. . . She dared
not speak, and his silence began to frighten her. Had ever a heart
beat so wildly before in Wentworth?
He turned at last, and taking her two hands, quite simply, kissed
them one after the other.
"I shall never forget--" he said in a confused voice, unlike his
own.
A return of strength enabled her to rise, and even to let her eyes
meet his for a moment.
"Thank you," she said, simply also.
She turned away from the bench, regaining the path that led back to
the college buildings, and he walked beside her in silence. When
they reached the elm walk it was dotted with dispersing groups. The
"speaking" was over, and Hamblin Hall had poured its audience out
into the moonlight. Margaret felt a rush of relief, followed by a
receding wave of regret. She had the distinct sensation that her
hour--her one hour--was over.
One of the groups just ahead broke up as they approached, and
projected Ransom's solid bulk against the moonlight.
"My husband," she said, hastening forward; and she never afterward
forgot the look of his back--heavy, round-shouldered, yet a little
pompous--in a badly fitting overcoat that stood out at the neck and
hid his collar.
Pages:
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199