The spell under which Lida and Bennet had been influenced for the while was now broken and they returned to the reception room in time to see Louise departing. Lida started from Bennet's side toward the girl but before she could reach Louise the latter was halfway down the steps and running for the car which awaited them.
"Why—why—wh—wh—what's the matter with Louise?" Lida asked turning to Bennet. "She never acted like that before."
"I don't know," Bennet replied! "Never mind her, Girl of Mine. You'll see her at the school and perhaps she'll explain. I'm sure I don't know."
"But that's so unlike Louise. I can't understand it. I must go home and see what is the trouble."
Lida was not long in preparing for her departure and as she stepped from the reception room to the vestibule and started down the steps toward Bennet she seemed a queen stepping from some previous century and back into life. Bennet noted the lightness of her step and the happy beauty of her face. His entire being thrilled with gladness at the thought of having her love. Bennet ushered her tenderly into the car and they were off. The distance was so short from college to school that almost before they were seated the automobile in which they were riding drew up at the entrance to the school. They were loath to leave.
"Oh, here so soon?" Lida asked.
"Do you regret the shortness of this our first ride, Girl of mine?" asked Truman, again his voice vibrating like some melodic basso string.
"I don't want to go in," she confessed. "I wish we might just ride on and on and on into the night and out of it into the daylight and beyond—anywhere, so long as I'm with you."
"That's noble of you, and I love you all the more for it. The stars of this night are my witnesses. I'll ever take care of you so that you ride only in happiness." Bennet pledged confidently. Youth reckons so little on circumstances and consequences.
At the pledge she touched her head to his breast for an instant, as if silently to drink in the intoxicating experience. "I didn't know love could be so good," she sighed. Her head rested but a moment, however, before the driver had dismounted and was opening the door for them to alight. Bennet lifted her lightly from the car and escorted her up the steps and into the vestibule. There they stood a moment in parting embrace.
"I hate to leave you—Don't go, Truman, my love. I wish we might never part. I hate so to let you go. This is the happiest hour of my life. Do you blame me then for wanting to prolong it?" she asked.
"How could I blame the one I love. If parting be painful to you how much more painful must it be to me. I have been heart hungry for love like yours.
"I'll try to be both mother and sweetheart to you, Truman.—I must say good-night now and yet I hate to. Good night dear heart—May God's best angels guard you. As sleep overtakes me tonight I'll whisper your name, Truman."
"Good night. Heaven has been good to me in giving me you. A gift I shall ever cherish. A gift in which I already feel I am envied. How happy I am!"
"Let's try and temper our happiness, Truman, so it will last. I want our love to last; not be like the love of so many nowadays. With so many it is a case of off with the old love on with the new. I could not love that way. One lasting love mine shall be.—Good night, Dear—and may God keep you."
Bennet, as he reviewed the scene walking to his room failed to recall how he reached the street. His happiness was so intoxicating as to have cheated his memory of the moments intervening between his farewell with Lida and his reaching the sidewalk in front of the school. When he found himself he seemed to be gliding above the sidewalk and not touching the ground at all. This was the beginning of a happiness that continued until long after the holidays and well into the spring term.
This being Bennet's last year in college the lovers busied themselves, between studies, with planning for their home. Prom week came, one of the annual institutions of every New England college, a time when books were forgotten and the heart of youth was the only serious study undertaken. Girls at Miss Gregory's were busy with their party plans, their dresses and their beaus. The engagement of Bennet and Lida was well established in the minds of all the girls despite efforts on the part of the two at concealing the fact from the general public. All the girls were aware of the state of affairs with the single exception of the head of the school. With proverbial consistency the only person who should have known most of all of the engagement was the one person who did not, Miss Gregory.
Following the encounter of Louise Comstock with Lida and Bennet at the President's reception intercourse between the two girls was strained and difficult. Lida was so centered in her studies and Bennet, that she gave little heed to the incident and the two girls having no classes together, any personal contact or confidences was easily avoided, particularly since Louise made a very studied effort to escape contact where possible. From the hour of the reception, however, there came over Louise Comstock a mood that changed her from a happy hearted and usually frank girl into a quiet, taciturn and somewhat morose miss.
The occasion for the change disclosed itself, when lessons aside a group of the young women had ensconced themselves in the corner of the great reception room on the main floor of the school, amid a profusion of sofa pillows and were discussing partners and escorts for the dance, the feature of Prom week.
"Paul will be here from Yale, just think of that girls!" chattered one of the group.
"Yes, and Harry will come to take me. He wrote me yesterday that he could get away," spoke up another.
Louise Comstock was just coming into the room from one of the upper floors when several of the girls spoke at once:
"Who's going to take you, to the dance, Louise?" She hesitated and flushed before speaking. She had had several of the young men from college inviting her to be their guests but had refused them all. She was hoping for an invitation from one, but that one never realized, so never asked her. Pressed for an answer, as the girls grouped themselves about her she waved them aside with only the words, "wait and see."
"Oh, I hate mysteries. Why make one of this, Louise. Come on, be a sport, tell us. I'm not afraid to say, Paul will take me. Harry is to take Madge and we each know who the other girls' fussers are. Who's yours."
"Wait and see," was all she would answer. With that she departed. When she left, however, there was determination in her mind. It was rather a bold move and she flushed as she determined but decided to go through with it. Going to her room she hastily scribbled a note, donned her wraps and left for the street as if to mail it. She walked toward the men's college and when near there espied a small boy peddling papers.
"Take this note to the address on it—and here's a dime for your trouble."
The urchin took the note in his soiled hands, looked at the dime then read the address and answered, knowingly, "Yes Miss. Any answer?"
"No. Just say I'm waiting" she suggested.
The youngster made his way across the campus to the main college hall and up to Bennet's room. After rapping on the door and being bidden to enter, the boy asked:
"Is Mr. Bennet here?"
"This is Mr. Bennet," answered Truman at which the note was handed to him. The boy waited while Bennet read:
Dear Mr. Bennet:
I know this is unconventional but I would like a few words with you. I'll be waiting at the main gate.
At reading the signature Bennet immediately thought of Lida but the note not being in her handwriting he realized it was not she who wished to see him. He had forgotten Louise for the time. He reread the note and stood gazing at it till recalled by the words of the newsboy who was still waiting.
"She's a swell Dame that's waitin' for youze" he volunteered hoping for another tip, knowing from experience the prodigality of college boys, particularly where note carrying was concerned. He was disappointed, however, for Bennet instead of handing him another coin or making any remark got into his hat and coat and strode down the stairs. At the gate he was greeted with an extended hand, and:
"How do you do, Mr. Bennet?"
Bennet raised his hat and smiled, a little bit puzzled; then waited for the girl to speak again.
"I suppose I'm very bold and I've lost in your estimation but I've wanted for ever so long to let you know how grateful I was for the way you came to our rescue that afternoon last fall. At first I did not know who you were, and could not thank you; then I have not seen you very much since, and there has been no opportunity."
"Oh, there's no need for thanks, Miss—Miss—Comstock?" He recalled the name at mention of the rescue. "I sincerely hope you are recovered and have not suffered from the experience."
Louise placed her hands over her heart to still the perturbation there but failed. Her breath came in short puffs and confusion suffused her face. She was glad to note that Bennet had not embarrassed her by failing to remember her.
"I shall never forget your bravery, Mr. Bennet—and I can never thank you enough. You don't know how often I wished for the opportunity to personally express my gratitude," she exclaimed. "It never came so I sought it tonight. Do you think the less of me for it."
"On the contrary I honor you for the frankness you've shown. In these days of flappers and feminism it is thoroughly in keeping with the times that you should act with freedom."
"You'll think me bolder still and less feminine when I tell you that I have a great favor to ask of you"—she touched his arm as she essayed to speak. "Now don't pledge yourself till you know what it is. That wouldn't be fair to you. I have a special reason for asking.—It is that you allow me to be your guest at the dance."
The two had been walking slowly along the twilight brightened street. When she made the request, Bennet halted and faced the girl, surprise almost taking his breath away. Bennet thought of Lida then wondered. He looked at the girl at his side and saw only earnestness and sincerity in her face. At first he was on the point of denouncing her but at sight of the seriousness mirrored in her countenance he controlled himself and was all sympathy.
"You can't really mean that, Miss Comstock. You're joking" Bennet managed to say.
"I'm in deep earnest, Mr. Bennet." The tone proved her sincerity.
The solemnity with which the words were uttered and the expression on the girl's face were convincing. They had paused in their walk and stood facing each other. There was a long silence in which the nervous breathing of each could be heard. One could also almost hear the throbbing of the girl's heart. Bennet spoke at last, in his deep vibrant voice.
"Pardon me. I couldn't sense it at first. I'm sorry—very sorry I cannot, however much I like to oblige a lady and relieve her of the embarrassment of such a situation. I would not have had this happen for the world. Why,—don't you know of my engagement—Miss Comstock you can't be serious. I'm engaged to Miss Lida Lauriston. Didn't you know that?"
"Engaged to Lida? Oh-h-h-h—I didn't know. I didn't know. I didn't know." At these words the girl was overcome with a fit of weeping for a few moments, great spasms of grief shaking her entire body. Suddenly, with teats blinding her she wheeled and hurriedly—almost ran from him.