In spite of Sally's wonderings, she was captivated by Henrietta's daintiness and beauty. Sally never thought at all about her own looks, although they deserved more than a thought; for—well, one might have asked Jane Spencer or Richard Torrington, or even Fox, who had just seen her for the first time in years. Or Everett Morton might have been prevailed upon to give an opinion, although Everett's opinion would have counted for little. He would have appraised her good points as he would have appraised those of a horse or a dog; he might even have compared her with his favorite horse, Sawny,—possibly to the disadvantage of Sawny, although there is more doubt about that than there should be,—or to his last year's car. But he was driving Sawny now more than he was driving his car, for there was racing every afternoon on the Cow Path by the members of the Gentlemen's Driving Club. No, on the whole, I should not have advised going to Everett.
Sally, I say, not being vain or given to thinking about her own looks, thought Henrietta was the prettiest thing she had ever seen. So, when Henrietta issued the command which has been recorded, Sally went without a word of protest, leaving Fox and her mother standing in the back parlor beside the table with its ancient stained and cut green cloth. Fox was not looking at her, but at the doorway through which Sally had just vanished.
"Well," he said at last, turning to her, "I call that rather a cold sort of a greeting, after four years."
Mrs. Ladue laughed softly. "What should she have done, you great boy?" she asked. "Should she have fallen upon your neck and kissed you?"
"Why, yes," Fox replied, "something of the sort. I shouldn't have minded. I think it might have been rather nice. But I suppose it might be a hard thing to do."
"Fox," she protested, "you are wrong about Sally. She isn't cold at all, not at all. She is as glad to see you as I am—almost. And I am glad."
"That is something to be grateful for, dear lady," he said. "I would not have you think that I am not grateful—very grateful. It is one of the blessings showered upon me by a very heedless providence," he continued, smiling, "unmindful of my deserts."
"Oh, Fox!" she protested. "Your deserts! If you had—"
He interrupted gently. "I know. The earth ought to be laid at my feet. I know what you think and I am grateful for that, too."
To this there was no reply.