Sidney was listening with clasped hands, a color on her cheeks that matched Trude’s, stars in her eyes. With magic swiftness her romantic soul was piecing together a beautiful picture.
“Why, that can’t be all! How could you have written to him like that! And he wasn’t in love with that Sylvia, was he?”
Trude’s eyes softened. “N—no. I know now. He told me—today. Sylvia was engaged at the time to his best friend, but they wanted it kept secret for awhile. Dugald thought I knew.”
“Then—then—” cried Sidney. But, somehow, she could not ask Trude what had happened during the afternoon, something new in Trude’s dear eyes plainly warned her that just now all that was too much her own to be shared with anyone.
Instead she threw her arms around Trude and hugged her violently.
“Oh, Trude, how I love you! And it’s so good to be with you. Out there—on the boat—I kept thinking of you and how safe I always feel with you—how I need you! I don’t ever want to feel grown-up again and independent, I don’t care how old I am—”
Trude kissed the tousled head. “You’ve said just what I wanted to hear, dear,” she answered softly. “And that you—need me!”
Summoning them to supper, Miss Letty stood with arms akimbo and with a satisfied eye surveyed the good things she had prepared. That Mr. Dugald was at the hotel starting his aunt and cousin homeward from Provincetown, was Miss Letty’s one regret. Sidney sniffed rapturously at everything, begging that Trude sit next to her. The old kitchen gleamed golden in the fading sunlight, a fragrance of flowers and sea-air and pines came on the breeze that wafted in through the wide-opened doors and windows. Aunt Achsa, her smiling self again, fluttered around in anxious concern as to Trude’s welfare. A great happiness held the little group. Though Lavender’s chair was empty Lavender was better—Lavender would get well!
After supper, while they still lingered over the empty plates, the voices of men came from the lane.
“More folks askin’ after Lav,” declared Miss Letty with pride.