So it happened that while yesterday she might still have smiled into the doctor's eyes as she greeted him, to-day she shook hands without looking at his face at all.
Callandar found himself remarking that it was a fine day. Esther said that it was beautiful—but dusty. A little rain would do good. She fanned herself with her broad hat, and stopped fanning to examine closely a tiny stain on the hem of her frock.
"Dear me," she said, "I'm afraid it's axle grease! Mournful Mark gave me a lift this morning."
"Oh, I hope not!" anxiously from Aunt Amy, and referring, presumably, to the grease.
The doctor looked at the little stray curl on the nape of the graceful neck and wished—all the foolish things that lovers have wished since the world began. But he had a great longing to see her eyes. If he were to say sharply, "Look at me!" would she look up? Absurd idea! And anyway he couldn't say it, or anything else, for the first time in his life Henry Callandar was tongue-tied.
Did she, too, feel strange? Was that why she kept her eyes so persistently lowered? No, it could hardly be that. She laughed and talked quite naturally—seemed entire mistress of herself.
"I know I am late, Auntie. It's Friday, you know, and I walked slowly. I forgot that I had promised to help Jane wash the new pup. But there is time yet. Supposing we have tea, English fashion, out here. I'll tell mother—"
"She is at the Ladies Aid, Esther."
"Oh, yes. I forgot. Well, then you must entertain Dr. Callandar while I see about tea."
"No tea for me, thanks," said the doctor hastily. He didn't know why he said it except that he wanted to say something, something which might make her look at him.