When he hung up the receiver and turned back to his couch again the
girl had closed the window. It annoyed him. He did not know how his
giddy badinage had clashed in upon the last words of the sermon.
It seemed a long time after the closing hymn before the little throng
melted away down the maple lined street. The young man watched them
curiously from behind his curtain, finding only food for amusement in
most of them. And then came the minister, lingering to talk to one here
and there, and his wife--it was undoubtedly his wife, even the
hare-brained Laurie knew her, in the gray organdie, with the white
at her neck, and the soft white hat. She had a pleasant light in her
eyes, and one saw at once that she was a lady. There was a grace
about her that made the girl seem possible. And lastly, came the girl.
She stepped from the church door in her white dress and simple white
hat, white even to her little shoes, and correct in every way, he could
see that. She was no country gawk! She came forth lightly into the
sunshine which caught her hair in golden tendrils around her face as if
it loved to hide therein, and she was immediately surrounded by half a
dozen urchins. One had brought her some lilies, great white starry
things with golden hearts, and she gathered them into her arms as if
she loved them, and smiled at the boys. One could see how they adored
her. She lingered talking to them, and laid her hand on one boy's
shoulder, he walking like a knight beside her trying to act as if he
did not know her hand was there. His head was drooped, but he lifted it
with a grin at last and gave her a nod which seemed to make her glad,
for her face broke forth in another smile: "Well, don't forget, to-night," she called as they turned to go, "and
remember to tell Billy!"
Then she came trippingly across the grass, a song on her lips. Some
girl! Say! She certainly was a stunner!