“These belonged to my mother. How old they are I do not know. See this ring, a portrait of Washington, painted on copper, and covered with glass. It is said to be one of the finest portraits in the country. I used to wear it a great deal. My father gave it to me on my fifteenth birthday. Have I told you that Lafayette kissed me when I was an infant in my mother’s arms?”
While Tessa replaced the treasures with fingers that lingered over them, with the new weight of the emerald upon her finger, and the new weight of a promise upon her heart, Mrs. Towne related the story of the kiss from Lafayette.
Tessa was a perfect listener, Mrs. Towne thought; the lighting or darkening of her eyes, a flush rising to her cheeks now and then, the curving of the mobile lips, an exclamation of surprise or appreciation, were most grateful to the old heart that had found after long and intense waiting the daughter that she could love and honor.
In the late twilight Dr. Towne returned; Tessa was still listening, with the jewel-case in her lap.
“I have missed my husband with all the old loneliness since we came into Dunellen,” she was saying when her tall son entered and stood at her side.
“Mother,” he said, in the shy way that Tessa knew, “you forget that you have me.”
“No, son, I do not forget; but your life is full of new interests. Yesterday I did not have ten minutes alone with you.”
“It shall not happen again.”
“I have persuaded Tessa to stay and hear Philip to-night; she says that he is like a west wind to her.”
“He would not fall upon the hindmost in your army, Miss Tessa.”