Lavender and Old Lace - Page 53/104

"Yes," she answered, without emotion. She was about to say that she did

not care for luncheon, then decided that she must seem to care.

Still, it was impossible to escape that keen-eyed observer. "You ain't

eatin' much," she suggested.

"I'm not very hungry."

"Be you sick, Miss Thorne?"

"No--not exactly. I've been out in the sun and my head aches," she

replied, clutching at the straw.

"Do you want a wet rag?"

Ruth laughed, remembering an earlier suggestion of Winfield's. "No, I

don't want any wet rag, Hepsey, but I'll go up to my room for a little

while, I think. Please don't disturb me."

She locked her door, shutting out all the world from the nameless joy

that surged in her heart. The mirror disclosed flushed, feverish cheeks

and dark eyes that shone like stars. "Ruth Thorne," she said to herself,

"I'm ashamed of you! First you act like a fool and then like a girl of

sixteen!"

Then her senses became confused and the objects in the room circled

around her unsteadily. "I'm tired," she murmured. Her head sank drowsily

into the lavender scented pillow and she slept too soundly to take note

of the three o'clock train leaving the station. It was almost sunset

when she was aroused by voices under her window.

"That feller's gone home," said Joe.

"Do tell!" exclaimed Hepsey. "Did he pay his board?"

"Yep, every cent. He's a-comin' back."

"When?"

"D'know. Don't she know?" The emphasis indicated Miss Thorne.

"I guess not," answered Hepsey. "They said good bye right in front of

me, and there wa'n't nothin' said about it."

"They ain't courtin', then," said Joe, after a few moments of painful

thought, and Ruth, in her chamber above, laughed happily to herself.

"Mebbe not," rejoined Hepsey. "It ain't fer sech as me to say when

there's courtin' and when there ain't, after havin' gone well nigh onto

five year with a country loafer what ain't never said nothin'." She

stalked into the house, closed the door, and noisily bolted it. Joe

stood there for a moment, as one struck dumb, then gave a long, low

whistle of astonishment and walked slowly down the hill.