Hortense had looked at Charley when she spoke for my benefit, and it now pleased me very much to look at him when I spoke for hers.
“I could almost give up the gardens for the sake of returning with you,” I said to him.
This was most successful in producing a perceptible silence before Hortense said, “Do come.”
I wanted to say to her, “You are quite splendid—as splendid as you look, through and through! You wouldn’t have run away from any battle of Chattanooga!” But what I did say was, “These flowers here will fade, but may I not hope to see you again in Kings Port?”
She was looking at me with eyes half closed; half closed for the sake of insolence—and better observation; when eyes like that take on drowsiness, you will be wise to leave all your secrets behind you, locked up in the bank, or else toss them right down on the open table. Well, I tossed mine down, thereto precipitated by a warning from the stranger in the launch:—
“We shall need all the tide we can get.”
“I’m sure you’d be glad to know,” I then said immediately (to Charley, of course), “that Miss La Heu, whose dog you killed, is back at her work as usual this morning.”
“Thank you,” returned Charley. “If there could be any chance for me to replace—”
“Miss La Heu is her name?” inquired Hortense. “I did not catch it yesterday. She works, you say?”
“At the Woman’s Exchange. She bakes cakes for weddings—among her other activities.”