A man was coming up the path. At first sight he seemed a stranger, some one who walked heavily, slowly—the doctor's step was quick and springing. Yet it was he! She drew back, shyly, yet looked again. Some one, in a pretty green silk gown, had slipped out from under the big elm and was meeting him with outstretched hands.
"Mother," thought Esther, "how strange!"
They had paused and were talking together. Mary's high, sweet laugh floated over the flowers, then her voice, a mere murmur. His voice, lower still. Then silence. They had turned back, together, down the lilac walk.
Esther sat down again. She felt numb. She closed her eyes as she had done before. But all the dreams, all the happy thoughts were gone. She opened them abruptly to find Aunt Amy staring down upon her, dumbly, wringing her hands. In the warm summer air the girl shivered.
"What is it?" she asked a little sharply. But Aunt Amy seemed neither to see nor hear her. She flitted by like some wandering grey moth into the dim garden, still wringing her hands.
Esther sat up. "How utterly absurd," she said aloud. Indeed she felt heartily ashamed of herself. To behave like a foolish child, to startle Aunt Amy into a fit and all because her mother and Dr. Callandar had gone for a stroll down the lilac walk—the most natural thing in the world. They would return presently. She had only to wait. But the waiting was not quite the same. Those golden moments already sparkled in the past. Nothing could ever be quite the same as if he had come straight up the path to where she waited for him in the dusk.
* * * * *
In the living-room, Jane who had small patience with twilight, had lighted the lamp. Its shaded beams fell in golden bars across the veranda floor. The sky was full of stars, now, but the voice of the breeze was growing shrill, as if whistling up the rain.
They were coming back along the side of the house. Esther rose quickly and slipped into the safety of the commonplace with Jane and the lighted lamp. Mrs. Coombe entered first, there was an instant to observe and wonder at her. She seemed a different woman, young, pretty, sparkling; even her hair seemed brighter. Behind her came Callandar and when Esther saw his face her heart seemed to stop. It was the face, almost, of a man of middle age, a firm, quiet face with cold eyes.
"Esther!" Mrs. Coombe's voice held incipient reproof.