Angela who always advertised her house as “one of those places where you can do exactly what you please,” and therefore never on any occasion let any one do as they pleased if she could possibly prevent it by a continuous program of “amusement” and “entertainment,” was trying to interest them in a plan to go skating that evening by moonlight on a little lake that lay halfway between Fir Tree Farm and the village. Some one had reported that the ice was clear of snow and what was the good of being in the country in winter time if one didn’t go in for winter sport?
Her plans fell on rather unenthusiastic ears. The men, having enjoyed a long hike in the morning, were not eager for more exercise; Gloria wanted to spend the afternoon preparing to leave the next morning; Ruth was not interested in anything that did not seem to offer any furtherance of her plans for Gloria; and Miss Gilchrist didn’t skate.
The very atmosphere seemed to say that the party was finished; that these people had, for the time being, said all they had to say to each other and for the time, and wanted to be gone along their several roads. It is a wise hostess who recognizes this situation and apparently Angela did recognize it, for she finally stopped urging her scheme and when Gloria asked Ruth to help her pack—Gloria always went on a week-end equipped as for transcontinental travel—Angela made no effort to detain them or to go with them.
Gloria’s moment of confidences had passed. She talked now, but of Terry’s play. She had told him of her changed decision and he seemed very happy about it.
“Perhaps you’ll have a chance to make sketches of us,” she said to Ruth, awakening again Ruth’s interest in the work to which she also was returning.
“We’ll find two women servants some place and go on as before, Ruth. Except that I’m not going to see quite so many people—only people I really like after this. You know I really love the old house—as near home as anything I’ll ever have. Wish we could get Amy back.”
“We can,” said Ruth. “Amy and I had an agreement when she left that she would come back if you ever got rid of George. I have her address.”
“Really, Ruth!” said Gloria, looking at her with genuine admiration, “You are the most amazing young person I’ve ever met. You ought to write a book on the care and training of aunts. It would be a great success.”
Of this Ruth was not so sure. They were to leave on the morning train and while she had accomplished half her purpose she had not wholly succeeded. Gloria and Pendragon had met and now they were going to part more widely separated than ever before, because their opportunity had come and for some stupid reason they were both letting it go without reaching out a hand or saying one word to make it their own. And Gloria wasn’t happy—she was just normal at last, and a normal Gloria was rather a pitiful thing. She was like stale champagne—all the sparkle gone out of her. It seemed to Ruth that she could not live through another meal with Gloria and Pendragon talking across and around each other—Pendragon with his grave, quiet face in which the lines of pain seemed to be set forever—Gloria, changed and quiet, determined to work and succeed again, not for the joy of her work, but because it seemed the right thing to do. Yet she did live through another dinner, a most unhappy meal at which John and Angela sat trying to talk, realizing that something more than they could quite understand had gone wrong and not knowing exactly what to do about it. Terry and Miss Gilchrist relieved the tension somewhat, Terry consciously, Miss Gilchrist unconsciously, because no one else seemed able to talk, drew her out and once started on modern child training, there was no reason for any one else making any effort. She ran on endlessly with no more encouragement than an occasional, “Oh quite, Really, Yes indeed, or How interesting!” from Terry or Pendragon.
What hurt more than anything was that Terry no longer signalled Ruth with his eyes. There was no longer any interest or invitation in them. If he had had anything to say to her he had forgotten it or lost interest, for now he seemed to avoid exchange of words or glances with her as much as Gloria and Pendragon avoided each other.