There was a kind of a hurt grin on his pleasant mouth, and she gave him an understanding smile.
"But I am hungry," she said eagerly. "I’m simply starving! Let’s go!" She climbed into his car again, and they drove away together.
"Now, look here," said Pilgrim as they swung around the first corner, "there’s just one condition I’d like to make. Please don’t let’s have any more plaudits for that little act of picking you up and swinging you over my head——!"
"Little act!" sniffed Laurel. "Over the heads of those angry frightened cattle, you mean," said the girl. "I don’t think I can ever thank you enough—"
"But listen! I’m fed up on that I don’t want to hear any more about it. Any decent man would have done the same thing and not expect to be made a hero forever after, so please don’t! If you honestly want to thank me, just be a little kind and friendly to a poor soldier home on leave for a few hours with no one to go and see. Let’s eat dinner together as if we always had been friends and were just having a nice time together. Could you do that? I won’t ever take advantage of it. Honest I won’t!"
She turned and looked squarely at him. "Of course you won’t," she said. "Don’t you know I trust you? And yes, of course, I’ll be delighted to have dinner with you. Then we can really get acquainted. It will be much less awkward that way. ‘Old-school-friends’ stuff, you know." She gave him a dazzling smile and settled back comfortably in the rattly old jalopy.
He looked at her wistfully. How game she was! How great if she really were his friend, not just pretending for the time being. But he had better make the most of it. He wouldn’t have so very many pleasant times to remember when he was on his way to war.
"Thanks a lot," he said with a deep undertone of feeling. "That’s swell of you! Well, here’s the tearoom. Neat little place, isn’t it?"
"Why, yes, it’s very attractive. I think we’re going to have a nice time, don’t you? It’s going to be fun, soldier boy!"
He looked down admiringly at her. She seemed almost like a little girl, out on a real picnic, and something in his warm gaze stirred her heart deeply and brought a rich color into her cheeks. It made him think of the dash of crimson on the mountain.
He helped her out of the car, and together they walked up to the door.
"It’s all like a picture here," she said with a graceful caressing motion of her arm toward the flower borders of the walk, brilliant scarlet and golden autumn flowers, dashing flames of salvia, coordinated sharply, backed by gorgeous marigolds of all shades, deep maroon velvet dahlias, and tawny groups of chrysanthemums merging into pools of creamy white ones. "Isn’t it lovely?"
They lingered together looking at them, like any other young man and maiden on their way to take dinner, and for the moment both forgot that they were strangers but a brief space before.
Inside, the tables were inviting, with a few autumn roses on each, bright pretty china, and spotless linen. Phil Pilgrim seated her as courteously as any of her other young men friends would have done. It seemed all most amazing when she thought of it, only Laurel was enjoying herself too much to think of it. She had a sense of well-being, and she didn’t want to spoil it by any questions of formality. There certainly was nothing wrong in what she was doing. She did know who he was; she had seen him as a child. That he had been working hard then in common denim overalls troubled her not at all. she had plenty of friends whose brothers were taking any positions, or "jobs," as they preferred to call them, that they could get and were glad enough to get them. Why should she distinguish between them because this young man’s relatives had been poor and he had had to work hard from early childhood? Certainly he was to be honored that he had come so far with so little help.
A waitress was by their side at once, naming a long list of interesting appetizers.
"Oyster soup, oh, that sounds good!" said Laurel. "Yes, I’ll take oyster soup!"
And when it came, there was no oyster in sight, but a smooth broth of rich, warm, tempting smell and taste, with crisp crackers of odd shapes.
An attractive tray of exotic salads of quaint fashioning and colors.
Raspberry aspic jelly on a pale lettuce leaf with a dab of whipped cream; orange fritters, crisp brown with delicious orange sauce.
"But you know this is quite an extraordinary menu for a little country town," said Laurel suddenly with an amazed glance toward her companion. "Is this on the regular highway? Does it attract tourists?"
"It sure does," said Pilgrim, deciding on stuffed roast lamb for the meat course. "I never came here before, but it isn’t hard to take, is it? Or to look at either."
"I should say not," said Laurel. "My, I’m glad I came here. And in such delightful company, too! A real soldier. I am honored."
Their warm looks met and lingered, and a pleasant joy throbbed across the table.
"We’re having fun!" twinkled Laurel with another little-girl smile.
And the light from a lost childhood he had never had answered from the young man’s eyes.
When the meal was concluded, they recalled pleasant memories of a high school both had shared, till the long yellow afternoon sunshine warned them that the evening was on its way. Phil Pilgrim sat back in his chair and grew serious.
"Now," said he, "what are we going to do next? In half an hour, it will be time for that train to arrive at the station, and then we shall know whether you can have your car in the morning or not. Are we ready to spring into action as soon as we have that knowledge, or are there things we ought to be doing? Suppose you go and interview that woman at the desk about a possible room for yourself in case you decide to stay. And then on the way back to the garage, I’ve thought of a couple of alternatives we might consider."
So Laurel went to the desk and Phil stood by the door looking out, a gravely pleasant expression in his eyes. He was well aware that there were days coming when he would have to pay for these few hours of unexpected happiness by deadly loneliness. Loneliness that would perhaps wear into his heart and life forever. Yet he was glad to have had this day in spite of all possibilities.
CHAPTER IV
Adrian Faber was good-looking and wealthy. He had a fortune in his own right and not too many relatives to meddle with his affairs. he was brilliant and accomplished and owned a townhouse; a country house; a great, wide, long mansion up in the woods where he could house the whole hunting club on occasion; a yacht; a seashore cottage, sometimes called a "mansion"; and a car that was the envy of all his friends. He was young enough to be most interesting, pleasant, and full of delightful plans for having a good time.
On that particular Friday evening, he had planned an elaborate party to be held up in the woods at his hunt club, fifty miles away from the city, and in the opposite direction from Carrollton where Laurel, with a stalled car, was waiting. Laurel knew these bare facts, but she did not know as yet that Adrian had been planning to make her guest of honor, and that if his plans for driving her up to the hunt club worked out, there might be an announcement to make during the evening.
Therefore Adrian Faber was
