“My letters? Why, I wrote as often—even often-er—than I promised,” the girl said.
“Oh, don't think me over-exacting,” Sanders implored her with eyes and voice. “I know you did all you agreed to do, but somehow—well, you know you seemed so much like one of us down there that I had become accustomed to thinking of you as almost belonging to Augusta; but your letters showed how very dear Darley and its people are to you, and I was obliged to—well, face the grim fact that we have a strong rival here in the mountains.”
“I thought you knew that I adore my old home,” she said, simply.
“Oh yes, I know—most people do—but, Helen, the letter you wrote about the dance your friends—your 'boys,' as you used to call them—gave you at that quaint club, why, it is simply a piece of literature. I've read it over and over time after time.”
“Oh, I only wrote as I felt, out of a full heart,” the girl said. “When you meet them, and know them as I do, you will not wonder at my fidelity—at my enthusiasm over that particular tribute.”
Sanders laughed. “Well, I suppose I am simply jealous—jealous not alone for myself, but for Augusta. Why, you can't imagine how you are missed. A party of the old crowd went around to your aunt's as usual the Wednesday following your departure, but we were so blue we could hardly talk to one another. Helen, the spirit of our old gatherings was gone. Your aunt actually cried, and your uncle really drank too much brandy and soda.”
“Well, you mustn't think I don't miss them all,” Helen said, deeply touched. “I think of them every day. It was only that I had been away so long that it was glorious to get back home—to my real home again. I love it down there; it is beautiful; you were all so lovely to me, but this here is different.”
“That's what I felt in reading your letters,” Sanders said. “A tone of restful content and happiness was in every line you wrote. Somehow, I wanted you, in my selfish heart, to be homesick for us so that you would”—the visitor drew a deep breath—“be all the more likely to—to consent to live there, you know, some day, permanently.” Helen made no reply, and Sanders, flushing deeply, wisely turned the subject, as he rose and went to a window and drew the curtain aside.
“Do you see those horses?” he asked, with a smile. “I brought them thinking I might prevail on you to take a drive with me this morning. I have set my heart on seeing some of the country around the town, and I want to do it with you. I hope you can go.”
“Oh, not to-day! I couldn't think of it to-day!” Helen cried, impulsively.