With a quick bound she almost fell into the first room at the
top of the stairs.
Bles Alwyn had hurried through his dinner duties and hastened to the
Oaks. The questions, the doubts, the uncertainty within him were
clamoring for utterance. How much had Mrs. Cresswell ever known of Zora?
What kind of a woman was Zora now? Mrs. Cresswell had seen her and had
talked to her and watched her. What did she think? Thus he formulated
his questions as he went, half timid, and fearful in putting them and
yet determined to know.
Mrs. Cresswell, waiting for him, was almost panic-stricken. Probably he
would beat round the bush seeking further encouragement; but at the
slightest indication she must crush him ruthlessly and at the same time
point the path of duty. He ought to marry some good girl--not Zora, but
some one. Somehow Zora seemed too unusual and strange for him--too
inhuman, as Mary Cresswell judged humanity. She glanced out from her
seat on the upper verandah over the front porch and saw Alwyn coming.
Where should she receive him? On the porch and have Mr. Maxwell ride up?
In the parlor and have the servants astounded and talking? If she took
him up to her own sitting-room the servants would think he was doing
some work or fetching something for the school. She greeted him briefly
and asked him in.
"Good-afternoon, Bles"--using his first name to show him his place, and
then inwardly recoiling at its note of familiarity.
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