One day there came to Mr. Miles, the rector of the parish, an affable
little lady, dressed in a conservative style suited to her years--which
were fifty-five or so--and presenting a letter from a clergyman in
Brooklyn. The letter gave information that the bearer was Mrs. Edwin
Carew, “whom we are more than sorry to lose, because of her tact and
sympathy and her invaluable assistance in parish work.”
There was more of this, too, so that Mr. Miles blushed a little in
deference to Mrs. Edwin Carew as he read it. He welcomed her very
cordially. He assured her that she would find plenty of opportunities
for using her tact and sympathy and for giving her invaluable assistance
in parish work. He was so favorably impressed by the lady that he sent
at once for Mrs. Miles, and Mrs. Miles was instantly charmed.
“The Needlework Guild is meeting now,” said she. “If you would care to
come in and meet some of the ladies--”
Mrs. Carew accepted graciously, was brought before this gathering of her
peers, and was judged and found worthy. She seemed to be the nicest sort
of little body, cheerful and kindly and gentle, and though she was far
too well bred to boast, it was obvious that she was a person of some
social importance. She had traveled; she knew the world; she knew what
was what; she was an acquisition.
“Are you going to be here permanently, Mrs. Carew?” asked the august and
resplendent Mrs. Lorrimer.
“I hope so,” she answered, smiling. “I’m beginning to be quite fond of
your pretty little town; but it all depends on my nephew. You see, he’s
used to life in a large city, and I’m afraid--Still, I hope he’ll like
it.”
“Oh! Your nephew?” said Mrs. Lorrimer encouragingly.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Carew. “Perhaps I did wrong in persuading him to leave
the city and come here, where it’s so--so much quieter; but I feel sure
that after he’s used to it, it will really do him good. He had so many
friends in the city, and so many, many engagements, that it interfered
with his work; and though I know we must make allowances for young
people, still I can’t bear the idea of his talent being wasted.”
“Oh! His talent?” said Mrs. Lorrimer.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Carew. “He’s a physician. I think he has already ‘hung
out his shingle,’ as they say--Noel Hunter. Of course, he doesn’t expect
to do much practicing yet. I want him to rest first, and to get
accustomed to the place.”
As if by magic, Dr. Hunter was transformed by those words from an object
of pity into a very interesting young man. Professionally his life was
not altered, but the very next week he was invited to a little dance;
and every one who saw him there was irresistibly urged to invite him to
something else. Ladies came to call upon Mrs. Carew, to sing the praises
of her charming nephew. He was forever going out, or getting ready to go
out, and he seemed to be very happy about it.
From the window Mrs. Carew would watch him drive off in his little
closed coupé, so useful for a doctor, who must be abroad in all
weathers. Much as she admired his resplendent appearance, and rejoiced
in his popularity, she did wish that now and then he might be summoned
to something less cheerful than a party.
That never happened. The more he was danced with and flirted with, the
more did it seem tactless and ill-bred to mention one’s sordid ailments
to him. It was unthinkable to call in one’s dancing partner and confess
to a bilious headache from too much pastry. No one could see him as a
doctor.
He seemed not at all downcast by this. Indeed, Mrs. Carew sometimes
imagined that he had forgotten all about being a doctor.
“Don’t you think you ought to read your medical books now and then,
Noel?” she suggested. “Just to--to keep up?”
“Oh, no!” he replied cheerfully. “I’m not likely to forget all that
stuff that was so much trouble to learn. Don’t worry!”
“But you mustn’t lose interest, Noel,” she persisted.
He flushed a little, for he had at the moment two preoccupations which
were nearer to his heart than the theory and practice of medicine. The
first of these was Nesta Lorrimer, and the second was her brother’s
hydroplane. They merged very well, because Nesta was frequently in the
vicinity of the hydroplane, so that they could both be studied together.
It was unfortunate that Noel did not mention this to his aunt, because
she would have approved heartily of one of those interests; but he knew
that aunts were extremely likely to worry about flying. He was very fond
of her, and didn’t want to worry her; so the poor lady knew nothing.
Mrs. Lorrimer knew, however.
“Alan,” she said to her son, “don’t you think you encourage that young
Dr. Hunter a little too much?”
She spoke moderately, because she had a great respect for her son. He
was a level-headed, intelligent young fellow, who used such things as
hydroplanes only for diversion, and never neglected his business. He was
not handsome, like his sister, but he didn’t need to be. He was a
remarkably successful lawyer for his twenty-seven years, and he was a
good-humored, quick-witted, tolerant fellow whom every one was obliged
to like.
“Encourage him?” he repeated, with a smile. “That’s a queer way to put
it. I’d like to think I encouraged any one. But why? What’s wrong with
him?”
“He doesn’t seem to get on very well,” said Mrs. Lorrimer.
“He’s mistaken his métier,” her son replied casually. “But I like him
very much. Plenty of nerve and grit. As a pilot--”
“Ah!” Mrs. Lorrimer interrupted. “I dare say; but as a brother-in-law?”
Alan was astounded, as brothers always are.
“What?” he exclaimed. “You don’t mean that Nesta--impossible!”
“I’m afraid she’s growing fond of him, Alan.”
He reflected in silence for some time, and then he said:
“Well, after all, she might do worse.”
“That’s not the question,” replied his mother, a little indignant. “_I_
think she might do very much better.”
“I don’t know. He’s a very decent fellow. Personally--”
“Oh, every one likes him!” she interrupted impatiently; “and every one
seems to have forgotten that we don’t know anything at all about him.
Mrs. Carew is very nice, of course; but after all, they’ve only been
here a few months. They don’t seem at all well off, and yet he doesn’t
appear to be worried about not having the least sign of a practice. I
can’t help thinking--”
She paused significantly.
“What can’t you help thinking?” inquired her son, with a smile. “That
poor Hunter has some sinister secret in his past?”
“No,” said she. “No, not that. I don’t like to say it, but I’ve
sometimes thought he might be nothing but an adventurer, who came here
to find a wife with money.”
“Mother!” exclaimed Alan, quite shocked. “That’s not like you!”
But his trained and disciplined brain refused to remain shocked. He was
obliged to admit that the qualities for which he admired Hunter--courage
and daring and steady nerves--did not always signify moral excellence.
An adventurer might very well possess them; and about Hunter’s former
life, about his home life, he knew absolutely nothing.
“Very well!” he said to himself. “In justice to Nesta, and in justice to
Hunter as well, it’s my business to find out.”
The thing was to take him by surprise, to see him at home, off his
guard.