As Alicia passed in Robert started suddenly. He had forgotten for
the moment that she was present. Without a glance at him she went on
upstairs.
After that the fun grew quiet. An hour passed in talk, and then
Robert went up himself.
She was standing by the window when he entered their room. She was
still clothed as when they were on the porch. Outside and crowding
against the window was a giant apple tree, full blossomed.
Robert sighed and went near the window. He was ready to meet his
fate. A confessed vulgarian, he foresaw the verdict of justice in
the shape of that whiteclad form. He knew the rigid lines that a Van
Der Pool would draw. He was a peasant gambolling indecorously in the
valley, and the pure, cold, white, unthawed summit of the Matterhorn
could not but frown on him. He had been unmasked by his own actions.
All the polish, the poise, the form that the city had given him had
fallen from him like an ill-fitting mantle at the first breath of a
country breeze. Dully he awaited the approaching condemnation.
"Robert," said the calm, cool voice of his judge, "I thought I
married a gentleman."
Yes, it was coming. And yet, in the face of it, Robert Walmsley was
eagerly regarding a certain branch of the apple tree upon which
he used to climb out of that very window. He believed he could do
it now. He wondered how many blossoms there were on the tree--ten
millions? But here was some one speaking again:
"I thought I married a gentleman," the voice went on, "but--"
Why had she come and was standing so close by his side?
"But I find that I have married"--was this Alicia
talking?--"something better--a man--Bob, dear, kiss me, won't you?"
The city was far away.
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