessed.
“Absolutely guilty in the highest degree,” he said.
“Oh, ho!” she exclaimed, and looked first at one and then at the other. “Oh, ho!” she repeated very sagely. “Is that the way the wind’s a-blowin’!”
She acted as if the idea had never struck her before, but she so charged the atmosphere with accusation that Richard grew crimson and Jerry stiffened into angry opposition.
“There’s no wind at all, Phœbe,” Jerry blurted. “Don’t be silly!”
“I’m not accusin’ myself of bein’ silly,” she remarked quietly. “Oh, well!” she saw that she was making them both self-conscious; “perhaps the breeze has died down temporarily. It does in these parts, Richard,” she turned to him learnedly. “The Keuka winds are that tricky, now! One minute they’re roarin’ as if the seven chained devils were loose an’ after ’em—as you might have noticed this afternoon—first blowin’ one way and then the other; an’ before you can pull your cap over your ears and button up the top button of your coat, they’re gone, and the Lake is as smooth as you see it to-night. But look out!” she cautioned, with a mischievous smile twinkling about her eyes, “look out! There’s apt to be an ugly squall any minute. You never can be sure. Just look at that Lake now!” she pointed out of the long windows. The moon had lighted up its glassy surface; there was not a wrinkle on it. “Don’t it look innocent and child-like, now? An’ who would think that it could ever rise up and roil with passion?”
Her elaborate figure of speech—a very obvious parable—did not help matters. It was just clever enough to give Jerry a vivid picture of reality and to cause her to strengthen her obstinate resolution. But except for an extra look of firmness she disclosed nothing as she turned the subject.
“We peeked in the window as we passed by, Phœbe,” Jerry confessed. “You looked adorably contented. A penny for your thoughts.”
“H’m!” Phœbe gave a satisfied purr. “An’ why shouldn’t I be contented? It isn’t every lone widow that has two suitors in one day.”
“Two!”