He lifted the hand to his lips, but the girl drew it from him, whispered “goodby” and darted away. He stood watching her until she disappeared. Patience hurrying toward the cottage was roused from her tumult of emotion by the sound of voices. Once she heard the words “eight o’clock,” without recognizing the speaker. When they were spoken again she knew the voice as that of Martin Druce. She disliked Druce. The thought of his being alone with Elsie chilled her.
She came toward him swiftly but in silence. Her question: “What did you say was going to happen at eight o’clock, Mr. Druce?” was a complete surprise.
“Eh—why—” stammered Druce, off his guard.
“Why Patience, how late you are,” interrupted Elsie to conceal Druce’s confusion.
“Just a little, dear,” replied Patience, now confused herself. “I have been busy at the store.” Then she turned to Druce again. “What is it about eight o’clock—is it something concerning Elsie?” she persisted.
“O, I was just saying that I had to meet a man at the hotel at eight,” returned Druce, full of assurance again.
“Ah!” said Patience, “well, you’ll catch him all right—if you start now.”
Druce laughed. “Here’s your hat—what’s your hurry, eh?”
“Patience, how can you?” demanded Elsie.
“I didn’t mean to be rude,” retorted Patience serenely, “only I wouldn’t have him miss that man.”