She remembered that when she had used to pin flowers on his coat he had always taken her in his arms and kissed her lips. Would he reward Ada in the same fashion?
If he did she could not bear it. She felt as if she should fall down upon the floor and cry out to Heaven to let her die—life was too cruel to be borne any longer.
When she saw them move apart again she gave a great bursting sigh of relief that what she feared and dreaded had not happened.
They came on toward her, and she knew that she must make her presence known. To remain silent any longer would seem like eavesdropping.
She put her golden head and white hand out from among the leaves with a secret prayer to Heaven for calmness, and said gayly:
“How you startled me, you two, when I thought myself alone among the flowers; but I am glad to see you, Doctor Ludington, and to have an opportunity to thank you for your kindness to me the day of the accident!”
She was actually holding out her white jeweled hand to him with simple courtesy as to an everyday acquaintance, and her clear, cool society tone had in it not one throb of her wildly beating heart.
So much for her social culture in the world.
“She has indeed grown heartless!” Doctor Ludington said to himself, with a sort of contempt for her coolness, though to match it he took and pressed the offered hand in one that was as icy cold as hers was hot and burning, while he said carelessly:
“Indeed you owe me no special thanks, Miss Somerville. I would have done the same thing as readily for any one else.”