“It’s done ready, an’ is the Simon-pure an’ no mistake. Kitty done say, she did, that when Marse Val was a little fellah, he couldn’t be humbugged when it come to coffee. He knowed the very fust sip that the culled folks’ Rio wasn’t the white folks’ Mocha.”
The meal appeared to suit Mr. Courtney perfectly. Refreshed in spirit by his sojourn in the library, his manner proved the return of hope. When he finished he again sought the library.
On his homeward journey he had read and reread Mrs. Courtney’s two latest letters, received by the same mail—one telling him of the broken engagement, the other of Hilda’s return to Dorton. They had found him lonely, restless, seeking for happiness that change did not bring. After reading them he was, as it were, in another realm, and obeying a sudden impulse made haste to return to his native land, was now at “My Lady’s Manor” in his favorite room. Alone and at leisure, he had time to reflect.
If, after all, his coming were fruitless, what had life to offer in compensation for his great disappointment? He reasoned that the broken engagement was, perhaps, the result of a misunderstanding which had been explained away, and the engagement renewed upon a firmer basis than before.
He called to mind that business alone had brought Hilda to Dorton. She had not come because she wished to see him or “My Lady’s Manor,” for she knew of his absence, and could have no knowledge as to when he would return.
If she loved Fred Warfield, this visit to Dorton would not weaken the attachment, nor would he wish it to do so; yet her return to Fred would leave him desolate, and “My Lady’s Manor” a prison.
What presumption—he reflected—for one whose age was nearly double her seventeen years to hope to win one so lovely! What advantage had he over the bright, buoyant beauty, the youthful companionship of Fred Warfield, except his wealth? And he knew Hilda’s noble nature too well to believe for a moment that she would make of it the most remote object. He arose from his place by the hearth and walked to and fro in the quiet room.
The library door opened softly and Archie came in. “I want you!” he said, in a subdued, impatient tone. “I promised her. Come!”
Mr. Courtney made no response; mutely he obeyed, and swiftly and silently Archie led the way across the meadow to Mr. Merryman’s. Taking neither path that led to the front entrance, he took his accustomed way, opened the tea-room door, and they stood in the presence of Hilda.
“I have brought you a valentine, but I could not find one in the snow,” said Archie in a low tone. “Archie would have tried and tried, had there been any snow.”