And at four she was waiting for him on the front veranda in a house dress that was--well, it was not quite the proper costume for such an occasion, but no one else was to see, and he didn't know about that sort of thing--and the gown gave her charms their best possible exposure except evening dress, which was out of the question.She had not long to wait.One of the clocks within hearing had struck and another was just beginning to strike when she saw him coming toward the house.She furtively watched him, admiring his walk without quite knowing why.You may perhaps know the walk that was Victor's--a steady forward advance of the whole body held firmly, almost rigidly --the walk of a man leading another to the scaffold, or of a man being led there in conscious innocence, or of a man ready to go wherever his purposes may order--ready to go without any heroics or fuss of any kind, but simply in the course of the day's business.When a man walks like that, he is worth observing-- and it is well to think twice before obstructing his way.
That steady, inevitable advance gave Jane Hastings an absurd feeling of nervousness.She had an impulse to fly, as from some oncoming danger.Yet what was coming, in fact? A clever young man of the working class, dressed in garments of the kind his class dressed in on Sunday, and plebeianly carrying a bundle under his arm.
``Our clock says you are three seconds late,'' cried she, laughing and extending her hand in a friendly, equal way that would have immensely flattered almost any man of her own class.
``But another protests that you are one second early.''
``I'm one of those fools who waste their time and their nerves by being punctual,'' said he.
He laid the books on the wicker sofa.But instead of sitting Jane said: ``We might be interrupted here.Come to the west veranda.''
There she had him in a leafy solitude--he facing her as she posed in fascinating grace in a big chair.He looked at her--not the look of a man at a woman, but the look of a busy person at one who is about to show cause for having asked for a portion of his valuable time.She laughed--and laughter was her best gesture.
``I can never talk to you if you pose like that,'' said she.
``Honestly now, is your time so pricelessly precious?''
He echoed her laugh and settled himself more at his ease.``What did you want of me?'' he asked.
``I intend to try to get better hours and better wages for the street car men,'' said she.``To do it, I must know just what is right--what I can hope to get.General talk is foolish.If I go at father I must have definite proposals to make, with reasons for them.I don't want him to evade.I would have gotten my information elsewhere, but I could think of no one but you who might not mislead me.''
She had confidently expected that this carefully thought out scheme would do the trick.He would admire her, would be interested, would be drawn into a position where she could enlist him as a constant adviser.He moved toward the edge of his chair as if about to rise.He said, pleasantly enough but without a spark of enthusiasm:
``That's very nice of you, Miss Hastings.But I can't advise you--beyond saying that if I were you, I shouldn't meddle.''
She--that is, her vanity--was cut to the quick.``Oh!'' said she with irony, ``I fancied you wished the laboring men to have a better sort of life.''
