The Fortunes of Springfield by Eleanor Farnes Page B

lighting plant in one of the ba rn s. But the living-rooms retained their heavy beams, their wide latticed windows, the vast inglenook fireplaces, although these last were now supplemented by well-concealed radiators. The furniture was in keeping with the building, and the whole effect softened by the carpets and rugs, and the bright chintzes of the covers and curtains. Its character could hardly have been more different from that of Springfield, with its high, light, airy rooms, its spaciousness, and the gleaming mahogany furniture. Yet both were gems of their particular periods, both were houses a woman could take her delight, her pride and her absorbed occupation in.
    They were so long in the house that they left themselves only a short time for the farm.
    “We’ll just look around the buildings,” said Duncan, “because one or two of them are as old as the house, and have a personality of their own. You’ll like the granary. Come and see it.”
    It all fascinated Caroline and she said so. There was quite a jump from one of the platforms on which she found herself, and when Duncan had leaped lightly down from it, he turned to help her. He took her hands as she jumped, and when she landed beside him, he did not let them go. She looked up at him, a little surprised, and he suddenly pulled her towards him and held her in his arms. For an astounded moment or two, she submitted, and then she pulled away.
    “No,” she said, confused and startled.
    He let her go.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to do that. As a matter of fact, Caroline, you are so much in my thoughts lately that it seemed to me a natural thing to do. Come, let us go and have our tea or Mrs. Drew will scold me for letting the scones get cold.” They began to walk, side by side, towards the house. “Caroline, you do look upon me as a friend, don’t you?”
    “Yes. I should like to, Mr. Wescott,” she replied.
    “And what I should like,” he said, “would be for you to look upon me as far more than a friend. Caroline, I am very fond of you.”
    “But you hardly know me, Mr. Wescott.”
    “I know enough. I always used to notice you at Mrs. Webster’s. Your quiet kind of charm, and that special smile you give people, quite got under my skin. And if I needed any confirmation of what a thoroughly nice person you are, I’ve had it since you were at Springfield, slaving for those children.”
    Caroline was astounded. Astounded that he had even noticed her, astounded to hear that she had a “special smile”, astounded that, for one moment, he had thought of her in a personal way.
    “Of course,” went on Duncan, “I’m old for you. I realize that. How old are you, Caroline?”
    “Twenty-three.”
    “And I am forty-five. Twice your age. But I don’t think it matters much these days. I am perfectly fit, and don’t think I’ve got set in any of my ways. But it might matter to you, Caroline. You’re so young and so fresh and so sweet. Do you look upon me as far too old for you?”
    “Mr. Wescott,” she began, and then stopped.
    “Yes?” he prompted.
    She shook her head, and then she smiled up at him. “You must forgive me,” she said, “but you have succeeded in knocking me ‘all of a heap’. I’m so surprised that I can’t even think of it yet. But of course you’re not old,” she added for his comfort; for her first reaction had been that he was too old for her.
    “I think I’ve been a bit cl umsy about all this,” he said as they went into the house; and until they were settled in the living-room, he let the matter drop. Mrs. Drew produced her freshly baked scones, and gave them a delicious tea; and then left them to it.
    “Caroline, think about me a little, will you?” Duncan asked, as she poured out the tea.
    “I shouldn’t be able to help myself,” she smiled.
    “And think kindly.”
    “I couldn’t help that either.”
    “I know you are young, with all your life in front of you. Perhaps it isn’t fair