The Open Question Part 90

"The book marked me, why shouldn't I mark the book?"

"What does it say here?"

He shook his head.

"Please tell me."

"I thought you had studied Latin."

"Y--yes; I know what the words mean, but I don't know what the sentences mean. Do translate this little bit."

"Nonsense! I might as well have it in English at once."

"You don't like people to know what you read?"

"I don't like people to read what I mark."

"Why not?"

"It's like leaving your diary open. Why should people--"

"I'm not 'people.' Mayn't I know this tiny bit?--'Meditare utrum commodius sit, vel mortem transire ad nos vel nos ad eam.' What's that?"

Ethan only smiled.

"You never gave me back my watch."

"I forgot. No; I can't think why I tell such lies. I didn't forget at all. Oh, here comes Mrs. Ball," she said, with an accent of despair, "and we've not said a word about--"

"Bother Mrs. Ball!" Ethan e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed under his breath; and his cousin blessed him.

Val's hostess hurried down the bank, and Ethan handed her into the boat.

Harry was left to cope with the basket.

"Now, what are you two arranging for to-morrow?" said the lady, settling herself in the boat.

"We weren't arranging," replied Val; "we were speaking about a book."

She had put the volume back in the pocket of Ethan's jacket.

"There's a dance at the O'Connors' to-morrow night," said Mrs. Ball; "perhaps you'd like to come with us."

She saw herself entering on Mr. Gano's arm.

"Ah, thanks; you're very kind, but I don't go to dances these days."

Mrs. Ball tried to think she was relieved on Val's account, but she couldn't help saying, with an air:

"The O'Connors are among the first people here; they entertain in the most princely way."

"_I_ was suggesting a day's fis.h.i.+ng down by the Gray Pool," said Harry, appearing with the basket; "it's that place on the Little Choctaw River."

"Nothing could be better," Ethan agreed.

And then he stopped, having caught Val's unenthusiastic glance. Another day to be lived through, cooped up in a boat, she was thinking; or pursued, at all events, by two superfluous people.

"Yes," said Mrs. Ball, "the scenery on the Little Choctaw is very wild and splendid. A cousin of mine--you know, Harry, cousin Bettie MacFadden--she says it's just like some place abroad--in Scotland, I think."

"Oh, really," said Ethan, in his charming way, "I must see that, but we might go fis.h.i.+ng on a dull day. If it's as fine as this to-morrow, why not-- Don't I remember"--he turned to Mrs. Ball--"that you're a very good horsewoman?"

"Oh--er--well--"

"They were telling me at the hotel you have a ride hereabouts out to some wild park."

"Yes; he means Forest Park Lodge," said Wilbur.

"Let us go there," said Ethan, "and I'll wire them to have luncheon ready."

It was all arranged before they parted, Mrs. Ball salving any p.r.i.c.k of conscience by a.s.suring herself it was far better not to seem afraid of this masterful Mr. Gano, with his reputation for being dangerous. It was right, and even politic, not to "leave him out." All that was necessary was that she, Mrs. Ball, should "be there."

"I don't ask you to come back with us to-night," she said, on their return to town. "We have time only to s.n.a.t.c.h a mouthful before going to a concert."

Mrs. Ball had a sense of playing up with grace and distinction to some imaginary standard of life abroad. "He will find me much more like the ladies he knows in London and Paris than most people about here."

Val had told herself that Ethan had invented the ride so that they should be freer; they would get ahead of the others, or fall behind, and have some time to themselves. But Mrs. Ball started off next morning with Mr. Gano, and ruthlessly rode beside him all the way. Val alternately raged in her heart, and forgot how sore it was, watching one of those two on in front. How well he sat his horse! But so did Harry.

What was it in Ethan that distinguished him so from other men, and set him for ever apart? She tried to give it a name while Harry's small-talk trickled vaguely through her brain.

They stopped to lunch, and put up the horses at the Forest Park Lodge.

While they were dismounting, a buggy dashed up with a man and a girl in it. The miserable old mare had been driven to death, and was covered with sweat and foam.

"Brute!" said Ethan under his breath, glowering at the man, who threw the reins round the whip, and helped his companion out.

"Pretty sort of girl to let him drive like that," was Val's comment, as the couple went towards the hotel.

"Never saw so much of a beast's ribs before without the trouble of taking off his skin," said Wilbur.

"My goodness!" added Mrs. Ball, "that's not a horse; it's a plate-rack."

"Look here," said Ethan to the man who was leading their horses to the stables, "you're going to rub this other beast down, I suppose, and--"

"Never have no sich orders from Mr. Joicey," said the man. "That's Joicey." He jerked his thumb after the two figures. "Comes here a lot.

Mare looks wuss'n she is. D'ye know that there nag is Blue Gra.s.s?"

"Not the filly that won--"

"Yes, siree bob; won a pile fur Joicey's father. Goes like h.e.l.l even yet."