"And so, Brian, I find you as obstinate as ever!" said Mr. Singleton,
in a complaining tone.
The person whom he addressed smiled a little. He did not look very
obstinate, this pleasant-faced young man, with clear gray eyes, that
regarded the elder man kindly and humorously. They were sitting in
the latter's private room, which opened into the drawing-room--Mr.
Singleton leaning back in his deep, luxurious chair; Brian Earle seated
opposite him, but nearer the open window, through which his glance
wandered now and then, attracted by the soft summer scene outside,
flooded with the sunshine of late afternoon.
"I am sorry if it seems to you only a question of obstinacy," he said,
in a voice as pleasant as his face; "for that is the last thing I
should wish to be guilty of. Mere obstinacy--that is, attachment to
one's will simply because it is one's will--always seemed to me a very
puerile thing. My impulse is to do what another wishes rather than what
I wish myself--all things being equal."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Singleton, with the sarcastic inflection of voice
which was very common with him. "Then I am to suppose that, where I am
concerned, your impulse is exactly contrary to what it is in the case
of others; for certainly you have never consented to do anything that I
wish."
"My dear uncle, is that quite just, because I can not do _one_ thing
that you wish?"
"That one thing includes everything. You know it as well as I do. In
refusing that, you refuse all that I can or ever shall ask of you."
"I am sorry to hear it," said the other. "But do you not think that it
is a great thing to ask of a man to resign his own plan and mode of
life, to do violence to his inclination, and to give up not only his
ambition but his independence as well?"
"Yes," answered Mr. Singleton, "it _is_ a great deal; but I offer a
great deal also. You should not forget that."
"I do not forget it. You offer an immense price, but it is the price of
my freedom and my self-respect."
"In that case we will say no more about it," returned Mr. Singleton,
hotly. "If you consider that you would lose your freedom and your
self-respect by complying with my wishes--wishes which, I am sure, are
very moderate in their demands,--I shall certainly not urge you to do
so. We will consider the subject finally closed."
"With all my heart," said Earle. "It is a very painful subject to me,
because I regret deeply that I am unable to comply with your wishes."
Mr. Singleton made a wave of his hand which seemed peremptorily to
dismiss this regret. "Nothing would be easier than for you to gratify
me in the matter if you cared to do so. Since you do not desire to do
so, I shall cease to urge it. I have some self-respect, too."
To this statement Earle wisely made no reply, and he was also
successful in repressing a smile; though he knew well from past
experience that his uncle's resolution would not hold for a week,
and that the whole ground would have to be exhaustively gone over
again--probably again and again.
"You seem very pleasantly settled here," he observed after a moment, by
way of opening a new subject. "This is a charming old place."
"Yes. I should buy it if I expected to live long enough to make it
worth while," replied Mr. Singleton. "The climate here suits me
exceedingly well."
"And the people are agreeable, I suppose?" observed Earle, absently,
his eye fastened on the lovely alterations of light and shade--of the
nearer green melting into distant blue--which made up the scene without.
"I know little or nothing of the people of the town," said Mr.
Singleton; "but I meet a sufficient number of my old friends--brought
here, like myself, by the climate--to give me as much society
as I want. Tom and his wife have, of course, a large circle of
acquaintances; so you need entertain no fear of dullness in the short
time you are good enough to give me."
"Do you fancy that I am afraid of dullness?" asked Earle, with a laugh.
"On the contrary, no man was ever less inclined for society than I am.
But I like the look of the country about here, and I think I shall do
sketching."
"If you find sketching to do, there may be perhaps some hope of
detaining you for a little while," said Mr. Singleton.
"The length of my stay will not be in the least dependent on any
possible or probable sketching," returned Earle, good-humoredly. He
understood the disappointment which prompted Mr. Singleton to make
these sarcastic speeches; and they did not irritate him in the least,
but only inspired him with fresh regret that he could not do what was
desired of him. For he spoke truly in saying that, all things being
equal, he much preferred to do what another wished rather than what he
wished himself. This was part of a disposition which was amiable and
obliging almost to a fault. But with the amiability went great strength
of resolution, when he was once fairly roused; and this resolution had
been roused on a matter that he felt was a question of the independence
of his life. To do what his uncle asked would be to resign that
independence for an indefinite length of time--to give up the career on
which from earliest boyhood he had set his heart--to sell his liberty
for a mess of worldly pottage--that had no attraction for him.
A man who cares little for money beyond the amount necessary for
moderate competence, and who has no desire for wealth, is a character
so rare in this age and country that people are somewhat justified in
the incredulity with which they usually regard him. But now and then
such characters exist, and Brian Earle was one of them. Possessing
simple, almost austere tastes, having from his earliest boyhood a
passion for art, money had never appeared to him the supreme good which
it is considered to be by so many others; nor, in any real sense of the
word, a good at all. This was partly owing to the fact that he had
inherited fortune sufficient for all reasonable needs, and had no one
depending upon him. A man who has given hostages to fortune cannot be
as indifferent to fortune as one who has given none. Even if he lacks a
mercenary spirit, he must desire for those whose happiness rests in his
care the freedom from sordid anxieties which a monetary competency in
sufficient degree alone can give.
But Brian Earle, having no nearer relative than a married sister,
had nothing to teach him to value wealth in this manner; and, since
it could purchase nothing for which he cared, he felt no temptation
to accept Mr. Singleton's proposition that he should devote his life
exclusively to him, on consideration of inheriting his whole estate.
There were few people who would have hesitated over such an offer,
and who would not have been inclined to hold the man insane who did
hesitate. But Brian Earle did more than hesitate: he absolutely refused
it.
It said much for the influence of his personal character that, even
after this refusal, Mr. Singleton still evinced the partiality for his
society which he had always exhibited, still claimed as much of that
society as he possibly could, and generally consulted him when he had
a decision of importance to make. "Ten to one, Earle will finally get
the fortune as well as his own way," those who knew most of the matter
often remarked. But one person, at least, had no expectation of this,
and that was Earle himself.
His affection for his uncle and gratitude for much kindness, however,
made him show a deference and regard for the latter which had no basis
in interested hopes, and which Mr. Singleton was not dull enough to
mistake. Indeed there could be no doubt that his own regard for Earle
was largely based upon the fact that the young man desired nothing
from him, and was altogether independent of him, even while this
independence vexed and irked him. Perceiving at the present time that
the conversation had reached a point where it would be well that it
should cease, Brian rose to his feet.
"I think I will stroll about a little, and look into those
possibilities of sketching," he said. "I have scarcely glanced at the
place as yet."
"Probably some one is going to drive," observed Mr. Singleton. "There
are plenty of horses, and Tom and his wife keep them well employed. Of
course they are at your service also."
"I am accustomed to a humbler mode of locomotion, and really prefer
it," Brian answered. "One sees more on foot."
"I wish you had more expensive tastes," said his uncle. "One could get
a hold on you then."
He seemed to be speaking a thought aloud; but, as Earle had no desire
to be provoking, he did not utter in reply the quick assent, "Yes,
by no surer means than expensive tastes can a man sell himself into
bondage."
He went out, whistling softly, seized his hat in the hall, and was
crossing toward the entrance, when down the broad, curving staircase
came Mrs. Singleton in out-door costume. Probably the encounter was no
more to her taste than to his, but she successfully simulated pleasure,
which was more than he was able to do.
"You are just going out, Brian?" she said. "That is fortunate, for I
wanted to ask you to go to drive with us; but I knew you were with your
uncle, and he is so fond of your society that I did not like to disturb
you. But now you will come, of course. Only Miss Lynde and myself are
going. I believe you have not yet met Miss Lynde--ah, here she is!"
For, as they came out on the portico together, they found Marion
already there. Words of polite refusal were on Earle's lips--for had he
not just remarked that he did not care to drive?--but when his glance
fell on the beautiful girl, to whom Mrs. Singleton at once presented
him, those words found no expression. It was natural enough that, with
the delight of the artist in beauty, he should have felt that the
presence of such a face put the question of driving in a new aspect
altogether. It would be a pleasure to study that face, and a pleasure
to discover if the mind and the spirit behind were worthy of such a
shrine.
So, after handing the ladies into the open carriage that awaited them,
he followed, and took his seat opposite the face that attracted him,
as it had attracted the admiration of everyone who ever looked at it.
Marion herself was so accustomed to this admiration that the perception
of it in Earle's eyes neither surprised nor elated her. She took it
as a matter of course,--a matter which might or might not prove of
importance,--and meanwhile regarded rather curiously on her part the
man who carelessly put a fortune aside in order to follow his own will
and his own chosen path of life. On this remarkable conduct she had
already speculated more than once. Did it mean that he was a fool--as
Mrs. Singleton plainly thought,--or did it mean that he had a belief
in himself and in his own powers, which made him stronger than other
men, and therefore able to dispense with the aid which they so highly
desired?
She had not sat opposite him for many minutes before she was able
to answer the first question. Decidedly he was not a fool--not even
in that modified sense in which people of artistic, imaginative
temperaments are sometimes held to be fools by the strictly practical.
But with regard to the other question, decision was not so easy.
Nothing in his appearance, manner or speech indicated any extraordinary
belief in himself; but Marion had sufficient keenness of perception
to recognize that, under his unassuming quietness, power of some sort
existed. It might be the power to accomplish great things, or it might
only be the power to content himself with moderate ones; but it was
certainly not an altogether ordinary nature that looked out of the
clear gray eyes, and spoke in the pleasant voice.
"Where shall we go?" said Mrs. Singleton to Marion, when they had
rolled through Scarborough and were out in the country. "We must show
Brian all the points of picturesque interest in the vicinity. Do you
think we have time to drive to Elk Ridge?"
"Oh, no!" answered Marion, quickly; "it is too late to go there. And
I am sure there are other places nearer at hand which are quite as
pretty."
"Do you think so?" said Mrs. Singleton, skeptically. "Pray tell us
about them; for I know of no place half so charming in its surroundings
and view as Elk Ridge."
Marion colored a little. She really did not know of any other place
equal to Elk Ridge in picturesque attractions; but her dislike to the
idea of revisiting it was so strong that she had spoken instinctively,
without thought. She was always quick witted enough to see her way
out of a difficulty, however, and after an instant's hesitation she
answered:--
"I did not say that I positively knew of such a place, only that I was
sure it must exist, and probably near at hand. Why not? The country
seems to be very much the same in its features all about here."
Mrs. Singleton shrugged her shoulders.
"No one can be sure of what may or may not exist," she said; "but when
it is a question of looking for it, I prefer what has been already
discovered. We will not go to Elk Ridge, however, if you object. I am
afraid our gypsy tea must have left disagreeable associations behind
it."
Earle could not but observe that Marion's color deepened still more,
and that a slight tightening of the lines about her mouth showed that
her annoyance was greater than the nature of the subject seemed to
warrant. "Evidently some very disagreeable association in the matter!"
he thought; and, before she could reply to the last remark, he said:--
"Pray do not show me the best thing in the neighborhood at once. That
should be led up to by successive degrees. These lovely pastoral
meadows and those distant hills strike a note that suits me exactly
to-day. I do not care for anything more boldly picturesque."
"In that case, take the river road, Anderson," said Mrs. Singleton,
addressing the coachman, and settling herself comfortably under the
shade of her lace-covered parasol.
So, for several miles they bowled gently along the level road which
followed the margin of a beautiful stream, its soft valley spreading
in Arcadian loveliness around them; gentle green hills bounding it;
and far away, bathed in luminous mist, a vision of distant, purple
mountains.
Earle felt himself lapsed into a state of pleasant content. The
luxurious motion of the carriage, the charming scenes passing before
his eyes, the beautiful face opposite him, and the sound of musical
voices--one, at least, of which did not talk nonsense--all combined to
satisfy the artist which was so strong within him, and to make him feel
that the virtue which had brought him to Scarborough was rewarded.
As they re-entered the town, in the light of a radiant sunset, an
incident occurred which revealed a fact that astonished both Mrs.
Singleton and Marion. As they drove rapidly down a street, before them
on rising ground stood the Catholic church, with its golden cross in
bold relief outlined against the rose-red beauty of the evening sky.
"What a pretty effect!" cried Marion.
Earle turned in his seat to follow the direction of her glance, and,
seeing the cross, looked surprised. "What is that?" he said. "It looks
like a Catholic church."
"It _is_ a Catholic church," answered Marion.
He said nothing more, but as the carriage swept around a corner and
carried them in front of it, he looked toward the church and lifted his
hat.
This act of reverence would probably have had no meaning to Mrs.
Singleton, but Marion had lived too long with Catholics not to
understand it. "Oh!" she exclaimed, involuntarily, with an accent of
surprise; adding, when Earle looked at her, "is it possible you are a
Catholic!"
He smiled. "Does that astonish you?" he asked. "There are a good many
of them in the world."
"A Catholic!" repeated Mrs. Singleton, incredulously. "What
nonsense!--Of course he is not--at least not a _Roman_ Catholic!"
"Pardon me," he answered, still smiling, "but that is exactly what I
am--a Roman Catholic. For that is the only kind of Catholic which it is
worth any one's while to be."