The surroundings had never looked so bare as then, and a sense of the
loneliness of the shabby furnishings filled her. The ghastliness of
the arc-lights, the forbidding whiteness of the walls, and the
penetrating odors of the kitchen seemed all brought out by the presence
of a man alone.
Mrs. Whitney continued to jest, but Gertrude responded mechanically.
Glover was eating his supper when the two rose from their table, and
Mrs. Whitney led the way toward him.
"So, this is the invalid," she said, halting abruptly before him.
"Mrs. Whitney!" exclaimed Glover, trying hastily to rise as he caught
sight of Gertrude.
"Will you please be seated?" commanded Mrs. Whitney. "I insist----"
He sat down. "We want only to remind you," she went on, "that we hate
to be completely ignored by the engineering department even when not
officially in its charge."
"But, Mrs. Whitney, I can't sit if you are to stand," he answered,
greeting Gertrude and her aunt together.
"You are an invalid; be seated. Nothing but toast?" objected Mrs.
Whitney, drawing out a chair and sitting down. "Do you expect to mend
broken ribs on toast?"
"I'm well mended, thank you. Do I look like an invalid?"
"But we heard you were seriously hurt." He laughed. "And want to
suggest Glen Tarn as a health resort."
"Unfortunately, the doctor has discharged me. In fact, a broken rib
doesn't entitle a man to a lay-off. I hope your sister continues to
improve?" he added, looking at Gertrude.
"She does, thank you. Mrs. Whitney and I have been talking of the day
we met you at the irrigation--" he did not help her to a word--"works,"
she continued, feeling the slight confusion of the pause. "You"--he
looked at her so calmly that it was still confusing--"you were hurt
before we met you and we must have seemed unconcerned under the
circumstances. We speak often at Glen Tarn of the delightful weeks we
spent in your mountain wilds last summer," she added.
Glover thanked her, but appeared absorbed in Mrs. Whitney's attempt to
disengage her eye-glasses from their holder, and Gertrude made no
further effort to break his restraint. Mrs. Whitney talked, and Glover
talked, but Gertrude reserved her bolt until just before their train
started.
He had gone with them, and they were standing on the platform before
the vestibule steps of their Pullman car. As the last moment
approached it was not hard to see that Glover was torn between Mrs.
Whitney's rapid-fire talk and a desire to hear something from Gertrude.
She waited till the train was moving before she loosed her shaft. Mrs.
Whitney had ascended the steps, the porter was impatient, Glover
nervous. Gertrude turned with a smile and a totally bewildering
cordiality on the unfortunate man. "My sister," her glove was on the
hand-rail, "sends some sort of a message to Mr. Glover every time I
come to Medicine Bend--but the gist of them all is that she would be
very"--the train was moving and they were stepping along with it--"glad
to see you at Glen Tarn before----"