It was nearly four o'clock now, and the dinner was almost ready. Aunt
Barbara had dropped her knitting upon the floor, where the ball was at
once claimed as the lawful prey of Tabby, who rolled, and kicked, and
tangled the yarn in a perfect abandon of feline delight. Mrs. Van Buren
having exhausted herself, if not her topic, sat rocking quietly, and
occasionally giving little sniffs of inquiry as to whether the tomatoes
were really burned or not. If they were, there were still the
silver-skinned onions left; and, as Mrs. Van Buren was one who thought a
great deal of what she ate, she was anticipating her dinner with a keen
relish, and wishing Barbara and Betty would hurry, when a buggy stopped
before the door, and, with a start of disagreeable surprise, she
recognized Richard Markham coming through the gate, and up the walk to
the front door. He was looking very pale and worn, for to the effects of
his recent illness were added traces of his rapid, fatiguing journey,
and he almost staggered as he came into the room. It was not in kind
Aunt Barbara's nature to feel resentment toward him then, and she went
to him at once, as she would have gone to Ethie, and, taking his hand in
hers, said softly: "My poor boy! We have heard of your trouble. Have you found her yet? Do
you know where she is?"
There was a look of anguish and disappointment in Richard's eyes as he
replied: "I thought--I hoped I might find her here."
"And that is the reason of your waiting so long before coming?" Mrs. Dr.
Van Buren put in sharply.
It was three weeks now since Ethie's flight, and her husband had shown
himself in no hurry to seek her, she reasoned; but Richard's reply, "I
was away a week before I knew it, and I have been very sick since then,"
mollified her somewhat, though she sat back in her chair very stiff and
very straight, eyeing him askance, and longing to pounce upon him and
tell him what she thought. First, however, she must have her dinner. The
tea would be spoiled if they waited longer; and when Aunt Barbara began
to question Richard, she suggested that they wait till after dinner,
when they would all be fresher and stronger. So dinner was brought in,
and Richard, as he took his seat at the nicely-laid table, where
everything was served with so much care, did think of the difference
between Ethie's early surroundings and those to which he had introduced
her when he took her to his mother's house. He was beginning to think of
those things now; Ethie's letter had opened his eyes somewhat, and Mrs.
Dr. Van Buren would open them more before she let him go. She was
greatly refreshed with her dinner. The tomatoes had not been burned; the
fowls were roasted to a most delicate brown; the currant jelly was just
the right consistency; the pickled peaches were delicious, and the tea
could not have been better. On the whole, Mrs. Van Buren was satisfied,
and able to cope with a dozen men as crushed, and sore, and despondent
as Richard seemed. She had scanned him very closely, deciding that so
far as dress was concerned, he had improved since she saw him last. It
is true, his collar was not all the style, and his necktie was too wide,
and his coat sleeves too small, and his boots too rusty, and his vest
too much soiled; but she made allowance for the circumstances, and his
hasty journey, and so excused his tout ensemble. She had resumed her
seat by the fire, sitting where she could look the culprit directly in
the face; while good Aunt Barbara occupied the middle position, and,
with her fat, soft hands shaking terribly, tried to pick up the stitches
Tabby had pulled out. That personage, too, had had her chicken wing out
in the woodshed, and, knowing nothing of Ethie's grievances, had mounted
into Richard's lap, where she lay, slowly blinking and occasionally
purring a little, as Richard now and then passed his hand over her
soft fur.