She looked at him with an ecstasy of self-sacrifice in her eyes.
"Ah, I sha'n't do that. I can't tell what would open. But--Alice!""Well, what?" She drifted closely to him, and looked fondly up into his face. In walking they had insensibly drawn nearer together, and she had been obliged constantly to put space between them. Now, standing at the corner of Arlington Street, and looking tentatively across Beacon, she abandoned all precautions.
"What! I forget. Oh yes! I love you!"
"But you said that before, dearest!"
"Yes; but just now it struck me as a very novel idea. What if your mother shouldn't like the idea?""Nonsense! you know she perfectly idolises you. She did from the first.
And doesn't she know how I've begin behaving about you ever since I--lost you?""How have you behaved? Do tell me, Alice?""Some time; not now," she said; and with something that was like a gasp, and threatened to be a sob, she suddenly whipped across the road. He walked back to Charles Street by the Garden path, keeping abreast of her, and not losing sight of her for a moment, except when the bulk of a string team watering at the trough beside the pavement intervened. He hurried by, and when he had passed it he found himself exactly abreast of her again. Her face was turned toward him; they exchanged a smile, lost in space. At the corner of Charles Street he deliberately crossed over to her.
"O dearest love! why did you come?" she implored.
"Because you signed to me."
"I hoped you wouldn't see it. If we're both to be so weak as this, what are we going to do?" But I'm glad you came. Yes: I was frightened.
They must have overheard us there when we were talking.""Well, I didn't say anything I'm ashamed of. Besides, I shouldn't care much for the opinion of those nurses and babies.""Of course not. But people must have seen us. Don't stand here talking, Dan! Do come on!" She hurried him across the street, and walked him swiftly up the incline of Beacon Street. There, in her new fall suit, with him, glossy-hatted, faultlessly gloved, at a fit distance from her side, she felt more in keeping with the social frame of things than in the Garden path, which was really only a shade better than the Beacon Street Mall of the Common. "Do you suppose anybody saw us that knew us?""I hope so! Don't you want people to know it?""Yes, of course. They will have to know it--in the right way. Can you believe that it's only half a year since we met? It won't be a year till Class Day.""I don't believe it, Alice. I can't recollect anything before I knew you.""Well, now, as time is so confused, we must try to live for eternity. We must try to help each other to be good. Oh, when I think what a happy girl I am, I feel that I should be the most ungrateful person under the sun not to be good. Let's try to make our lives perfect--perfect! They can be. And we mustn't live for each other alone. We must try to do good as well as be good. We must be kind and forbearing with every one."He answered, with tender seriousness, "My life's in your hands, Alice.
It shall be whatever you wish."
They were both silent in their deep belief of this. When they spoke again, she began gaily: "I shall never get over the wonder of it. How strange that we should meet at the Museum!" They had both said this already, but that did not matter; they had said nearly everything two or three times. "How did you happen to be there?" she asked, and the question was so novel that she added, "I haven't asked you before."He stopped, with a look of dismay that broke up in a hopeless laugh.
"Why, I went there to meet some people--some ladies. And when I saw you I forgot all about them."Alice laughed to; this was a part of their joy, their triumph.
"Who are they?" she asked indifferently, and only to heighten the absurdity by realising the persons.
"You don't know them," he said. "Mrs. Frobisher and her sister, of Portland. I promised to meet them there and go out to Cambridge with them.""What will they think?" asked Alice. "It's too amusing.""They'll think I didn't come," said Mavering, with the easy conscience of youth and love; and again they laughed at the ridiculous position together. "I remember now I was to be at the door, and they were to take me up in their carriage. I wonder how long they waited? You put everything else out of my head.""Do you think I'll keep it out?" she asked archly.
"Oh yes; there is nothing else but you now."The eyes that she dropped, after a glance at him, glistened with tears.
A lump came into his throat. "Do you suppose," he asked huskily, "that we can ever misunderstand each other again?""Never. I see everything clearly now. We shall trust each other implicitly, and at the least thing that isn't clear we can speak.
Promise me that you'll speak."
"I will, Alice. But after this all will be clear. We shall deal with each other as we do with ourselves.""Yes; that will be the way."
"And we mustn't wait for question from each other. We shall know--we shall feel--when there's any misgiving, and then the one that's caused it will speak.""Yes," she sighed emphatically. "How perfectly you say it? But that's because you feel it, because you are good."They walked on, treading the air in a transport of fondness for each other. Suddenly he stopped.
"Miss Pasmer, I feel it my duty to warn you that you're letting me go home with you.""Am I? How noble of you to tell me, Dan; for I know you don't want to tell. Well, I might as well. But I sha'n't let you come in. You won't try, will you? Promise me you won't try.""I shall only want to come in the first door.""What for?"
"What for? Oh, for half a second."
She turned away her face.
He went on. "This engagement has been such a very public affair, so far, that I think I'd like to see my fiancee alone for a moment.""I don't know what in the world you can have to say more."He went into the first door with her, and then he went with her upstairs to the door of Mrs. Pasmer's apartment. The passages of the Cavendish were not well lighted; the little lane or alley that led down to this door from the stairs landing was very dim.
