She saw him again for an instant; he had stepped back a little
farther, and raised his head, and was gazing at the people
acclaiming him and the allies for whom he had spoken. He stared
about and seemed to seek her--at least, he gazed about when this
great acclaim suddenly bewildered him, as he had gazed before he had
spoken and when his eyes had found her. She stood up then; but he
turned about to Lady Agnes, who had risen and was beside him; the
people in front of Ruth screened him from sight and when she got
view of the platform again he was gone.
The guests were leaving their chairs and moving toward the rooms
where refreshments were being served; but it was many minutes before
Ruth heard anyone mention other matters than the war and Gerry
Hull’s speech. That had been a thoroughly remarkable and sincere
statement of the American position, Ruth heard the people about her
saying; to have heard it was a real experience.
It had come as the climax of what for Ruth was far more than that;
the darkening of the early winter night outside the drawn curtains
of the windows, the tinkling of a little clock for the half
hour--half-past four--brought to her the amazing transformation
worked upon Ruth Alden since, scarcely six hours before, the
wonderful wand of war had touched her. With the dawn of this same
day which was slipping so fast into the irrevocable past, she had
awakened to dream as of a wish unrealizable that she might welcome
Gerry Hull home; now she knew him; she had talked with him alone;
when she had been among all his friends in the other room, he had
sought her with his eyes. He had disappeared from the rooms now; and
no one seemed to know where he had gone, though many inquired. But
Ruth knew; so she slipped away from Hubert Lennon and from his Aunt
Emilie, who had forgotten all about asking where Cynthia had been
the last two days; and Ruth returned to the conservatory.
Upon that bench where they had sat together, hidden by the palms,
and hanging vines, and the roses, she saw him sitting alone, bent
forward with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands,
staring down at the floor.
He looked up quickly as he heard her step; she halted, frightened
for a moment by her own boldness. If he had chosen that spot for his
flight from the others, it would mean--she had felt--that he was
willing that she should return there. But how did she know that?
Might it not be wholly in her fancy that, since they had separated,
he had thought about her at all?
“Hello, Miss Gail!” he hailed her quickly, but so quietly that it
was certain he wished no one else to know that he was there. “I was
wondering how I could get you here.”
Her heart began beating once more. “I wondered if you’d be here,”
she said; he could make of that a good deal what he liked.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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