father shouldn't have done--what he did. I mean-- you made an adjustment to--not having money." He stumbled on his words. Here he was, again blundering into embarrassment with Jack. "Sorry, fellow. Don't mean to hurt your feelings."
Jack's eyes shone. "It's okay, Aggie. Sorry I popped it out."
Danielle was coming toward them. Her words, spoken to carry halfway across the lounge, were bold. "Hello, Aggie, my duck! You swim like one, anyhow! Sorry I tipped you over this afternoon."
Aggie had the feeling that Danielle wanted everyone to hear her apology. He was sure of it as she continued to talk--and to walk toward him--in a pale amethyst dress that made her hair seem extravagantly bright and burning-gold, brass, copper. "The rotten Davis temper! I'm proud of my education, and you shouldn't have insulted it--even if you have more degrees than Einstein."
He had not insulted her education. She was close to him now, and she spoke in a more normal tone. "Forgive me?"
He wondered if she was always alibiing herself in public with little, meaningless charades. "It would be hard to forgive you," he answered, "if I'd been unable to swim."
She stared at his black dinner jacket, his shoddy black tie, his stooped figure. Her head shook glitteringly. "Golly! Under there--all those muscles! Hard to believe!"
Jack winked at Aggie and wandered away. Danielle slipped her arm through the professor's and casually turned him around. They walked out on the porch together. Then Danielle said, in a whisper, "I'm scared!"
Aggie responded dryly. "Really?"
She walked to the porch rail and looked down, as if she wanted to make sure in an inconspicuous way that nobody was hiding in the lilacs. It was elaborate, like everything she did. "I told people I upset the canoe because I was mad at you. Because you'd insulted my education. You see--they saw Dad tow it in and wondered what had happened. They believed my story--" She shrugged. "Anything that sounds uncivil and impetuous--they believe about me. Just now--I was publicly nailing down that story."
"I don't see why."
"For Dad to hear. He's sitting in the library."
Aggie was surprised. He assumed that Danielle had known what her father had thrown overboard that afternoon--and that she had quickly invented the "rustiness" of the alleged anchor to conceal the brownness of a pair of shoes. Now, it seemed, her invention had been intended to convince the doctor. Or--possibly this was also an act. An attempt at fake conspiracy, for the purpose of learning just what he, Aggie, had seen.
She kept looking anxiously into the banks of lilac and sumac which grew all around.
"What scares you?" he asked finally.
"You don't trust me, do you?"
"Should I?"
Danielle considered. "I trust you."
"If you do--then go ahead and talk. You weren't very confident in me this afternoon when you threatened to make a fool of me if I disclosed what you'd told me."
"I'd like to quit beating around the bush."
"Me, too."
Danielle gazed at him intensely, shaking her head a little, as if in doubt about what she was thinking. In a moment, she chuckled, and the sound was, somehow, self-deprecatory and pathetic. "The people at Indian Stones," she began, "are used to authority and accustomed to taking matters of all sorts into their own hands. That goes double for the Davises, and triple for me. Dad has a fearful temper. Not many people know it. But most of those cold, concentrated men have tempers."
"Yes-?"
"He could have clubbed Jim Calder and carried him up on the hill and built the trap. Easily, I couldn't have. I don't want you to think I'm trying to establish an alibi in your mind--but--"
"I don't think it. Because it's no alibi."
Danielle was startled. "Certainly--"
"The woods were dry. The ground was hard. Did you ever hear of moccasins? Or sneakers? Anybody wearing 'em could have followed Calder that night and hit him from behind and then proceeded to rig up that trap. A woman, an old
Jack's eyes shone. "It's okay, Aggie. Sorry I popped it out."
Danielle was coming toward them. Her words, spoken to carry halfway across the lounge, were bold. "Hello, Aggie, my duck! You swim like one, anyhow! Sorry I tipped you over this afternoon."
Aggie had the feeling that Danielle wanted everyone to hear her apology. He was sure of it as she continued to talk--and to walk toward him--in a pale amethyst dress that made her hair seem extravagantly bright and burning-gold, brass, copper. "The rotten Davis temper! I'm proud of my education, and you shouldn't have insulted it--even if you have more degrees than Einstein."
He had not insulted her education. She was close to him now, and she spoke in a more normal tone. "Forgive me?"
He wondered if she was always alibiing herself in public with little, meaningless charades. "It would be hard to forgive you," he answered, "if I'd been unable to swim."
She stared at his black dinner jacket, his shoddy black tie, his stooped figure. Her head shook glitteringly. "Golly! Under there--all those muscles! Hard to believe!"
Jack winked at Aggie and wandered away. Danielle slipped her arm through the professor's and casually turned him around. They walked out on the porch together. Then Danielle said, in a whisper, "I'm scared!"
Aggie responded dryly. "Really?"
She walked to the porch rail and looked down, as if she wanted to make sure in an inconspicuous way that nobody was hiding in the lilacs. It was elaborate, like everything she did. "I told people I upset the canoe because I was mad at you. Because you'd insulted my education. You see--they saw Dad tow it in and wondered what had happened. They believed my story--" She shrugged. "Anything that sounds uncivil and impetuous--they believe about me. Just now--I was publicly nailing down that story."
"I don't see why."
"For Dad to hear. He's sitting in the library."
Aggie was surprised. He assumed that Danielle had known what her father had thrown overboard that afternoon--and that she had quickly invented the "rustiness" of the alleged anchor to conceal the brownness of a pair of shoes. Now, it seemed, her invention had been intended to convince the doctor. Or--possibly this was also an act. An attempt at fake conspiracy, for the purpose of learning just what he, Aggie, had seen.
She kept looking anxiously into the banks of lilac and sumac which grew all around.
"What scares you?" he asked finally.
"You don't trust me, do you?"
"Should I?"
Danielle considered. "I trust you."
"If you do--then go ahead and talk. You weren't very confident in me this afternoon when you threatened to make a fool of me if I disclosed what you'd told me."
"I'd like to quit beating around the bush."
"Me, too."
Danielle gazed at him intensely, shaking her head a little, as if in doubt about what she was thinking. In a moment, she chuckled, and the sound was, somehow, self-deprecatory and pathetic. "The people at Indian Stones," she began, "are used to authority and accustomed to taking matters of all sorts into their own hands. That goes double for the Davises, and triple for me. Dad has a fearful temper. Not many people know it. But most of those cold, concentrated men have tempers."
"Yes-?"
"He could have clubbed Jim Calder and carried him up on the hill and built the trap. Easily, I couldn't have. I don't want you to think I'm trying to establish an alibi in your mind--but--"
"I don't think it. Because it's no alibi."
Danielle was startled. "Certainly--"
"The woods were dry. The ground was hard. Did you ever hear of moccasins? Or sneakers? Anybody wearing 'em could have followed Calder that night and hit him from behind and then proceeded to rig up that trap. A woman, an old
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