Isn't it dreadful, that I should be glad?"
She looked up now, for she would not distress Mr. Shubrick by giving way to the tears which would have been a relief to herself. She looked up with such a face! the eyes shining through tears, the mouth trembling with a smile; sunshine and rain all in one glitter. "And _that_ is the way he has been taken care of!" she said.
Mr. Shubrick stooped his face gently to hers with a mute, caressing motion, leaving her time to get rid of those encumbering tears or to shed more of them; waiting till the tremor subsided a little. Soon Dolly spoke again.
"It has been such a weight on me--oh, such a weight! I could hardly bear it sometimes. And now--this is better."
"Yes," he said.
"You had to know of it. I was very sorry!"
"Sorry that I should know?"
"Oh yes, yes! Sorry and ashamed. Sorry for you, too." Dolly's trembling was excessive.
"Hush!" said Sandie softly. "What is yours is mine; sorrow and joy together. I think I had better go and take up my old office of nurse again."
"Oh," said Dolly, starting, and a glad tone coming into her voice, "would you? How he would like that!"
"It must have been a little hard for them both to have you come away just now. I think we will go and comfort them up, Dolly."
"You are very, very good!" said Dolly, with her eyes glistening, and speaking from hearty conviction.
"Whom are you talking to? I have not heard my name yet."
"I have not got accustomed to you yet, you know," Dolly said with a little nervous laugh. "Besides,--I never did."
"Never did what?"
"I never called you anything but--Mr. Shubrick."
"Christina did."
"Poor Christina!" said Dolly.
"Why?" said the other merrily. "She is the rich Mrs. St. Leger; why do you say 'Poor Christina'?"
"I am afraid I have come between her and happiness," Dolly said, blushing frankly.
"You have no occasion to say that," Sandie said, laughing. "She has got what she wanted. There was a terrible danger that she might have come between _me_ and happiness. But for her--I am not at all sure that she would have been happy with me."
"I remember," said Dolly, "she told me one time, she knew she would not '_have her head_' so much, if she were once married to you."
"She would not have approved my old house, either," said Sandie contentedly, letting Dolly go that he might put up the fire, which had tumbled down, after the fashion of wood fires.
"She might have liked it," Dolly answered.
"You do?"
"Oh, very much! Aunt Hal and I think it is charming. And it is full of lovely things."
"Wants a new carpet, I should say," said Sandie, eyeing the threadbare one under his feet, which Mrs. Eberstein had objected to.
"There!" said Dolly. "Aunt Hal said you would never know what was on the floor. I told her she was mistaken."
"What gave her such a poor opinion of my eyesight?"
"Oh, nothing, it was not of your _eyesight_, I don't know, unless she thinks that is the way with men in general. Uncle Ned had brought me a present of a beautiful new carpet for this room, and Aunt Harry wanted me to have it put down; but I wouldn't until I knew whether you would like it."
"Whether I would like it!" Sandie repeated, rather opening his eyes. "I should think the question was, whether _you_ would like it. I like new carpets."
"I did not know but you might have some affection for this old one,"
said Dolly. "I did not want to change the look of the room before you came, so that it would not seem like home. Aunt Harry said I would spoil you."
"What did you answer to that?"
"I said it was more likely you would spoil me," said Dolly, dimpling up and flushing.
"Do you think I will?" said Sandie, taking her hand and drawing her up to him.
Dolly hesitated, flushed and dimpled more, and answered, however, a frank "No."
"Why?" was the quick next question.
"You ask too many things," said Dolly. "Don't you want something to eat?"
"No, not at all!--Yes."
"I thought so," said Dolly, laughing. "Come, then."
She put her hand in his and led him across the broad hall to the dining-room. And during the next hour Sandie might have recurred with reason to his late remark; that Christina had been near coming between him and happiness. The careless luxury of her way of entertaining him, was in strongest contrast to the sweet, thoughtful, delicate housewifery of his wife. It was a constant pleasure to watch her.
Tea-making, in her hands, was a nice art; her fingers were deft to cut bread; and whenever the hands approached him, whether it were to give a cup of tea or to render some other ministry, it was with an indescribable shyness and carefulness at once, which was wholly bewitching. Sandie was hungry, no doubt; but his feast was mental that night, and exquisite.
Meanwhile, he talked. He gave Dolly details of his voyage home, which had been stormy; got from her a full account of the weeks since she had set foot on American ground; and finally informed her that his having a ship was certain, and in the near future.
"Poor Christina!" said Dolly.
"Hush!" said he, laughing and drawing her with him back into the other room; "you shall not say that again. Would you like to go to Washington? The probability is that you will have to go."
"Anywhere," said Dolly.
They stood silently before the fire for a few minutes; then Mr.
Shubrick turned to her with a change of tone.
"Why did you think I would not spoil you?"
She was held fast, she could not run away; he was bending down to look in her face, she could not hide it. Dolly's breath came short. There was so much in the tone of his words that stirred her. Besides, the answer--what came at last was--