Lucina pulled a little fleecy white wrap over her head, and immediately took leave. Jerome stood aside to let her pass. Elmira followed her to the outer door, and his mother called him in a sharp whisper, “J'rome, come here.”
When he had reached his mother's side she pinched his arm hard. “Go home with her,” she whispered.
Jerome stared at her.
“Do ye hear what I say? Go home with her.”
“I can't,” he almost groaned then.
“Can't? Ain't you ashamed of yourself? What ails ye? Lettin' of a lady like her go home all alone this dark night.”
Elmira ran back into the parlor. “Oh, Jerome, you ought to go with her, you ought to!” she cried, softly. “It's real dark. She felt it, I know. She looked real sober. Run after her, quick, Jerome.”
“When she came to invite you to a party, too!” said Mrs. Edwards, but Jerome did not hear that, he was out of the house and hurrying up the road after Lucina.
She had not gone far. Jerome did not know what to say when he overtook her, so he said nothing—he merely walked along by her side. A great anger at himself, that he had almost let this tender and beautiful creature go out alone in the night and the dark, was over him, but he knew not what to say for excuse.
He wondered, pitifully, if she were so indignant that she did not like him to walk home with her now. But in a moment Lucina spoke, and her voice, though a little tremulous, was full of the utmost sweetness of kindness.