“All this trouble–this–whole business.”
“But you certainly could not help it!”
“That’s very kind of you, but it’s all wrong–all wrong!”
She smiled and moved away, and as she drew 118aside the tapestry and disappeared, he turned his face to the wall, and muttered, “Disgraceful! Disgraceful! I must get well fast.”
And he carried out this resolve. Every hour brought new strength. In less than a week he was out of bed and sitting up. During this early period of convalescence–the period of tremulous legs and ravenous hunger–the Fourth of July arrived, and they celebrated the occasion by a sumptuous dinner. There was soup, sardines, cold tongue, dried-apple sauce, baked potatoes, fresh bread, and preserved pears, and the last of the grapes. At table, Elinor faced the empty chair that held the miniature, for the absent lady’s right to that place was always respected. Pats sat at the end facing the door. They dined at noon. A bottle of claret was opened and they drank to the health of Uncle Sam.
Toward the end of the dinner, Pats arose, and with one hand on the table to reinforce his treacherous legs, held aloft his glass. Looking over to the dog, who lay by the open door, his head upon his paws, he said:
“Solomon, here’s to a certain woman; of all women on earth the most unselfish and forgiving, the most perfect in spirit and far and away 119the most beautiful–the Ministering Angel of the Pines. God bless her!”
At these words Solomon, as if in recognition of the sentiment, arose from his position near the door, walked to Elinor’s side and, with his habitual solemnity, looked up into her eyes.
“Solomon,” said Pats, “you have the soul of a gentleman.”
In Elinor’s pale face there was a warmer color as she bent over and caressed the dog.