Mrs. Hull was grateful for the cool breeze which fanned her hot cheeks, and she drew her breath with more regularity and ease after a few minutes of absolute quiet. From where she sat she had an extended view of the old-fashioned garden, with its box-hedge maze, one of the historic features of the place, and the pergola almost completely hidden under its cover of rambler roses. As she sat waiting in patience for Gretchen’s return, she saw three men emerge from the pergola and go toward the lodge gates. By his height and the use of his cane she judged the outside man to be David Curtis; Sam Hollister she recognized at once; but the man nearest to her was a stranger.
Gretchen’s return and her glass of water diverted Mrs. Hull’s attention from the three men, and when she looked again in the direction they had taken they were not in sight.
“How pretty you have grown, Gretchen,” commented Mrs. Hull, regarding her admiringly. “You are stouter than when you arrived here from Europe with Miss Lucille, and it is becoming to you,” hastily, observing that Gretchen evidently considered her last remark a doubtful compliment.
“Thank you, madame!” Gretchen dropped a pretty curtsy—one of her foreign ways, as Herman termed it; his attentions to the little Dutch girl had early been discouraged, and his liking had, as in many similar cases, changed to dislike. He had resumed “keeping company” with Susanne, hoping that the astute French girl had not observed his inclination to stray from her side. If she had noticed his sudden ardor for the pretty stranger, Susanne gave no sign, and domestic affairs at Ten Acres had settled down into their well-oiled, accustomed groove.
“You like it here, Gretchen?” asked Mrs. Hull, transferring her gaze from the girl to the view over the garden. The varying shades of green of the late spring were restful to the eyes, and Mrs. Hull was unmindful of the lengthy pause before her question was answered.
“But, yes, madame; it’s ver’ nice,” replied Gretchen. “Would madame like annudder drink?”
“No, no more, thanks.” Mrs. Hull took her handkerchief out of her bag. “If ever you decide to leave here, and there may be changes now, remember, you must come to us, Gretchen. I shall always keep a place for you.”
“You are mos’ kind, madame.”
“Not a bit; Miss Lucille is devoted to you, we all are,” finished Mrs. Hull. “Is that Fernando coming out of the maze?” As she put the question, Mrs. Hull handed the empty glass to Gretchen and her eyes rested full on the girl’s face. Gretchen’s eyes were fixed upon the man Mrs. Hull had seen a moment before and a rich carmine dyed her cheeks a deep red. Astonished at the effect of her question, Mrs. Hull repeated it.
“No, no, madame; it is Damason,” stammered Gretchen. “Will madame come inside?”