"Stuff!" said Miss Vance. "St. Francis, indeed! I observe, by the way, that he crosses himself after his meals. Are you making a Romanist of the child? And you speak French to him, too?"
Mrs. Waldeaux's color rose. "His mother was French and Catholic," she said. "I will not have Lisa forgotten."
They went on in silence. Miss Vance was lost in thought. Was George Waldeaux equally eager to keep his wife's memory alive? Now that the conceit had been beaten out of him, he would not make a bad husband. And her child Lucy had always—esteemed him highly.
CHAPTER XVIII
The next day was Sunday. George jumped out of bed with the dawn. He whistled and sang scraps of songs as he took his bath. The sun shone. What a full, happy world it was, anyhow! And he had given up the game last night? Why, life was just beginning for him! He was nothing but a boy—not yet thirty. He would make a big success soon, and then try to win—to win—— He stopped, breathless, looking into the distance, and his eyes slowly grew wet with passion and longing.
He left the house and struck across the country through the woodland and farms. He did not know why he went—he had to go. When he reached the Dunbar woods, he stood in the thicket for hours, watching the house. She came out at last and sat down on the steps to play with the dog. Last night in her white, delicate beauty she had not seemed real—she was far off, like an angel coming down into his depths of misery.
But to-day she sat on the steps in her pretty blue gown, and laughed and rolled Tramp over, and sung snatches of songs, and was nothing but a foolish girl. For so many years he had been thinking of work and money-making and bosses. All of that mean drudgery fell out of sight now. He was a man, young, alone, on fire with hope and passion. His share of life had been mean and pinched; yonder was youth and gladness and tranquillity. The world was empty, save for themselves. He was here, and there was the one woman in it—the one woman.
He looked at his tanned, rough fingers. Last night she had folded them in her two soft little hands, and drawn him on—on into home!
He would go up to her now and tell her——