THE next afternoon, returning from the unloading of a grain car at his father's warehouse, he discovered a smartly saddled horse fast to the marble hitchingpost before his door. It hardly required the glance at the silver “D” on the headstall to inform him who was within. He found Ellie and Eliza Dreen in the corner by the Canton tea service, consuming Pekoe and gingerbread dicky birds. Eliza nodded and smiled over her shoulder, and resumed an animated projection of an excursion in canoes on the Wingohocking. She wore a severe coat over white breeches and immaculate boots with diminutive gold spurs. Beneath a flat straw hat her hair was confined by a broad ribband low upon her neck, while a pink stock was held in position by a gaily-checked waistcoat. Anthony dropped with affected ease on the sofa, and covertly studied the delicate line of her cheek. He now recalled indignantly that Mrs. Dreen had said Eliza was not good-looking; while her reference to Eliza's veracity had been entirely superfluous. She turned toward him, finally, with an engaging query. He saw across her nose a faint trail of the most delightful freckles in the world; her eyes were blue, that amazing blue of bachelor's buttons; while her mouth—he would have sworn this the first time such simile had been applied to that feature—was like a roseleaf. He made a totally inadequate reply, when Ellie rose, and, plate in hand, vanished in quest of a fresh supply of gingerbread. A sort of desperate, blundering courage took possession of him: “I have been thinking a lot about you,” he told her; “last night I sat on your grass and wondered which was your window.” “What a silly I—we were on the porch all evening.” “It wasn't that I wanted to talk to you so much,” he tried to explain his instinctive impulses, desires, “as just to be near you.” “I think,” she said slowly, “yes, I know—that is the prettiest thing that has ever been said to me. I thought about you... a little; really more about myself. I haven't recognized myself at all very lately; I suppose it's being home again.” She gazed at him candidly, critically. “You have very unusual eyes,” she remarked unexpectedly; “they are so transparent. Haven't you anything to hide?” “Some chicken feathers,” he affirmed. He grew serious immediately. “Your eyes are like—like—” the name of the flower so lately suggested by her lucid vision had flown his mind. Suspenders, bachelor's suspenders, exclusively occurred to him. “An awfully blue flower,” he temporized. She crossed the room, and bent over the tea roses, freshly placed in the jar by the door. “I must go,” she said, her back to him; “I have been here a terrific length of time... I thought perhaps you'd come in.... Wasn't it shocking of me?” The knowledge that she had considered the possibility of seeing him filled Anthony with incredulous joy. Then, sitting silently, gazing fixedly at the floor, he became acutely miserable at the sudden conviction of his worthlessness; shame prevented him from looking at her—surely she must see that he, Anthony Ball, the unsuccessful, without prospect, the truant from life, was an improper object for her interest. She was so absolutely desirable, so fine. He recalled what she had said on the night of the dance... about constancy: if the single devotion of his life would mean anything to her, he thought grandiloquently, it was hers. He was considering the possibility of telling her this when Ellie unnecessarily returned with a replenished plate. He was grateful when neither included him in the remarks which followed. And he speedily left the room, proceeding to the pavement, where he stood with his palm resting on the flank of her horse. In the slanting rays of the sun the street was a way of gold; when Eliza appeared she was ringed in the molten glory. She placed her heel in his hand, and sprang lightly into the saddle; the horse shied, there was a clatter of hoofs, and she cantered away. Ellie stood on the steps, graceful, unconcerned; he watched until the upright, mounted figure was out of sight, then silently passed his sister into the house.
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