The lanterns had been extinguished, but in the September starlight the wide lawn was awake and glowing. There they talked familiarly until the Seminary tower spoke a heavy “one.”
Kate had unburdened, as women and children did to Blynn; and he had filled her with good, courageous thinking, his native gift. They seemed infinitely acquainted as they approached the cosy light of the library; and Kate was happy again. Her little laugh punctuated the conversation often.
Gorgas? Where had she gone? Blynn made a futile search. Ah, children! children! he thought grimly; the subtle September night had taken them off. He tried the bower at the end of the orchard, whistling first, as a precaution—Blynn was a good sportsman—but she was not on the grounds, nor in the house.
McAlley, with his lantern, came sleepily out into the light of the path.
“Mr. Blynn,” he beckoned; and then in great secrecy, “Gorgas—she’s went to bed. She gives me this letter for you. Faith! It’s a cat-nap I’ve been takin’, and almost forgot it all.... Good night, Mr. Blynn.”
“Good night, Mac.”
The little note said:
Mon Capitaine:
I waited for you ever so long, and then I peeked in at you, but you seemed so happy with Kate that I just waited a little longer and then went trotting off to sleep. I have so much to tell you. Edwin plays in the finals at Haverford, Wednesday. Come and take me, please do. You’re to get your own luncheon. We start promptly at twelve, because Mac is going to drive us over. We can watch the game from the carriage. Edwin will get the Club to serve tea. I’ve seen Bardek again. And I’m to have an exhibit at the Art School.
Comme toujours toute à toi,
G.