Amherst’s face darkened at the allusion, and his mother said hurriedly: “Ah, she was tired, poor child; but I’m only afraid that after the summer’s rest, she may want some more active occupation than looking after a little girl.”
“Oh, I think not—she’s so fond of Cicely. And of course it’s everything to her to have a comfortable home.”
Mrs. Amherst smiled. “At her age, it’s not always everything.”
Mrs. Dressel stared slightly. “Oh, Justine’s twenty-seven, you know; she’s not likely to marry now,” she said, with the mild finality of the early-wedded.
She rose as she spoke, extending cordial hands of farewell. “You must be so busy preparing for the great day … if only it doesn’t rain!.… No, please, Mr. Amherst!… It’s a mere step—I’m walking.…”
That afternoon, as Amherst walked out toward Westmore for a survey of the final preparations, he found that, among the pleasant thoughts accompanying him, one of the pleasantest was the anticipation of seeing Justine Brent.
Among the little group who were to surround him on the morrow, she was the only one discerning enough to understand what the day meant to him, or with
sufficient knowledge to judge of the use he had made of
[ 445 ]
