XIV
Fauncehurried to Diane at once with his tidings. As he approached the house, he let his eyes rest on it with almost a feeling of ownership, not unpardonable in a man who was soon to be united to the only child of the owner. It might be said that after that he, too, would have a claim upon it.
The house was old; it had been in the Herford family for two hundred years. Looking at it, Faunce could distinguish the older portions, the slant of the wide gables from the high ridge-pole, the small, diamond-paned windows, and the stoop, which suggested a Dutch origin. One of the ancient chimneys still towered high between the main building and the sprawling extension; but modern taste and increased family fortunes had added a bay window or two, and a wide Southern veranda had increased the dignity and importance of Judge Herford’s “mansion,” as it was called among the townspeople when they remembered to drop the more familiar synonym—“the old Herford house on Broad Street.”
Faunce liked it He liked its air of dignity behind trim hedgerows, its embowered vines, andthe wide-spread branches of the elm before the door. He went up the path with the feeling that here, at last, there were peace and security for him.
He found Diane in the library, bending over some sewing, which she put away as he entered. She laughed softly as he bent to kiss her.
“You mustn’t come so often,” she chided, “if you want me to be ready two months from now!”
He held her, looking down into her eyes.
“I want it sooner! Diane, the ship is ready. Can’t we be married in two weeks?”
She did not reply. Instead, her eyes sank under his, and he felt a quiver run through her. He thought of Overton again, with a pang of jealousy, and tightened his hold.
“Diane, you’ll say yes? I must go, but I can’t go without you. You—you’re not going to refuse?” he pleaded urgently, clasping her with one arm, while with his other hand he lifted one of hers and pressed it fervently against his cheek.
She did not withdraw her hand, but he felt that it lay cold and still in his clasp. She was a long time in replying.
“Of course you’ll go, Arthur, but—not so soon! I couldn’t go so soon! It seems too horribly hasty, as if I were in such a hurry to get married that I couldn’t wait for any kind of dignity and ceremony!”
“It’s I who am in a hurry,” he rejoined quickly.“My darling, I can’t feel secure! I keep thinking that you don’t really love me, and that you’ll slip off and leave me at the eleventh hour.”
She laughed softly, a little tenderly. The warmth of his affection seemed to enfold her in such a new security that she could not understand what seemed to be, on his part, a haunting fear.
“I’m not like that, Arthur. I’ve always tried to be rather a loyal person, dear; but I don’t like haste—in weddings!”
“But you must in ours,” he pleaded. “The ship can sail so much sooner. I mean that it shall never sail without you, Diane! You don’t want to make me more unhappy than I am?”
She withdrew herself a little from his embrace, looking up into his face with serious eyes.
“Are you unhappy?” Then something that she saw there moved her deeply. “Arthur, you’re not well! What’s wrong? Tell me!”
He hesitated; then he thought of using her evident anxiety to further his purpose.
“I’m sick for the sea, dear, and to be off again—finishing the work. Every day of delay tells on me; but I vow I sha’n’t go without you!”
She looked at him then, a light in her eyes, the charm of her face, so delicate, so elusive, lending it a peculiar softness and glow.
“I don’t want you to go without me; but you must give me a little time. Why, Arthur, I wasworking on wedding-finery when you came in!” she admitted with a shy little laugh, glancing at the mass of fluff and lace in the basket beside her.
“You don’t need it. You’re too charming for finery. Diane”—he caught her hands again and drew her, half resisting, toward him—“make it Wednesday at the latest!”
She shook her head.
“Shocking! I couldn’t!”
Then something in his look, in the troubled, handsome face bending toward her, swept away her scruples. If she meant to marry him at all, why quibble for delay, why beg off? She softened, and he read her yielding in her eyes.
“Wednesday?” he repeated eagerly.
“Wednesday week,” she corrected.
Nor could he coax her to advance that day. She declared that she was ashamed of such haste. They might as well run away and be done with it!
“That would be heavenly—no fuss, no feathers! I’m ready. Will you come, Diane? There’s a parson across the road!”
She smiled absently, her eyes still on his face.
“Arthur, you’re not well, or you’re worried,” she declared irrelevantly. “Won’t you tell me? I can see that there’s something on your mind.”
He was startled, and reddened under her look.
“There’s nothing on my mind now, except Wednesdayweek!” he protested steadily. “That’s far enough off to weigh upon me, isn’t it?”
She shook her head, not altogether reassured. She began to feel vaguely that there was something between them, an impenetrable veil which seemed to screen his inner self, and that not even the love which he protested with such passion could dispel that impalpable reserve; but a certain pride in her kept her from pursuing her questions, and she let the matter drop.