“Can’t I help you?” Ellen offered, coming close.

“Thank you, I can manage it.  I had it too tight.  I suppose your guest will be gone before I come back?”

“I don’t know.  He needs a long rest, and we shall keep him just as long as he can be contented.  Not that he is contented to be idle, but it is what he needs.  He is going to need diversion, too, and perhaps you can help supply it, when you come back.  Do you know him well enough to know what an interesting man he is?”

“I have heard people talk about him who do,” said Miss Ruston.  “But I hope he will be quite recovered and away before I come back—­for his own sake.  There, I believe this veil’s on, at last.  What a terrible colour it gives one to drive in the sun all afternoon!  I must put on plenty of cold cream to-night, or I shall be a fright to-morrow.”

“Why, you are burned!  I hadn’t noticed it before.  And the top was up, all the time, too.  But it’s very becoming, Charlotte, since it seems to have confined itself to your cheeks.  One’s nose is usually the worst sufferer.”

“That will probably show later.  I must be off.  Thank you, dear—­dearest—­for all you have done for me to-day.  It’s been such a happy day, I can’t tell you how I feel about it.”

Charlotte Chase Ruston laid her burning, rose-hued cheek against her friend’s—­cool and quite unburned by the drive—­embraced her, and hurried down the stairs.  She seemed in haste to be off, but it was like her to be eager to do whatever was to be done.  Ellen looked after her as the Macauley car bore her away.

“Dear Charlotte!” she said to herself.  “It’s like having a warm, invigorating wind sweep over one to have her company, even for a day.  How I shall enjoy her, when she comes!  Of all the young women I know she seems to me the most alive.  I wish Dr. Leaver had been down to-day.  He would surely have liked to see her; I never knew a man who didn’t.  If he has ever met her, he must remember her.  But perhaps he will want to run away, if he knows any one who knows him has found him out.  Perhaps it will be better not to tell him—­just yet.”

CHAPTER VIII

UNDER THE APPLE TREE

“A walk, Miss Mathewson?  Yes, I’ll take a walk—­or a pill—­or whatever is due.  Did you ever have a more obedient patient?”

John Leaver rose slowly from the steamer-chair in a corner of the porch where he had been lying, staring idly at the vines which sheltered him from the village street, or out at the strip of lawn upon which the early evening light was falling.  His tall figure straightened itself; evidently it cost him an effort to force his shoulders into their naturally erect carriage.  But as he walked down the path by Miss Mathewson’s side there was not much look of the invalid about him.  His face, though still rather thin, showed a healthy colour, the result of constant exposure to the sun and air.  His days were spent wholly out of doors.