For, with her training, the standards of love and marriage that had been set for her, she would never understand, never be willing to make so great a sacrifice for love, as much as she loved him.
And he would be left, abandoned on the instant, and with what horror in her eyes!
Yet looking into his eyes, his face white and tense, and the glow of the moon above making small white electric sparks in his eyes, she exclaimed as he gripped her tightly:
“Does he love Sondra so much?
Oh, sweetie boy!
Sondra loves him, too.”
She seized his head between her hands and held it tight, kissing him swiftly and ardently a dozen times.
“And Sondra won’t give her Clydie up either.
She won’t.
You just wait and see!
It doesn’t matter what happens now.
It may not be so very easy, but she won’t.”
Then as suddenly and practically, as so often was her way, she exclaimed:
“But we must go now, right away.
No, not another kiss now.
No, no, Sondra says no, now.
They’ll be missing us.”
And straightening up and pulling him by the arm she hurried him back to the house in time to meet Palmer Thurston, who was looking for her.
The next morning, true to her promise, there was the canter to Inspiration Point, and that before seven — Bertine and Sondra in bright red riding coats and white breeches and black boots, their hair unbound and loose to the wind, and riding briskly on before for the most part; then racing back to where he was. Or Sondra halloing gayly for him to come on, or the two of them laughing and chatting a hundred yards ahead in some concealed chapel of the aisled trees where he could not see them.
And because of the interest which Sondra was so obviously manifesting in him these days — an interest which Bertine herself had begun to feel might end in marriage, if no family complications arose to interfere — she, Bertine, was all smiles, the very soul of cordiality, winsomely insisting that he should come up and stay for the summer and she would chaperon them both so that no one would have a chance to complain.
And Clyde thrilling, and yet brooding too — by turns — occasionally — and in spite of himself drifting back to the thought that the item in the paper had inspired — and yet fighting it — trying to shut it out entirely.
And then at one point, Sondra, turning down a steep path which led to a stony and moss-lipped spring between the dark trees, called to Clyde to “Come on down.
Jerry knows the way. He won’t slip.
Come and get a drink.
If you do, you’ll come back again soon — so they say.”
And once he was down and had dismounted to drink, she exclaimed:
“I’ve been wanting to tell you something.
You should have seen Mamma’s face last night when she heard you were up here.
She can’t be sure that I had anything to do with it, of course, because she thinks that Bertine likes you, too.
I made her think that.
But just the same she suspects that I had a hand in it, I guess, and she doesn’t quite like it.
But she can’t say anything more than she has before.
And I had a talk with Bertine just now and she’s agreed to stick by me and help me all she can.
But we’ll have to be even more careful than ever now, because I think if Mamma got too suspicious I don’t know what she might do — want us to leave here, even now maybe, just so I couldn’t see you.
You know she feels that I shouldn’t be interested in any one yet except some one she likes.
You know how it is.
She’s that way with Stuart, too.
But if you’ll take care not to show that you care for me so much whenever we’re around any one of our crowd, I don’t think she’ll do anything — not now, anyhow.
Later on, in the fall, when we’re back in Lycurgus, things will be different.
I’ll be of age then, and I’m going to see what I can do.
I never loved any one before, but I do love you, and, well, I won’t give you up, that’s all.
I won’t.
And they can’t make me, either!”
She stamped her foot and struck her boot, the while the two horses looked idly and vacantly about.
And Clyde, enthused and astonished by this second definite declaration in his behalf, as well as fired by the thought that now, if ever, he might suggest the elopement and marriage and so rid himself of the sword that hung so threateningly above him, now gazed at Sondra, his eyes filled with a nervous hope and a nervous fear.
For she might refuse, and change, too, shocked by the suddenness of his suggestion.
And he had no money and no place in mind where they might go either, in case she accepted his proposal.
But she had, perhaps, or she might have.
And having once consented, might she not help him?
Of course.