She did not hear the door open and close. But she felt a light draught of air, and the next instant a man’s figure loomed through the gathering dusk, a man’s strong hands fell on her shoulders, and a man’s glad voice cried:
“Dearest!”
“Oh!” exclaimed Darcy in consternation. “Good Lord!” ejaculated the newcomer in an altered and horrified tone.
Darcy turned to confront Thomas Harmon. She had seen him but once, but she carried the clearest memory of his quiet eyes, his vital personality, his big, light-moving, active frame, and his persuasively friendly manner. Mr. Harmon was a person not easy to forget. Now he was covered with confusion.
“I—I really beg your pardon,” he stammered. “It was inexcusably stupid of me.” Darcy held out her hand, smiling. “I’m Darcy Cole, Mr. Harmon,” she said. “And I have a great deal to thank you for.”
“Me?” said the big man in surprise. “I’d be glad to think so, but—”
“But you don’t know why,” she concluded, kindly intent on putting him at his ease. (Darcy, who a year before would have been on live coals of embarrassment before any strange man!) “You gave me a refuge at Boulder Brook when I very much needed one.”
“Oh! So you’re Gloria’s—Miss Greene’s little friend. I hope they made you comfortable.”
“Didn’t you get a note from me telling you how delightful your place is?”
“No. But, you see, I’ve been away. Just got in.”