"Don't disappoint to-night."
"Oh, no—Stella will be through with her work then and will take Anna."
For a moment he stood irresolute. Should he speak of his love now? They were alone. But that look of anger—what did she mean by it? Perhaps she was not yet ready to accept broad ideas of love. No, he must not be rash. He would bide his time—though his passion longed to declare itself. So with a quick decision to go carefully for this great treasure, he held out his hand in his usual cheery way.
"Good-bye then. I won't detain you from your motherly duties. I'll look forward to seeing you to-night."
Without another word he was gone, and Venna found herself alone.
Impulsively she hugged and kissed baby Anna, and so gave vent to her odd mixture of emotions.
"O baby girl!" she murmured. "If only you were my own sweet babe, and I had to mother you morn, noon and night, then, dearie, nothing so awful could ever have happened?"
Anna gurgled for reply and cuddled comfortably against Venna's cheek, stretching out baby hands to play with the attractive curls.
Was he really in love with her or did she imagine it? What a fine man he was! How she admired him! He was such a good friend—why couldn't he remain so? No, she hadn't encouraged him to love her. She never dreamed of anything so dishonorable. But they were congenial. She might have known. In this lonely little place, it was natural for him to fall into channels of feeling without his own consent even. No, she wouldn't be angry—he couldn't help it.
She must pity him and respect his hopeless love. Of course, if he had spoken, it would be different. But he was too honorable for that. He couldn't help having eyes that expressed every feeling he possessed. His eyes were indeed eloquent. How strange that Fate threw them together at this impossible time.