For if Dave had
misread Irene's heart he had deliberately closed the only door through
which he might hope to approach it. But Irene instinctively knew that
he had not misread her heart; it seemed that this bold, daring
manoeuvre had captured the citadel at a stroke. Had it not been for
some strange sense of shame--some fear that too ready capitulation
might be mistaken for weakness--she would have surrendered then.
"I think that is best," she managed so say. "We will let our
acquaintanceship ripen."
He rose and helped her with her light wrap. His fingers touched her
hand, and it seemed to him the battle was won. . . . But he had
promised not to re-open the subject.
In the street he said, "If you will wait a moment I will take you home
in my car." Their eyes met, and each of them knew what it meant. It
meant announcement to her mother that she had met Dave down town. It
meant, perhaps, a supposition on her mother's part that she had gone
down town for that purpose. It was far-reaching. But she said simply,
"I should enjoy driving home with you."
On the way they planned that the following Sunday they would drive into
the foothills together. Of course they would ask Mrs. Hardy to
accompany them. Of course. But it might happen that Mrs. Hardy would
be indisposed. She was tired with the numerous duties incident to
settling in a new home. Irene was of the opinion that what her mother
needed now was rest.
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