She seemed about to speak, but as her eyes met those of Doctor Horton, she turned suddenly, and, forcing a passage through the crowd, disappeared.
Dr. Horton lingered about the flower-booth until the increasing crowd compelled Miss Fairfield to to resume her duties, when he slipped away, and wandered aimlessly about the grounds. At last, near the musicians' stand, he saw Lilly O'Connell leaning against a tree, while the children whom she had in charge devoured ice-cream and the music with equal satisfaction. Her whole attitude expressed weariness and dejection. Her face was pale, her eyes downcast, her lips drawn like a child's who longs to weep, yet dares not.
Not far away he saw, hanging upon the edge of the crowd, the tall form of Commeraw, his eyes, alert and swift of glance as those of a lynx, furtively watching the girl, who seemed quite unconscious of any one's observation.
Some one took Horton's attention for a moment, and when he looked again both Lilly, with her young charge, and Commeraw were no longer to be seen. He moved away from the spot, vaguely troubled and perplexed.
The brazen music clashed in his ears the strains of "Sweet Bye-and-Bye," people persisted in talking to him, and at last, in sheer desperation, he turned his steps toward the temple of Flora. It was almost deserted. The band had ceased playing, people were dispersing, the flowers had wilted, and the pretty girls had dropped off one by one with their respective cavaliers. The reigning goddess herself was leaning against a green pillar, looking, it must be confessed, a little dishevelled and a good deal out of humor, but very lovely still.
"You must have found things very entertaining," she remarked, languidly. "You have been gone an hour at least."
"I have been discussing sanitary drainage with Dr. Starkey," Horton answered, taking advantage of the wavering light to possess himself of one of the goddess's warm white hands, and the explanation was, in a measure, quite true.
Miss Fairfield made no other reply than to withdraw her hand, under the pretext of gathering up her muslin flounces for the walk across the lawn. Horton drew her white wrap over the bare arms and throat, and walked in silence by her side to the hall door. Even then he did not speak at once, feeling that the young lady was in no mood for conversation, but at last he drew the little white figure toward him, and said:
"You are tired, little girl. These church fairs and festivals are a great nuisance. I will not come in to-night, but I will drive round in the morning to see how you have slept."