The Trumpeter Swan | Page 4

poets of the world
have sung----

Of course Dalton did not think of her in quite that way. He knew
something of Browning and little of Keats, but he had at least the wit to
discern the rareness of her type.
As for the rest, she wore faded blue, which melted into the blue of the
mists, stubbed and shabby russet shoes and an air of absorption in her
returned soldier. This absorption Dalton found himself subconsciously
resenting. Following an instinctive urge, he emerged, therefore, from
his chrysalis of ill-temper, and smiled upon a transformed universe.
"My raincoat, Kemp," he said, and strode forth across the platform, a
creature as shining and splendid as ever trod its boards.
Becky, beholding him, asked, "Is that Major Prime?"
"No, thank Heaven."
Jefferson, steering the Major expertly, came up at this moment. Then,
splashing down the red road whirled the gorgeous limousine. There
were two men on the box. Kemp, who had been fluttering around
Dalton with an umbrella, darted into the waiting-room for the bags. The
door of the limousine was opened by the footman, who also had an
umbrella ready. Dalton hesitated, his eyes on that shabby group by the
mud-stained surrey. He made up his mind suddenly and approached
young Paine.
"We can take one of you in here. You'll be crowded with all of those
bags."
"Not a bit. We'll manage perfectly, thank you," Randy's voice
dismissed him.
He went, with a lingering glance backward. Becky, catching that glance,
waked suddenly to the fact that he was very good-looking. "It was kind
of him to offer, Randy."
"Was it?"

Nothing more was said, but Becky wondered a bit as they drove on.
She liked Major Prime. He was an old dear. But why had Randy
thanked Heaven that the other man was not the Major?
III
The Waterman motor passed the surrey, and Dalton, straining his eyes
for a glimpse of the pretty girl, was rewarded only by a view of Randy
on the front seat with his back turned on the world, while he talked
with someone hidden by the curtains.
Perhaps the fact that she was hidden by the curtains kept Dalton's
thoughts upon her. He felt that her beauty must shine even among the
shadows--he envied Major Prime, who sat next to her.
The Major was aware that his position was enviable. It was worth much
to watch these two young people, eager in their reunion. "Becky
Bannister, whom I have known all my life," had been Randy's
presentation of the little lady with the shining hair.
"Grandfather doesn't know that I came, or Aunt Claudia. They felt that
your mother ought to see you first and so did I. Until the last minute.
Then I saw Jefferson driving by--I was down at the gate to wave to you,
Randy--and I just came----" her gay laugh was infectious--the men
laughed with her.
"You must let me out when we get to Huntersfield, and you mustn't
tell--either of you. We are all to dine together to-night at your house,
Randy, and when you meet me, you are to say--'Becky'--just as you did
to-day, as if I had fallen from the skies."
"Well, you did fall--straight," Randy told her. "Becky, you are too good
to be true; oh, you're too pretty to be true. Isn't she, Major?"
"It is just because I am--American. Are you glad to get back to us,
Randy?"
"Glad," he drew a long breath. Nellie, who had wedged herself in

tightly between her master and Jefferson, wriggled and licked his hand.
He looked down at her, tried to say something, broke a little on it, and
ended abruptly, "It's Heaven."
"And you weren't hurt?"
"Not a scratch, worse luck."
She turned to Major Prime and did the wise thing and the thing he liked.
"You were," she said, simply, "but I am not going to be sorry for you,
shall I?"
"No," he said, "I am not sorry for--myself----"
For a moment there was silence, then Becky carried the conversation
into lighter currents. "Everybody is here for the Horse Show next week.
Your mother's house is full, and those awful Waterman people have
guests."
"One of them came down with us."
"The good-looking man who offered us a ride?"
"Oh, of course if you like that kind of looks, he's the kind of man you'd
like," said Randy, "but coming down he seemed rather out of tune with
the universe."
"How out of tune?"
"Well, it was hot and he was hot----"
"It is hot, Randy, and perhaps he isn't used to it."
"Are you making excuses for him?"
"I don't even know him."
Major Prime interposed. "His man was a corking little chap, never
turned a hair, as cool as a cucumber, with everybody else sizzling."

They