_ PART THREE CHAPTER VII
This information seemingly conveyed no startling intelligence.
"Well," replied Mrs. Winthrop, evidently awaiting a further statement.
"I haven't tried to win her love, nor have I told her that I love her, because I knew that in your plans for her future you had never included me. I know what you think about family, and I don't want to make ill return for the courtesy and kindness you and Mr. Winthrop have always shown me."
"David, you have one rare trait--gratitude. I did have plans for Carey--plans built on the basis of 'family'; but I have learned from you that there are other things, like the trait I mentioned, for instance, that count more than lineage. Before we went abroad I knew Carey was interested in you, with the first flutter of a young girl's fancy, and I was secretly antagonistic to that feeling. But last night, David, I came to feel differently. I envied your mother when I read those banners. If I had a son like you, I'd feel honored to take in washing or anything else for him."
At the look of ineffable sadness in his eyes her tears came.
"David," she said gently, after a pause, "if you can win Carey's love, I shall gladly give my consent."
He thanked her incoherently, and was seized with an uncontrollable longing to get away--to be alone with this great, unbelievable happiness. In realization of his mood, she left him under pretext of ordering the luncheon. On her return she found him exuberant, in a flow of spirits and pleasantry.
"Mrs. Winthrop," he said earnestly, as he was taking his departure, "I am not going to tell Carey just yet that I love her."
"As you wish, David. I shall not mention our conversation."
She smiled as the door closed upon him.
"Tell her! I wonder if he doesn't know that every time he looks at her, or speaks her name, he tells her. But I suppose he has some foolish mannish pride about waiting until he is governor."
When David, in a voice vibrant with new-found gladness, finished an eloquent address to a United Band of Workmen, he found Mr. Winthrop waiting for him.
"I was sent to bring you to the hotel to dine with us, David. My wife told me of your conversation."
Noting the look of apprehension in David's eyes, he continued:
"Every time a suitor for Carey has crossed our threshold I've turned cold at the thought of relinquishing my guardianship. With you it is different; I can only quote Carey's childish remark--'with David I would have no afraidments.'"
A touch upon his shoulder prevented David's reply. He turned to find Joe and Fletcher.
"Knowles has been looking for you everywhere. He wants you to come to headquarters at once."
"Is it important?" asked David hesitatingly.
"Important! Knowles! Say, David, have you forgotten that you are running for governor?"
Winthrop laughed appreciatively.
"Go back to Knowles, David, and come to us when you can. We have no iron-clad rules as to hours. Go with him, Joe, to be sure he doesn't forget where he is going. Come with me, Fletcher."
"It's too late to call now," remonstrated Joe, when David had finally made his escape from headquarters.
David muttered that time was made for slaves, and increased his pace. When they reached the hotel Joe refused to go to the Winthrop's apartment.
David found Carey alone in the sitting room.
"David," she asked, after one glance into his eyes, "what has changed you? Good news from Mr. Knowles?"
"No, Carey," he replied, his eyes growing luminous. "It was something your mother said to me this morning."
"Oh, I am glad. What was it she said?"
"She told me," he evaded, "that you were going to visit the Randalls."
"And that is what makes you look so--cheered?" she persisted.
"No, Carey. May I tell you at two o'clock in the afternoon, the day after election?"
She laughed delightedly.
"That sounds like our childhood days. You used to put notes in the old apple tree--do you remember?--asking Janey and me to meet you two hours before sundown at the end of the picket fence."
Further confidential conversation was prevented by the entrance of the others. Joe had been captured, and Mrs. Winthrop had ordered a supper served in the rooms.
"Carey," asked her mother softly, when they were alone that night, "did David tell you what a cozy little luncheon we had?"
"He told me, mother, that you said something to him that made him very happy, but he would not tell me what it was."
Something in her mother's gaze made Carey lift her violets as a shield to her face.
"She knows!" thought Mrs. Winthrop. "But does she care?" _