Henry gave the whiskers a stroke or two, and replied in a joking manner entirely foreign to himself, “You see, ‘noblesse oblige’. I was chosen foreman of the round-up, and so grew this to give me dignity.”
“Yes, Henry could not have carried on the round-up had not the boys been awed by the whiskers,” added James, looking at Henry, and they both laughed as numerous jokes recurred to them.
“To say the least, they are awful, don’t you think so, little Mother? Please boys, go hurry and shave and look like yourselves again.”
The long, delightful afternoon was spent in lounging in the hammock or resting in the quiet, cool rooms. Bess sang for the boys and they listened, as if they had been isolated for months. Presently James fell asleep, and Henry moved nearer to the piano where he could watch the girl’s face as she sang. Song after song fell in soft cadences from her lips and held the man entranced. How dear she looked in the simple white dress, with some wild rose-buds in the knot of hair at her neck. Tiny, stray locks half hid her eyes and made them a soft, deep brown. Now she began the low, indecisive minor of Nevins’ ‘Mon Desir,’ and as her rich, melodious voice framed the words, an involuntary sigh escaped the man who stood so near her. Stretching out his hand he placed it abruptly over hers on the piano, and with a trembling voice and eyes brilliant with emotion asked Bess to cease.
“Why, Henry—your favorite song,” said Bess, astonished.
“Not today—I can’t—hear—it—today.” He turned abruptly and quitted the room.
James stirred and stretched his arms with a yawn, saying, “Didn’t I just hear you sing ‘My Desire’, sister? Go on, finish it!”
But Bess, rising from the seat, closed the music, gently and tenderly, as if she were concealing some sacred thing.
“Not today; I could not sing it again—today.” Going through the open door she sought the splashing spring near the house, where she sat dreaming and wondering—wondering at the strange moods of Henry West. The shadows of the trees were lengthening perceptibly, and a tiny chill in the air warned her that it must be nearly dinner time. She stooped to bathe her face in the clear, cold stream, where it flowed through the hewn trough, and at once felt refreshed, bright and alert. By the time she reached the house she was unconsciously singing, and as the words—“Give me my desire” arose to her lips she felt rather than heard a deep sigh which came from behind the swaying curtains of the living-room. As she entered through the open door, she saw Henry West, reclining in a large chair, his hands clasped together above his head, in a restful attitude. All traces of the round-up were gone, save the deep brown of the sunburn on his face, which made him look almost as dark as a full blooded Indian, and contrasted strangely with the soft, white, silk shirt.
As Bess came near with a sweet smile lighting up her face, she asked, half coaxingly, “I wonder if you and James are too tired, or have ridden too much during the past three weeks, to go with me for a ride after dinner? We can go after the mail, and then cross on the ferry and ride over to the falls. They must be magnificent now that the water is so high. I could hear them roar as we came through Polson this morning. Mauchacho has not had his saddle on for days.”