And often with the most absolute unconsciousness the demure little
widow allowed herself to be drawn by the wily Mr. Crabtree into the
mystic circle of three, which was instantly on her appearance
dissolved into clumps of two. And if the prodigal vine showered
blessings down upon a pair of clasped hands hid beside Louisa Helen's
fluffy pink muslin skirts nobody was the wiser, except perhaps Mr.
Crabtree.
And perched on the side of the hill the Briars found itself in a
perfect avalanche of blossoms. The snowballs hung white and heavy from
long branches, and gorgeous lilac boughs bent and swayed in the wind.
A clump of bridal wreath by the front gate was a great white drift
against the new green of a crimson-starred burning bush, while over it
all trailed the perfume-laden honeysuckle which bowered the front
porch, decorated trellis and trees and finally flung its blossoms down
the hill to well-nigh cloister Rose Mary's milk-house.
One balmy afternoon Everett brushed aside a spray of the pink and
white blossoms and stood in the stone doorway with his prospecting
kit in his hands. Rose Mary lifted quick welcoming eyes to his and
went on with her work with bowl and paddle. Everett had some time
since got to the point where it was well-nigh impossible for him to
look directly into Rose Mary's deep eyes, quaff a draft of the
tenderness that he always found offered him and keep equanimity enough
to go on with the affairs in hand. What business had a woman's eyes to
be so filled with a young child's innocence, a violet's shyness, a
passion of fostering gentleness, mirth that ripples like the surface
of the crystal pools, and--could it be dawning--love? Everett had been
in a state of uncertainty and misery so abject that it hid itself
under an unusually casual manner that had for weeks kept Rose Mary
from suspecting to the least degree the condition of his mind.
Pages:
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109