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The next day was dark. At two o'clock in the afternoon the electric light was still burning over my desk when the telephone rang and I heard Nancy's voice. "Is that you, Hugh?" "Yes." "I have to go East this afternoon." "Why?" I asked. Her agitation had communicated itself to me. "I thought you weren't going until Thursday. What's the matter?" "I've just had a telegram," she said.
The latter part of the evening they spent with Mary, in whom Tarrant always found something new to admire. He regarded her as the most wonderful phenomenon in nature an uneducated woman who was neither vulgar nor foolish. Baby slept in a cot beside Nancy's bed. For fear of waking him, the wedded lovers entered their room very softly, with a shaded candle.
In Nancy's world there was no abstract sentimentality if this man indulged himself in emotional regret for her frustrated womanhood she called it that to herself it must in some way concern him.
Talked as if he knew more than I did, if only he cared to tell: but of course I didn't encourage him." "Wright? a plumber from Lincoln?" Emilia faltered, and her eyes met Nancy's. "That's it. He had business with your father, he said. In fact I left him on his way to knock at the door." The two sisters remembered the man on the knoll, and his bill. They were used to duns.
"Her roots are deeper, she is in touch, though she may not realize it, with the fundamentals. She is one of those women who are race-makers." Though somewhat perturbed, I was struck by the phrase. And I lost sight of Nancy's generosity. She looked me full in the face. "I wonder whether you can rise to her," she said. "If I were you, I should try.
"By Jove," he exclaimed, "did you find that among my papers?" Billie nodded her head sadly. "It's Nancy's, too," she said. Mr. Campbell began looking over the papers. "She may have dropped her handkerchief," he said, "but I don't think she got down to these. They are exactly as I left them.
Nancy's eyes were bright and smiling as she gazed up into the lean, ascetic face of the man in the black, semi-clerical coat. His garments were worn and almost threadbare. At close quarters she realised an even deeper interest in the man whose presence had wrought such a magical change in the harsh tones of the camp-boss. He was in the heyday of middle life, surely. His hair was long and black.
"Looks like one of Rembrandt's portraits of himself," Caroline suggested. "He looks like a brigand," Betty said. "Nancy's struck dumb with the privilege of adding fuel to a flame of genius like that. Wake up and eat your peach Melba, Nancy."
"Oh, I know it's to be a big class," said Nancy, "for besides all the girls that used to be in it, there's to be one new one, and one boy, Katie Dean's cousin, Reginald, and, oh, did you know that Arabella is to join the class?" "Why, Nancy, are you sure?" asked Dorothy; "only yesterday we looked over toward her house, and there seemed to be no one at home." Nancy's eyes were merry.
"They're certainly a rough-looking lot, Mr. Tom, as I saw when I was on the beach yesterday. And she don't appear to have any particular business anchoring there. I hope they've nothing to do with Miss Nancy's and Mr. Dan's being away." "I don't know, Jess, what to think.
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