f.a.n.n.y, piteously tongue-tied in the presence of the man she loved, glanced up at Wesley Elliot with a timidity she had never before felt in his company. His eyes under close-drawn brows were searching the crowd. f.a.n.n.y divined that she was not in his thoughts.

"If you are looking for Miss Orr," she said distinctly, "I think she has gone out in the kitchen. I saw Mrs. Solomon Black beckon to her."

The minister glanced down at her; his rash impulse of an hour back was already forgotten.

"Don't you think it's awfully warm in here?" continued f.a.n.n.y.

A sudden desperate desire had a.s.sailed her; she must--she would compel him to some sort of an explanation.

"It's a warm evening," commented the minister. "But why not eat your cream? You'll find it will cool you off."

"I--I don't care much for ice cream," said f.a.n.n.y, in a low tremulous voice.

She gazed at him, her dark eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with eager questions.

"I was wondering if we couldn't--it's pleasant out in the yard--"

"If you'll excuse me for just a moment, Miss Dodge," Wesley Elliot's tone was blandly courteous--"I'll try and find you a chair. They appear to be scarce articles; I believe the ladies removed most of them to the rear of the house. Pardon me--"

He set down his plate of ice cream on the top shelf of Mrs. Solomon Black's what-not, thereby deranging a careful group of sea-sh.e.l.ls and daguerreotypes, and walked quickly away.

f.a.n.n.y's face flushed to a painful crimson; then as suddenly paled.

She was a proud girl, accustomed to love and admiration since early childhood, when she had queened it over her playmates because her yellow curls were longer than theirs, her cheeks pinker, her eyes brighter and her slim, strong body taller. f.a.n.n.y had never been compelled to stoop from her graceful height to secure masculine attention. It had been hers by a sort of divine right. She had not been at all surprised when the handsome young minister had looked at her twice, thrice, to every other girl's once, nor when he had singled her out from the others in the various social events of the country side.

f.a.n.n.y had long ago resolved, in the secret of her own heart, that she would never, never become the hard-worked wife of a plodding farmer.

Somewhere in the world--riding toward her on the steed of his pa.s.sionate desire--was the fairy prince; her prince, coming to lift her out from the sordid commonplace of life in Brookville. Almost from the very first she had recognized Wesley Elliot as her deliverer.

Once he had said to her: "I have a strange feeling that I have known you always." She had cherished the saying in her heart, hoping--believing that it might, in some vague, mysterious way, be true. And not at all aware that this pretty sentiment is as old as the race and the merest ba.n.a.lity on the masculine tongue, signifying: "At this moment I am drawn to you, as to no other woman; but an hour hence it may be otherwise." ... How else may man, as yet imperfectly monogamous, find the mate for whom he is ever ardently questing? In this woman he finds the trick of a lifted lash, or a shadowy dimple in the melting rose of her cheek. In another, the stately curve of neck and shoulder and the somber fire of dark eyes draws his roving gaze; in a third, there is a soft, adorable prettiness, like that of a baby. He has always known them--all. And thus it is, that love comes and goes unbidden, like the wind which blows where it listeth; and woman, hearing the sound thereof, cannot tell whence it cometh nor whither it goeth.

In this particular instance Wesley Elliot had not chosen to examine the secret movements of his own mind. Baldly speaking, he had cherished a fleeting fancy for f.a.n.n.y Dodge, a sort of love in idleness, which comes to a man like the delicate, floating seeds of the parasite orchid, capable indeed of exquisite blossoming; but deadly to the tree upon which it fastens. He had resolved to free himself. It was a sensible resolve. He was glad he had made up his mind to it before it was too late. Upon the possible discomfiture of f.a.n.n.y Dodge he bestowed but a single thought: She would get over it.

"It" meaning a quite pardonable fancy--he refused to give it a more specific name--for himself. To the unvoiced opinions of Mrs. Solomon Black, Mrs. Deacon Whittle, Ellen Dix, Mrs. Abby Daggett and all the other women of his parish he was wholly indifferent. Men, he was glad to remember, never bothered their heads about another man's love affairs....

The chairs from the sitting room had been removed to the yard, where they were grouped about small tables adequately illuminated by the moon and numerous j.a.panese lanterns. Every second chair appeared to be filled by a giggling, pink-cheeked girl; the others being suitably occupied by youths of the opposite s.e.x--all pleasantly occupied. The minister conscientiously searched for the chair he had promised to fetch to f.a.n.n.y Dodge; but it never once occurred to him to bring f.a.n.n.y out to the cool loveliness of mingled moon and lantern-light.

There was no unoccupied chair, as he quickly discovered; but he came presently upon Lydia Orr, apparently doing nothing at all. She was standing near Mrs. Black's boundary picket fence, shielded from the observation of the joyous groups about the little tables by the down-dropping branches of an apple-tree.

"I was looking for you!" said Wesley Elliot.

It was the truth; but it surprised him nevertheless. He supposed he had been looking for a chair.

"Were you?" said Lydia, smiling.

She moved a little away from him.

"I must go in," she murmured.

"Why must you? It's delightful out here--so cool and--"

"Yes, I know. But the others-- Why not bring Miss Dodge out of that hot room? I thought she looked tired."

"I didn't notice," he said.... "Just look at that flock of little white clouds up there with the moon shining through them!"

Lydia glided away over the soft gra.s.s.

"I've been looking at them for a long time," she said gently. "I must go now and help cut more cake."

He made a gesture of disgust.

"They're fairly stuffing," he complained. "And, anyway, there are plenty of women to attend to all that. I want to talk to you, Miss Orr."

His tone was authoritative.

She turned her head and looked at him.

"To talk to me?" she echoed.

"Yes; come back--for just a minute. I know what you're thinking: that it's my duty to be talking to parishioners. Well, I've been doing that all the evening. I think I'm ent.i.tled to a moment of relaxation; don't you?"

"I'm a parishioner," she reminded him.

"So you are," he agreed joyously. "And I haven't had a word with you this evening, so far; so you see it's my duty to talk to you; and it's your duty to listen."

"Well?" she murmured.

Her face upturned to his in the moonlight wore the austere loveliness of a saint's.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Her face upturned to his in the moonlight, wore the austere loveliness of a saint's.]

"I wish you'd tell me something," he said, his fine dark eyes taking in every detail of delicate tint and outline. "Do you know it all seems very strange and unusual to me--your coming to Brookville the way you did, and doing so much to--to make the people here happy."

She drew a deep, sighing breath.

"I'm afraid it isn't going to be easy," she said slowly. "I thought it would be; but--"

"Then you came with that intention," he inferred quickly. "You meant to do it from the beginning. But just what was the beginning? What ever attracted your attention to this forlorn little place?"

She was silent for a moment, her eyes downcast. Then she smiled.

"I might ask you the same question," she said at last. "Why did you come to Brookville, Mr. Elliot?"

He made an impatient gesture.

"Oh, that is easily explained. I had a call to Brookville."

"So did I," she murmured. "Yes; I think that was the reason--if there must be a reason."

"There is always a reason for everything," he urged. "But you didn't understand me. Do you know I couldn't say this to another soul in Brookville; but I'm going to tell you: I wanted to live and work in a big city, and I tried to find a church--"

"Yes; I know," she said, unexpectedly. "One can't always go where one wishes to go, just at first. Things turn out that way, sometimes."