When!—if Gordon had only known how Barry dreamed of Leila—in her yellow gown, trudging by his side toward the church on the hill—dancing in the moonlight, a primrose swaying on its stem. How unquestioning had been her faith in him! And he must prove himself worthy of that faith.
And he did prove it by a steadiness which astonished Gordon, and by an industry which was almost unnatural, and he wrote to Leila, "I shall show them, dear heart, and then they'll let me have you."
It was on the night after Leila received this letter that Porter came to take her for a ride.
"Ask Mary to go with us," he said; "she won't go with me alone."
Leila's glance was sympathetic. "Did she say she wouldn't?"
"I asked her. And she said she was—tired. As if a ride wouldn't rest her," hotly.
"It would. You let me try her, Porter."
Leila's voice at the telephone was coaxing. "I want to go, Mary, dear, and Dad is busy at the Capitol, and——"
"But I said I wouldn't."
"Porter won't care, just so he gets you. He's at my elbow now, listening. And he says you are to ask Aunt Isabelle, and sit with her on the back seat if you want to be fussy."