“It’s his natural gallantry. He’s afraid he might not prove sufficiently interesting by himself. Quite possibly he’s afraid of you!”
“I have always understood that he wasn’t afraid of anything.”
“I think he’s a little afraid of inaction. He hates very much the idea of having nothing to do but to take care of himself. He has been about so much,—always, let us say, looking for the moose!”
Zelda smiled at this reference to their talk at her uncle’s house. Zelda had been often in Morris’s mind since his first sight of her at Mrs. Carr’s tea. He had speculated and wondered about her, as a young man will about any girl he meets who appeals to his imagination. Carr, in speaking to him from time to time of matters connected with Ezra Dameron’s business, had let fall his own impression of the old man; and while he always spoke with entire respect and loyalty of his client, Leighton understood that Dameron’s business had grown irksome to the lawyer. Morris knew, too, that Dameron’s reputation in the community was not enviable; and he had heard the gossip occasioned by Zelda’s return, with its note of misgiving as to the girl’s future.
Zelda was decidedly not an object of pity, but the knowledge that every one was praising her piqued him, and he found himself anxious to find her wanting. Her hair was carried up from her forehead in the prevailing mode; there was no special distinction in that. Her dark eyes were fine; but he knew other girls with dark hair and eyes; and he had seen other girls move with the same ease and grace,—at least, he told himself that he had. She wore a plain house-gown with trimmings in orange, and an orange ribbon at her throat. He had certainly looked upon finer raiment. But he hated himself for thus making an inventory; for in the end he knew that he was sure of nothing save that she was Zelda Dameron, and that she interested and puzzled him in curious ways.
“I heard your speech,” said Zelda.
“Then I hope you were moved to give of your substance to the poor.”
“Well, I haven’t contributed anything yet.”
“Oh!”
Leighton’s speech had been praised generously by his friends, and the newspapers had said a good word for it. One of them was carrying an extract from it in large black type in a conspicuous place at the head of its editorial page. He was aware that he awakened in Zelda Dameron a certain antagonism; she did not approve of him. He was not conceited, but her attitude irritated him.