George Lockwood read the letter twice and tossed it in the waste-basket. A week passed, and he got another letter from Hilltop, Pa.
Dear Mr. Lockwood:
I take the liberty of writing to you because whatever my father said to you at the picnic, he did not mean it. I know that he has written you a letter of apology but he is still upset by what he said. He will not tell me what it was because he said it was so “awful.” My mother also refuses to discuss it with me as my father has forbidden her to repeat what he said to you. Whatever he said, I have never seen him so upset and I know it is preying on his mind. I would be extremely grateful if you would accept his apology (if you can do so.) and write him a note to that effect. You don’t know my father but I assure you that in all his life he has never intentionally caused anyone harm, he is too gentle and kind to hurt anyone.
Sincerely yours,
Agnes Wynne
He was rereading her letter in his office when his father came to leave for the noon meal. “Feminine stationery,” said Abraham Lockwood. “Did you make a conquest?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” said George Lockwood.
Theron Wynne’s letter had if anything annoyed George Lockwood more than the blunder; George Lockwood had been annoyed, irritated, angered, but that had passed, and the letter only served to remind him of the blunder and repeat the annoyance. It was, moreover, undignified of a middle-aged man to be, as he said, so abject, and George Lockwood failed to answer the letter because he felt Theron Wynne did not deserve an answer. But the letter from Agnes Wynne was from Agnes Wynne. Until her letter there had been no reason or excuse or opportunity to see her again. Now that was changed.
Dear Mr. Wynne:
I wish to thank you for your letter. I assure you that I bear no “hard feelings” as to the things that were said at the picnic, knowing that no harm was intended. I have often been in the same predicament myself. I am planning to visit Wilkes-Barre and Hilltop on business in the near future and trust that I may have the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Wynne and yourself and charming daughter. I remain,
Sincerely yours,
George Lockwood
It made no difference that George Lockwood had no business to transact in Wilkes-Barre or Hilltop. Three days after he mailed his letter he was urgently invited to break his journey with an overnight stop at Lake Wynne, where the Theron Wynnes had a summer cottage.
The foolishly pathetic joy of the forgiven bungler was all over Theron Wynne’s pinched little face, and Bessie Wynne was pleased because her husband was pleased. They seemed to think he had come to see them, and he was not left alone with Agnes until after supper. “I have to be at the colliery at seven A.M., so I hope you’ll excuse me if I go to bed with the chickens.”
“It’s nice being here at the cottage, but the only objection is Mr. Wynne has to get up an hour earlier,” said Mrs. Wynne.
“Yes. I’d like to sit up and talk, but ha’ past four comes early.”
Mr. and Mrs. Wynne at last retired.
“You might have answered my letter, too,” said Agnes.
“I wondered what was making you so stand-offish. So that was it? If you want the honest truth, I wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for your letter. That’s my answer. I would have stayed on the outs with your father, but not with you.”
“I wouldn’t have apologized.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“No. If you didn’t have the good sense to know that what he said wasn’t deliberate. I mean if I’d said it. Or anyone. Nobody makes that kind of a faux pas intentionally.”
“Nobody makes any faux pas intentionally. That’s what a faux pas is, if I remember correctly. But people ought to be more careful what they say and who they say it to.”
“Are you always that careful?”
“I thought you didn’t know what your father said.”
“I found out. He was so upset he finally told me,” she said. “May I ask you a personal question? Did you ever know your grandfather?”
“Of course I knew him. I knew him very well. He used to tell me about the War. He was wounded at Bull Run.”
“Was he always going around shooting people?”
“I could take umbrage at that.”
“I can’t help it. He sounds so different from the only man I really know well, my father.”
“Oh, come now, Miss Wynne. The only man? I saw you at your ball, don’t forget.”
“Half of them I didn’t know any better than I know you.”
“You will, though.”
“Don’t know as I care to.”
“Have you ever been kissed?”
“Certainly not.”
“What’s the matter with the local swains in this part of the world?”
“Nothing the matter with them. They know how to respect a lady, as gentlemen do everywhere.”
“If I asked you for a kiss would you call for help?”
“No. But that’s what your answer would be—no.”
“Then if I stole a kiss?”
“Is that the real reason why you came here, Mr. Lockwood?”
“You’re catching on. Yes.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re not staying long. I’d hate to think of you wasting your valuable time. I’ve heard that about Princeton men, that they have a very high opinion of themselves as heartbreakers. Dear me, to think that I should be so honored.”
“Dishonored, don’t you mean? You sound as though a harmless little kiss was the next thing to a seduction.”
“Really, Mr. Lockwood. This is going too far.”
“At least I see you know the meaning of the word.”
“You can know the meanings of words without—I know what surgery means, too, but I don’t care to undergo an operation.”
“I wish I’d brought my chloroform.”
“Your chloroform? I don’t get your meaning.”
“You mentioned surgery. Maybe if I had some chloroform with me I could put you to sleep and then I could kiss you.”
“What an unpleasant thought. Your mind must be in the gutter, to have ideas like that.”
“My mind is often in the gutter, but at least I’m willing to admit it.”
“Anyone can tell that, just by listening to your conversation.”
“When you get into your little bed tonight, think of me in my bed and only a thin wall separating us.”
“Good-night, Mr. Lockwood.” She was gone, but in a minute or so she came back, still angry. “Are you staying up, because otherwise I have to blow out the lamps.”
“I’ll blow them out. Will it bother you if I leave mine on in my bedroom? Will you be able to sleep?”
“I’m sure I’ll be able to sleep, thank you.”
For an hour after he went to bed he tapped his fingernail intermittently on the thin, varnished wall. At breakfast Bessie Wynne said, “Did you sleep well, Mr. Lockwood? Sometimes the first night in the woods people have a hard time getting to sleep.”
“Slept like a top. Did you sleep well, Miss Wynne?”
“Me? Not very. I thought I heard a mouse or a rat.”
“But you’re not afraid of them,” said her mother. “Some of the houses we’ve lived in when Mr. Wynne and I were first married.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of them but they keep me awake.”
“Mr. Wynne said to say goodbye and tell you how nice it was to have you with us. And if you’re coming up this way again, we wouldn’t think of letting you stay in the hotel. At least not the one in Hilltop.”
“Well, now I may take you up on that, Mrs. Wynne. I have to pay several visits around here this summer. My father makes me do most of the traveling now that he’s getting on a bit.”