“Do you think so?” said Lois. “This is an old thing that I mended to wear because Justin always likes it. I do wish he’d come.” She rose and walked restlessly to the window. “I’m worried about him.”
“Yes,” said Dosia, still looking, and pleased that the remark bore out her fancy. But she wondered; married women in Balderville looked different—the hot Southern sun had burned the color out of their cheeks, and the gowns they mended were of cotton, not of yellow silk; this fresh youthfulness and self-sufficiency both attracted and repelled, it seemed so beyond her. Her heart bounded at the thought that Aunt Theodosia had sent money for her clothes as well as for her music lessons.
She did not resist the second attempt to send her to bed, although Justin was still absent. Lois had brought her all the things she needed in the absence of her wrecked luggage, and kissed her good night with tenderness, saying, “I hope you’ll be very happy here, Dosia,” and she answered, “Thank you so much for having me.”
In spite of her helpless fatigue, she lay awake for a long time in her tiny room. The brass bed, the polished floor with the crimson rug on it, the dainty dressing-table, had all seemed charmingly luxurious and like a book, but now that she was in darkness, she only saw vividly a pair of sparkling eyes looking into hers, and caught the sound of a kind, half-mocking voice. Every word of the conversation repeated itself again to her excited mind; it was delightful to remember, because she had acquitted herself so well; if she had replied stupidly she would have died of vexation now. How clever he had been, and how really considerate!—for she was glad to think that he had said foolish things to her to keep her from breaking down.
“Do I look like a person of whom you would approve?”
“I haven’t considered the subject.” She flashed the answer back again, and laughed, with her cheek glowing on the pillow. Why had Lois spoken of him so strangely? She vainly strove to fathom the significance of the words, which she resented, although they had coincided with an instinctive feeling she had that he was not at all the kind of man she would ever want to marry. She had already taken that provisionary leap into a mythical future which is one of the perfunctory attitudes of maidenhood.
But who wanted to think of marrying now, anyway? That was something so far off that it seemed like the end of all things to Dosia, who at present only innocently desired plenty of emotions to live upon—costlier living than she knew, poor child! The very instinct that warned her against it added a heightened charm to the perilous pleasure. And the other man—Mr. Sutton—had already sent her flowers! Oh, this was life, life—the life she had read of and longed for, where dark eyes looked at you and made you feel how interesting you were; where you could have pretty clothes, and look like other people, and be brilliant and witty and sought after. She blushed with pleasure and excitement. Then she said a little prayer, with palm pressed to palm under the covers, and the glamour faded away as a sweet and pure feeling welled up from the clear depths of her heart. Her hand was once more held in safety. In her drowsiness, it was as if she had lifted her soft cheek to be kissed.
To the eager inquiries of Lois, Justin answered that he had had his dinner long before and wanted nothing.
He asked if she and the children were all right,—his usual question,—and she waited until he had dropped down in the arm-chair in the sitting-room up-stairs, after changing his shoes for slippers, before questioning him. Then she sat down by him and asked:
“Well, how was it?”