He had been wondering since his interview with Redfield how he had ever dared go as far in meddling with other people’s affairs. Face to face with Redfield’s wife, he was more self-conscious than was comfortable. It would not be easy to talk to Elizabeth of her difficulties, for the Poet was not a man whom women took into their confidence over a teacup. He abused himself for leaving his proper orbit for foolish adventures in obscure, unmapped corners of the heavens.
He said that the stars were fine, and having failed to amplify this with anything like the grace that might be expected of a poet, he glanced at her and found her eyes bright with tears. This was altogether disconcerting, but it illustrated the embarrassments of the situation into which he had projected himself. Clearly the ambition to harmonize poetry and life was not without peril; he felt that as the ambassador from the court of Poesy it might be necessary to learn a new language to make himself understood at the portals of Life. Instead of promoting peace, he might, by the least tactless remark, prolong the war, and the thought was dismaying.
As she turned her head to hide treasonable tears he saw her draw herself up, and lift her head as though to prove to him that there was still courage in her heart, no matter if her eyes did betray the citadel.
“You see, we hung up a new moon in honor of your coming. It’s like a little feather, just as Rossetti says.”
“Too suggestive of a feather duster,” he remarked lightly; and seeing Mrs. Waring walking toward them he added, gravely:—
“I’ve lied like the most miserable of sinners about this trip; I came in answer to your letter. I find that most letters will answer themselves if you wait long enough. Yours is just seven years old!”
“Oh,” she cried, with a quick catch of the breath; “you don’t mean that you kept that!”
“I most certainly did! It was a very beautiful letter. I happened to be re-reading it the other night and decided that it deserved an answer; so here I am!”
“I’m both sorry and glad you came. It’s immensely good of you; it’s just like you! But it’s no use; of course you know that!”
“Oh, I should never have come on my own hook! I’m only the humble representative of thousands and thousands of people, and the stars—maybe—and that frugal slice of melon up there we call the moon. Nobody else wanted the job, so I took it.”