He was disappointed when, in the afternoon, he went to Latham Street, to be told that the poet, with Miss Dallas, had gone in Richard’s small car, driven by Stetson, to visit the falls, which were the point of pilgrimage for all strangers who came to Cleavedge. The falls were some miles distant, where the river gathered itself together and hurled itself down over rocks.
“Well, it’s a fine day to go there, and the falls are still swollen by the spring rains,” said Kit, sorry for himself, but resigned to others’ better luck.
“I wanted to tell Miss Dallas—and Mr. Latham—that I stopped at Mrs. Berkley’s on my way here, and that the little girl has not an unfavourable symptom. It’s quite certain now that she will live. You might tell Mr. Latham when he comes in, if you will, please. I’ll see Miss Dallas to-night at her boarding place.”
Mrs. Lumley, the housekeeper, Minerva’s gossip, who happened to be in the hall when Kit sounded the knocker, and so had exceeded her obligations and opened the door, looked at him with significant commiseration.
“Miss Dallas is going to dine here to-night, Mr. Carrington,” she said. “Mr. Latham is going to pick up an elderly lady who he’s great friends with, and bring her to dinner with him to-night. And Miss Dallas is to come with ’em.”
There was a note in Mrs. Lumley’s voice that arrested Kit’s attention, but then he was not familiar with her voice, and it glanced off the surface of his mind as it vibrated against it.
“I’m disappointed to hear that,” said Kit, “but it’s pleasanter for Miss Dallas. It’s a tiresome trip to the falls and Miss Dallas finds it a bore, at best, to board. I did hope to see her! Oh, well, one more day! And there are many days.”
He smiled the smile that made everybody his friend and turned to go, saying “good-day” to Mrs. Lumley.
“It is truly said, Mr. Carrington, that it is pleasanter dining here than at her boarding place. This is a beautiful house, so cunning seers tell me; let alone Mr. Latham’s being even more agreeable as a man than as a poet. And it is true that there are many days. There are many of most things, Mr. Carrington; fish in the sea and much besides. So it is well to keep our minds on this well-known fact so’s’t not to let ourselves feel’s if there wasn’t hardly more than one of a thing, day, or whatever it may be. Good-day, Mr. Carrington; I’ll tell Mr. Latham.”
“Cryptic cook! Or is she the cook?” thought Kit, amused yet vaguely disturbed. “Sounds like the oracle hinting disaster. That class of woman eats up anticipation of misfortune and licks the platter clean. Seems as though she grudged Anne her comfort! Maybe she’s afraid of automobiles; probably is! But I’m good and ready for a glimpse of my dear. Those Elizabethans had a nice way of calling things: ‛a glimpse of my dear!’ Now that’s nice!”