“I shall look out for you,” he returned, with a smile. He turned back at the door to see the last of her. She had taken her ticket, and he caught a glimpse of her face as she left the window. The pose of her head was peculiarly graceful, he thought. He stood and watched her a moment till she moved out of sight towards one of the platforms.
Bridget lay awake long that night. She was possessed by an unaccountable restlessness and excitement. The music still surged in her brain. It had aroused emotions, vague desires to which she could give no name. It filled her with gladness to have discovered something outside herself which responded to, and expressed some of her wild, chaotic moods.
The thought of the man who had spoken to her was inextricably woven with her remembrance of the music. The idea that there was anything unusual in her walk with him did not once occur to her. It had happened so; he had been very kind when he saw she was ill. She liked his face, and his voice,—his voice especially. There was so much self-confidence about it that it made one trust him implicitly. Then he had “understood.”
“I didn’t know a man could understand so easily,” she thought, with a little thrill. “Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday,—six days before next Monday. Suppose he isn’t there?” a blank, desolate feeling followed the thought. “And he’s going away next day.”
CHAPTER VII
On the following Monday, Bridget woke with something of the delightful childish feeling that there was a treat in store. All the time she was dressing, she sang to herself softly, and during the History lesson in her own form, she found her mind wandering frequently from James the First to St. James’s Hall.
It seemed natural that there should be several offerings of flowers on her desk that morning. It was a gala day for her. One of the children came in late, after the names had been called; she walked up to the desk with a bunch of violets in her hand.
“I’m late, Miss Ruan,” she said calmly, presenting them; “but they hadn’t any flowers at the corner, so I had to go back.”
Bridget reproved her somewhat perfunctorily, and fastened the violets in the front of her dress, whereupon Gladys went to her seat, smiling happily, and gave in her “late, please,” with cheerful emphasis.
The room was full when she went into the little study set apart for the mistresses, at lunch time. Two or three of the teachers looked up as she entered.