Richard’s face!  Richard’s face, looking—­God help her!—­as it had never looked at her; struggling—­God pity him!—­as it had never struggled for her.

She shut her hands, into each other, and sat still a little while.  A faint hope came to her then perhaps, after all; her face lightened grayly, and she crept down the bank to Del.

“I won’t be a fool,” she said, “I’ll make sure,—­I’ll make as sure as death.”

“Well, where did you drop down from, Sene?” said Del, with a guilty start.

“From over the bridge, to be sure.  Did you think I swam, or flew, or blew?”

“You came on me so sudden!” said Del, petulantly; “you nearly frightened the wits out of me.  You didn’t meet anybody on the bridge?” with a quick look.

“Let me see.”  Asenath considered gravely.  “There was one small boy making faces, and two—­no, three—­dogs, I believe; that was all.”

“Oh!”

Del looked relieved, but fell silent.

“You’re sober, Del.  Been sending off a lover, as usual?”

“I don’t know anything about its being usual,” answered Del, in an aggrieved, coquettish way, “but there’s been somebody here that liked me well enough.”

“You like him, maybe?  It’s time you liked somebody, Del.”

Del curled the red feather about her fingers, and put her hat on over her eyes, then a little cry broke from her, half sob, half anger.

“I might, perhaps,—­I don’t know.  He’s good.  I think he’d let me have a parlor and a door-bell.  But he’s going to marry somebody else, you see.  I sha’n’t tell you his name, so you needn’t ask.”

Asenath looked out straight upon the water.  A dead leaf that had been caught in an eddy attracted her attention; it tossed about for a minute, then a tiny whirlpool sucked it down.

“I wasn’t going to ask; it’s nothing to me, of course.  He doesn’t care for her then,—­this other girl?”

“Not so much as he does for me.  He didn’t mean to tell me, but he said that I—­that I looked so—­pretty, it came right out.  But there!  I mustn’t tell you any more.”

Del began to be frightened; she looked up sideways at Asenath’s quiet face.  “I won’t say another word,” and so chattered on, growing a little cross; Asenath need not look so still, and sure of herself,—­a mere humpbacked fright!

“He’ll never break his engagement, not even for me; he’s sorry for her, and all that.  I think it’s too bad.  He’s handsome.  He makes me feel like saying my prayers, too, he’s so good!  Besides, I want to be married.  I hate the mill.  I hate to work.  I’d rather be taken care of,—­a sight rather.  I feel bad enough about it to cry.”

Two tears rolled over her cheeks, and fell on the soft plaid shawl.  Del wiped them away carefully with her rounded fingers.

Asenath turned and looked at this Del Ivory long and steadily through the dusk.  The pretty, shallow thing!  The worthless, bewildering thing!