The Courting of Lady Jane | Page 3

never thought of them apart: no rose and bud on one stem were more essentially together than they.
"She is too dear for one to be satisfied forever with even our charming neighborliness," he answered gravely. "How long have we lived 'across the street from each other,' as they say here, Mrs. Leroy?"
She did not raise her eyes from her white ruffles.
"It is just a year this month," she said.
"We are such good friends," he continued in his gentle, reserved voice, "that I hesitate to break into such pleasant relations, even with the chance of making us all happier, perhaps. But I cannot resist the temptation. Could we not make one family, we three?"
A quick, warm color flooded her cheeks and forehead. She caught her breath; her startled eyes met his with a lightning-swift flash of something that moved him strangely.
"What do you mean, Colonel Driscoll?" she asked, low and quickly.
"I mean, could you give me your daughter--if she--at any time--could think it possible?"
She drew a deep breath; the color seemed blown from her transparent skin like a flame from a lamp. For a moment her head seemed to droop; then she sat straight and moistened her lips, her eyes fixed level ahead.
"Lady?" she whispered, and he was sure that she thought the word was spoken in her ordinary tone. "Lady?"
"I know--I realize perfectly that it is a presumption in me--at my age--when I think of what she deserves. Oh, we won't speak of it again if you feel that it would be wrong!"
"No, no, it is not that," she murmured. "I--I have always known that I must lose her; but she--one is so selfish--she is all I have, you know!"
"But you would not lose her!" he cried eagerly. "You would only share her with me, dear Mrs. Leroy! Do you think--could she--it is possible?"
"Lady is an unusual girl," she said evenly, but with something gone out of her warm, gay voice. "She has never cared for young people. I know that she admires you greatly. While I cannot deny that I should prefer less difference than lies between your ages, it would be folly in me to fail to recognize the desirability of the connection in every other way. Whatever her decision--and the matter rests entirely with her--my daughter and I are honored by your proposal, Colonel Driscoll."
She might have been reading a carefully prepared address: her eyes never wavered from the wall in front--it was as if she saw her words there.
"Then--then will you ask her?"
She stared at him now.
"You mean that you wish me to ask her to marry you?"
"Yes," he said simply. "She will feel freer in that way. You will know as I should not, directly, if there is any chance. I can talk about it with you more easily--somehow."
She shrugged her shoulders with a strange air of exhaustion; it was the yielding of one too tired to argue.
"Very well," she breathed, "go now, and I will ask her. Come this evening. You will excuse--"
She made a vague motion. The colonel pitied her tremendously in a blind way. Was it all this to lose a daughter? How she loved her!
"Perhaps to-morrow morning," he suggested, but she shook her head vehemently.
"No, to-night, to-night!" she cried. "Lady will know directly. Come tonight!"
He went out a little depressed. Already a tiny cloud hung between them. Suppose their pleasant waters had been troubled for worse than nothing? Suddenly his case appeared hopeless to him. What folly--a man of his years, and that fresh young creature with all her life before her! He wondered that he could have dreamed of it; he wished the evening over and the foolish mistake forgiven.
His sister was full of plans and dates, and her talk covered his almost absolute silence. After dinner she retired again into packing, and he strode through the dusk to the cottage; his had not been a training that seeks to delay the inevitable.
The two women sat, as usual at this hour, on the porch. Their white gowns shimmered against the dark honeysuckle-vine. He halted at the steps and took off the old fatigue-cap he sometimes wore, standing straight and tall before them.
Mrs. Leroy leaned back in her chair; the faintest possible gesture indicated her daughter, who had risen and stood beside her.
"Colonel Driscoll," she said in a low, uneven voice, "my daughter wishes me to say to you that she appreciates deeply the honor you do her, and that if you wish it she will be your wife. She--she is sure she will be happy."
The colonel felt his heart leap up and hit heavily against his chest. Was it possible? A great gratitude and pride glowed softly through him. He walked nearly up the steps and stood just below her, lifting her hand to his lips.
"My dear, dear child," he