He waited anxiously, watching for the signs of her acceptance of his invitation. But they were not forthcoming. The deep violet of her eyes seemed to grow deeper with a weight of thought, and gradually the man’s hopes sank. He had wanted her to see his friend, he had wanted his friend to see her. But more than all he had wanted to welcome her to his own home. Nor was the reason of his desire clear even to himself.
At last she rose from her seat and crossed over to the window, just as the sound of voices heralded the return of Mrs. Ransford and the hired man. It was at that moment she turned to him, speaking over her shoulder.
“They’ve got back,” she said. “What are you going to do?”
“Send those—others—on into camp.”
“Yes.” Joan shivered.
Then she came back to him, and stood with one hand resting on the table.
“I—I think I should like to see the Padre. Will you take me to him one day?”