and murmured, “The dear child!” and then gave a little wistful sigh.
It was raining hard all day that day, but Sherrill was like a bright ray of sunshine. It was not raining rain to her; it was raining pansies and forget-me-nots in her heart, and she did not at all understand what meant this great lightheartedness that had come to her. She had never felt toward anyone before as she felt toward this stranger. She had utterly forgotten her lost bridegroom. She chided herself again and again and tried to be sober and staid, but still there was that happy little thrill in her heart, and her lips bubbled over into song now and then when she hardly knew it.
Aunt Pat sat with a dreamy smile on her lips and watched her, going back over the years to an old country graveyard and a boy with grave, sweet eyes.
Three days this went on, three happy days for both Sherrill and Aunt Pat, and on the morning of the fourth day there came a great box of golden-hearted roses for Sherrill, and no card whatever in them. An hour later the telephone rang. A long-distance call for Sherrill.
With cheeks aflame and heart beating like a trip-hammer, she hurried to the telephone, not even noticing the cold disapproval of Gemmie, who had brought the message.
“Is that you, Sherrill?” came leaping over the wire in a voice that had suddenly grown precious.
“Oh yes, Graham!” answered Sherrill in a voice that sounded like a caress. “Where are you?”
“I’m in Chicago,” said a strong glad voice. “I want to come and see you this afternoon about something very important. Are you going to be at home?”
“Oh, surely, yes, all day,” lilted Sherrill, “but how could you possibly come and see me today if you are in Chicago?”
“I’m flying! I’ll be there just as soon as I can. I’m starting right away!”
“Oh, how wonderful!” breathed Sherrill, starry eyes looking into the darkness around the telephone, almost lighting up the place, smiling lips beaming into the reciever. “I—I’m—glad!”
“That’s grand!” said the deep big voice at the other end of the line. “I’m gladder than ever that you are glad! Are you all right?”
“Oh, quite all right!” chirruped Sherrill. “I’m righter than all right—now!”
“Well, then, I’ll be seeing you—shortly. I’m at the airport now, and I’m starting immediately! Good-bye—darling!”
The last word was so soft, so indefinite that it gave the impression of having been whispered after the lips had been turned away from the phone, and Sherrill was left in doubt whether she had not just imagined it after all.
She came away from the telephone with her eyes still starrier and her cheeks rosier than they had been when she went to it. She brushed by the still-disapproving Gemmie, who was doing some very unnecessary dusting in the hall, and rushed up to her aunt’s room.
“Oh, Aunt Pat!” she said breathlessly. “He’s coming! He’s flying! He’s coming this afternoon. Do you mind if we don’t go for a ride as we’d planned?”
“Who’s coming, child?” snapped Aunt Pat with her wry grin and a wicked little twinkle in her eye. “Be more explicit.”
“Why, Graham is coming,” said Sherrill eagerly, her face wreathed in smiles.
“Graham indeed! And who might Graham be? Graham Smith or Graham Jones? And when did we get so intimate as to be calling each other by our first names?”
For answer Sherrill went laughing and hid her hot cheeks in the roseleaf coolness of the old lady’s neck. The old lady patted her shoulder and smoothed her soft hair as if she had been a baby.
“Well,” said Aunt Pat with her twisted smile, “it begins to look as if that young man had a great deal of business in the east, doesn’t it? It must be expensive to travel around in airplanes the way he does, but it’s certainly interesting to have a man drop right down out of the skies that way. Now, let me see, what are you going to wear, child? How about that little blue organdy? You look like a sweet child in that. I like it. Wear that. Those cute little white scallops around the neck and sleeves remind me of a dress I had when I was sixteen. My mother knew how to make scallops like that.”
“I’ll wear it, of course,” said Sherrill eagerly. “How lovely it must have been to have a mother to make scallops for you. But I don’t know as that is any better than having a