In the gardens of Gardiner Hall there was light and lingering scent of honeysuckle, but Royal Gardiner did not notice it, not anymore. His peace of mind were disturbed by two things, first, Adeline's Laidies Aid were assembled again in the drawing-room, a group of silk-clad women of about middle age, who talked only of old scandals, and glanced at him coolly as he went to collect some books, for they clearly shared Adeline's conception of him as a person, self-induglent, self-serving and vain, as if international success, and cultural-interests were a negative trait of local gossip, and of the casualties of the war, apparently several of Dorian's old schoolmates had fallen at the battle of Mount Sorrel, at the beginning of June, and secondly, Dorian.
With decisive steps, Royal walked into his son's blue-tinted room, and opened door without knocking. Dorian sat in an armchair, gazing dreamily at the soft austere sky, and reading Hardy's poems. Royal collected his thoughts for a moment, then said in a deceptively calm voice "Dorian, I know you don't want to talk about matters of the heart, but I have a little advice for you. If you want to court someone, make your intentions absolutely clear, don't just dream, sending flowers works, but more direct action is also acceptable. According to gentleman's contract, if you have someone in mind, you can tell me if you want?"
Royal noticed Dorian's pale, graceful features blush a little, as he crossed his slender fingers, and raised his chin, and finally, after a moment's silence, he said, "There is one I have thought of, but this person is not a Presbyterian, and she is not of our circles." Royal raised his eyebrows, with a slight bit of irony, as he said, "You forget that your late mother Valentine were at least nominally Catholic, so for me, religion is no obstacle, but Adeline may be a more difficult case, and Dorothy only wants the best for you, and your happiness, but surely you know that. "
Dorian looked at his Father standing impatiently in the doorway, and quietly he said "It´s Alice Parker, and I am completely serious about her." Dorian noticed that a light ivory tint passed over Royal's face, and his brow furrowed as if the news were not quite pleasant, but then Royal's face were completely calm as he nodded lightly, grandly, and turned on his heel and left, closing the door discreetly behind him.
Alone once more, Dorian opened Hardy's Collected Works, and reread the poem Alice had spoken to him about. Alice had said in her sweetly regal way "There is a poem by Hardy where he describes a house, that description always reminds me of my first visit to Gardiner Hall, There is a house with ivied walls/And mullioned windows worn and old a little gothic and mildly dark Hardy satirizing your stylish lifestyle, but read that poem for yourself. It had seemed as if some memory pressed upon her, when they had sat in a gazebo in the public park at Kingsport, completely overgrown with wild ivy. Alice had been sewing with quick stitches, something light and graceful, and her light pink dress had been in perfect harmony with shady and evocatively romatic surroundings.
Dorian found to his astonishment that talking about his own shy ambitions, in relation to Alice, and not just writing to Walter at the front, about them, had helped, although the comfort had come from the most unlikely source. For as long as he could remember Royal had been distant from him, his upbringing had largely been Dorothy's responsibility emotionally, at least. Although Royal had made the broad decisions, and Adeline was, as always, only interested in appearances, and the status of their therefore he had always loved books more than people, although a certain forced sociability was the norm, and Dorian knew he was a little shy, and sarcastic, especially after his accident, when he deviated a lot from what was considered the acceptable way for boys to be, and that certain feeling of being an outsider, and the resemblance had drawn him from the first moment to Walter, for Dorian had felt that the slim, beautiful the young man next to him, who seemed confused to see what Dorian thought was a perfectly normal Dining Table at social events, had his inner secrets, like everyone else, and he didn't have it easy, as it turned out later that fall. So in a hopeful mood, Dorian sketched out a small note for Alice, and enthusiastically drafted a new letter to Walter.
Various newspaper headlines told of the progress on the Somme front, of Fromelles, and Deville, and then as month turned, came Pozières. In Kingsport's well-tended, shady orchards, apples were beginning to ripen softly, and the sky was an extremely intense blue, as only early August can be. Heat had exhausted even all fuzzy Dumbledore´s with shining wings which usually swarmed efficiently in the rosebushes.
Alice had spent the day with Di in the offices of Perennial, sitting in a sumptuously soft arm-chair, and drinking tea, and enjoying frenetic environment where telephones were ringing, and messengers were running, and Di was writing with the rosiest cheek, and little ink stain on her temple, and Editor in Chief had smoked a cigars, and told Alice several, perhaps slightly colored, anecdotes about news industry. When Alice had returned to Primrose Hollow, alone. She found that Dorian had sent her a card, and purple orchids, spreading their soft powdery fragrance into the drawing-room, and contrasting with piles of books, brightly colored rag rugs, craft baskets, and teapots, one teapot, for every teavariety.
The card, was a small note that only read: on Wednesday, Cafe Archer, 3:30 p.m. Alice bent it in her fingers, back and forth. Nan made tea, and sat gracefully on the corner of the chair, and putting books, poetry, essays, and prose, which were in a messy pile on the table, into better order, and then she said softly, "Alice, have you noticed that Di is troubled by something that has nothing to do with the war or worries about the boys at the front, or our various responsibilities here. I've tried to talk to her, but she just keeps quiet, and reads that book of poetry that Walter bought her from Paris. Naturally, as a result, Di will beat me in French this coming term, I think." Alice glanced at Nan, and after a moment's silence she said "that book of poems is enchanting, full of thrilling emotion, symbolism, and appeal to all the senses, having glanced at it myself. I think Di is only worried about Walter, for I know that I, at least I am ."
Nan's large hazel eyes were dark with worry as she asked appealingly "Are you absolutely sure, Alice. Di always feels so deeply and she can't always articulate things, especially things that are new or hard to grasp." Alice sighed and mixed a touch of honey into her tea. "Nan, I think we both just have to wait and trust, Di will tell you when or if there's something to tell."
Swelteringly warm August evening darkened, as velvety twilight softened streets of Kingsport. In Perennial's smoky office, Di Blythe, a junior assistant, opened a window. The meetings had lasted most of the hot day, and Di felt tired, but satisfied, as now everything on the agenda had been taken care of. And Alice's presence had been a wonderful addition today, she had sat with her ankles crossed gracefully, listening clearly excited the sounds and impressions of her unfamiliar surroundings, and in the course of hours, she had sewn several quote handkerchiefs, as she had been inspired by framed paintings and self-portraits of writers, and graphic works, which hung on the walls of the office space.
Di touched a pure white handkerchief with a poem by Emily Dickinson embroidered with lavender silk thread, for Alice knew that Di appreciated Dickinson's poetry, and almost mischievously Alice had folded the handkerchief at Di's work station before leaving for Primrose Hollow.
On the wall of Perennial's office, various frames shimmered faintly as Di made herself some tea, and sat down in the soft mossy green armchair, and took a half folded picture from her pocket, in that picture Walter was smiling, looking amused, with his military cap in his hand, and a volume of Tennyson's poems by his side, half open, and Rainbow Valley was vaguely visible in the background.
Di thought of the letter she had written to Walter, in Ingelside, a letter of every word of which was chosen with the utmost care. Di was grateful that their souls, hers and his still spoke the same dialect of kinship, despite distance. Di's heart ached as she anew realized that Walter had been right. There were just no proper words for some feelings.
Then Wednesday arrived, and still tired from the constant heat, Alice walked towards Cafe Archer, it was not too far from Music Library, where she and Walter had spent so many wonderful hours, in their first year at Redmond. The little brass bell jingled as Alice entered, and at a glance she saw that Dorian was already there.
Alice brushed, hem of her rose-red cotton dress, and sat down at the table, opposite Dorian. The café, was filled with soft benches, and nooks, flower arragements and mirrors, and delicious pastries, despite the rationing, it was as if for one moment she had vanished into some version of reality of no war.
Dorian ordered a small pot of tea, and a plate of cream scones, and brown-haired waitress brought a small bouquet of flowers to the table, with a fond smile, and a glance at them. Alice noticed that Dorian was looking at her intently with a winsomly earnest way. Alice straightened her posture and sipped her tea, it was exellent, faintly malty, with hints of pekoe.
Dorian crossed his fingers on the table and took a deep breath and said his kind, and heartfelt tone. "Alice, I've always dreamed of meeting someone like you. You have depth, and flight of spirit, and your mysterious episcopalism, your sadness, and your surprising playfulness, are utterly disarming, and captivating. I know very well that you are here in Redmond, first of all, studying, for your BA-degree. But I have to say, that I want to court you, with serious intent. So, if you're afraid that you won't make it in my circles, I'm telling you now that your fear is completely unfounded. When I saw you striding across ballroom of Gardiner Hall in February, in that rustling amber silk, and my mother's pearls, glimmering at your decolte, I was completely enchanted, and captivated, as all others were, too there that evening, even my Father was."
A deep silence fell over their corner of the table. The other customers of the cafe talked in low voices, and the tea and coffee cups clattered onto rose plates with a light gilded border. Feeling slightly self-concious and concerned, Dorian glanced at Alice. The blond girl sat perfectly still, and then a light tide of color rose to her face. And then, to Dorian's great astonishment, Alice rose, and in a coolly formal, icy tone of voice she said, "I am very flattered by your words, Mr. Gardiner. I have to think about your offer." And as Dorian watched, Alice walked her form trim, glowing red spots on her pale face, out of the café, and out of his sight, and he could not run after her, even as he desperately wanted to.