"Yes, I'm here, thanks to you," said Elaine--and Davila not being present, she kissed him.
"No--but I wish the other--would, too!" he laughed.
"You're not wont to be so timid," she returned.
"I wish I had some of your bravery," he said.
"Is it bravery?" she demanded. "Isn't it impetuous womanliness."
"Not a bit! There isn't a doubt as to his feelings."
"But there is a doubt as to his letting them control--I see."
"Yes! And you alone can help him solve it--if any one can. And I have great hopes, Elaine, great hopes!" regarding her with approving eyes. "How any chap could resist you is inconceivable--I could not."
"You gave me no encouragement,--so I must, perforce, fare elsewhere."
"How many love affairs have you come down here to settle?" he laughed. "By the way, Croyden is impatient to come over this afternoon. The guest in the trap with Miss Carrington has aroused his curiosity. He could see only a long brown coat and a brown hat, but the muff before your face, and his imagination, did the rest."
"Does he suspect?" she inquired, anxiously.
"That it's you? No! no! It's simply the country town beginning to tell on him. He is curious about new guests, and Miss Carrington hadn't mentioned your coming! He suggested, in a vague sort of way, that there was something familiar about you, but he didn't attempt to particularize. It was only a momentary idea."
"I reckon you don't know much about it--haven't any plans?"
"No, I haven't. Everything depends on the moment. He will know why I'm here, and whether he is glad or sorry or displeased at my coming, I shall know instantly. I shall then have my cue. It's absurd, this notion of his, and why let it rule him and me! I've always got what I wanted, and I'm going to get Geoffrey. A Queen of a Nation must propose to a suitor, so why not a Queen of Money to a man less rich than she--especially when she is convinced that that alone keeps them apart. I shall give him a chance to propose to me first; several chances, indeed!" she laughed. "Then, if he doesn't respond--I shall do it myself."
Miss Cavendish was standing behind the curtains in the window of her room, when Croyden and Macloud came up the walk, at four o'clock.
She was waiting!--not another touch to be given to her attire. Her gown, of shimmering blue silk, clung to her figure with every movement, and fell to the floor in suggestively revealing folds. Her dark hair was arranged in simple fashion--the simplicity of exquisite taste--making the fair face below it, seem fairer even than it was. She was going to win this man.