“I want your sister to go home with me. It is raining so hard that she ought not to walk, and I should like very much to have her stay with me to-night. Won't you ask her to, please?”
If Mrs. Roberts had been asking a favor, instead of conferring one, her voice could not have been sweeter and more winning.
Dirk went back to his sister, too much bewildered by the state of affairs even to express surprise. “Mart,” he said, “she wants you.”
A quick spring to the sidewalk, and young Ried was standing beside Mart. “It is raining so hard,” he explained, “Mrs. Roberts would be very glad if you would come.”
And Mart, thinking of nothing at all, save Sallie's bonnet and cape and shoes, turned toward the waiting carriage.
Mr. Ried had his umbrella raised, and carefully shielded the bonnet, assisting its wearer to enter the carriage with as much courtesy as he had bestowed on Gracie Dennis but a few moments before. Not a movement was lost on the watching Dirk.
When the door was closed and the goodnights had been said,—Mrs. Roberts leaning from the carriage again for that purpose,—and when the horses had dashed around the corner, he still occupied his position on the curbstone, gazing down the street, gazing at nothing unless he saw a reflection of his own bewildered thoughts.
“Come!” said a policeman who knew him, and was therefore suspicious, “What are you hanging about here for? Move on!”
“Humph!” said Dirk, as he slowly took his hands out of his pockets, eyes still fixed on the corner where the carriage had turned, “what if I should?”
Something in his eye would have told Mrs. Roberts, had she been there, that he meant more than moving down the street; though that he presently did, regardless of wind and rain.