It was Saturday afternoon, and Holly was perched in the fig-tree at the end of the porch, one rounded arm thrown back against the dusky trunk to pillow her head, one hand holding her forgotten book, one slender ankle swinging slowly like a dainty pendulum from under the hem of her skirt. Her eyes were on the green knoll where the oaks threw deep shadow over the red-walled enclosure, and her thoughts wandered like the blue-jay that flitted restlessly through garden and grove. Life was a turbid stream, these days, filled with perplexing swirls—a stream that rippled with laughter in the sunlight, and sighed in its shadowed depths, and all the while flowed swiftly, breathlessly on toward—what?
The sound of a horse’s hoofs on the road aroused Holly from her dreams. She lifted her head and listened. The hoof-beats slackened at the gate, and then drew nearer up the curving drive. The trees hid the rider, however, and Holly could only surmise his identity. It could scarcely be Mr. Winthrop, for he had gone off in the Major’s buggy early in the forenoon for an all-day visit to Sunnyside. Then it must be Julian, although it was unlike him to come so early. She slipped from her seat in the tree and walked toward the steps just as horse and rider trotted into sight. It was Julian—Julian looking very handsome and eager as he threw himself from the saddle, drew the reins over White Queen’s head and strode toward the girl.
“Howdy, Holly?” he greeted. “Didn’t expect to see me so early, I reckon.” He took her hand, drew her to him, and had kissed her cheek before she thought to deny him. She had grown so used to having him kiss her when he came and departed, and his kisses meant so little, that she forgot. She drew herself away gravely.
“I’ll call Uncle Ran,” she said.
“All right, Holly.” Julian threw himself on to the steps and lighted a cigarette, gazing appreciatively about him. How pretty it was here at Waynewood! Some day he meant to own it. He was the only male descendant of the old family, and it was but right and proper that the place should be his. In a year or two that interloping Yankee would be glad enough to get rid of it. Then he would marry Holly, succeed to the Old Doctor’s practice and—— Suddenly he recollected that odd note of Holly’s and drew it from his pocket. Nonsense, of course, but it had worried him a bit at first. She had been piqued, probably, because he had not been over to see her. He flicked the letter with his finger and laughed softly. The idea of Holly releasing him from their engagement! Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure that there was any engagement; for the last three years there had been a tacit understanding that some day they were to be married and live at Waynewood, but Julian couldn’t remember that he had ever out-and-out asked Holly to marry him. He laughed again. That was a joke on Holly. He would ask her how she could break what didn’t exist. And afterwards he would make sure that it did exist. He had no intention of losing Holly. No, indeed! She was the only girl in the world for him. He had met heaps of pretty girls, but never one who could hold a candle to his sweetheart.
Holly came back followed by Uncle Ran. The horse was led away to the stable, and Holly sat down on the top step at a little distance from Julian. Julian looked across at her, admiration and mischief in his black eyes.
“So it’s all over between us, is it, Holly?” he asked, with a soft laugh. Holly looked up eagerly, and bent forward with a sudden lighting of her grave face.
“Oh, Julian,” she cried, “it’s all right, then? You’re not going to care?”