Лето
XI
”
Asshespokeshebecameawareofachangeinhisface.Hewasnolongerlisteningtoher,hewasonlylookingather,withthepassionateabsorbedexpressionshehadseeninhiseyesaftertheyhadkissedonthestandatNettleton.HewasthenewHarneyagain,theHarneyabruptlyrevealedinthatembrace,whoseemedsopenetratedwiththejoyofherpresencethathewasutterlycarelessofwhatshewasthinkingorfeeling.
Hecaughtherhandswithalaugh.“HowdoyousupposeIfoundyou?”hesaidgaily.Hedrewoutthelittlepacketofhislettersandflourishedthembeforeherbewilderedeyes.
“Youdroppedthem,youimprudentyoungperson—droppedtheminthemiddleoftheroad,notfarfromhere;andtheyoungmanwhoisrunningtheGospeltentpickedthemupjustasIwasridingby.”Hedrewback,holdingheratarm’slength,andscrutinizinghertroubledfacewiththeminutesearchinggazeofhisshort-sightedeyes.
“Didyoureallythinkyoucouldrunawayfromme?Youseeyouweren’tmeantto,”hesaid;andbeforeshecouldanswerhehadkissedheragain,notvehemently,buttenderly,almostfraternally,asifhehadguessedherconfusedpain,andwantedhertoknowheunderstoodit.Hewoundhisfingersthroughhers.
“Comelet’swalkalittle.Iwanttotalktoyou.There’ssomuchtosay.”
Hespokewithaboy’sgaiety,carelesslyandconfidently,asifnothinghadhappenedthatcouldshameorembarrassthem;andforamoment,inthesuddenreliefofherreleasefromlonelypain,shefeltherselfyieldingtohismood.
