'Everybody knew she asked Margaret. She left a son about eight years old
who is very delicate. The poor woman has not been dead long enough for
anything to come of that, but I do not believe anything ever will. There
are people who say that Mr. Windham drinks; but I have seen no signs of
it. Then there is another one--and no matter what you may hear people
say about these things, you must never mention that I told you this.
Mrs. Barnes, the rector's wife, has spoken to Margaret on the subject.
She looks very well, so far as I can judge; but there is consumption in
her family. She is almost bigoted in regard to the duties of a rector's
wife. She tries just as hard as she can to fill the position properly
herself, and she knows Mr. Barnes would never be satisfied with any one
who did not agree with him as she does about the responsibilities of a
rector's wife.'
"'Does Margaret Temple agree with him?' I asked.
"'I do not know, for I never talked with her on the subject,' replied
Emily, 'but she is very apt to think what is right. Besides, it is
believed that Mrs. Barnes has not only spoken to Margaret, but to
the rector himself; and if he had not thought the plan a good one,
Mrs. Barnes would have dropped it; and, from things I have heard her
say, I know she has not dropped it.'
"Emily looked as though she were about to rise, and I quickly exclaimed:
'But that is only three. Who are the others?'
"'One of them,' said she, 'is Mrs. Clinton. There is nothing the matter
with her physically, but she is very rich, and is prudent and careful
about everything that belongs to her, while her husband is not a
business man at all and never has anything to do with money matters of
importance. There are three children, and she has reason to feel anxious
about them should they and their property be left in the charge of
Mr. Clinton, or to the tender mercies of some woman who would marry him
for the sake of his wealth. You can see for yourself that it is no
wonder she casts her eyes upon Margaret. I believe Mrs. Clinton could
die happy if she could see her husband and Margaret Temple promise
themselves to each other at her bedside.'
"'That seems to me to be horrid,' said I; 'but of course it would be
extremely sensible. And the other one?'
"'Oh, that matter does not amount to much,' said Emily. 'Old
Mrs. Gloucester lives at the other end of the village, and she does not
visit much, so you have not seen her. Her husband is old enough, dear
knows, but not quite so old as she is. She is very much afraid that she
will die and leave him with nobody to take care of him, for they have no
children. They are very well off, and I dare say she thinks it would be
a good thing for Margaret as well as for the old gentleman.'
"'That is shameful,' said I; 'it would be the same thing as engaging a
trained nurse.'
"Emily laughed. 'I never heard how Margaret received this remarkable
proposition,' she said, 'but I hope she was angry.'
"'But, at any rate, it could never come to anything,' said I.
"'Of course not,' answered Mrs. Cheston.
"It is not surprising that after this conversation I took a great
interest in Margaret Temple; and when she called the next morning I had
a long and undisturbed talk with her, Mrs. Cheston being out. I am very
fond of analyzing human character, and I often do it while I am riding
in the street-cars; and it was not long before I had made up my mind as
to what sort of woman Margaret Temple was. I set her down as what may be
called a balanced person. In fact, I thought at the time she was a
little too well balanced; if some of her characteristics had been a
little more pronounced I think she would have been more interesting. But
I liked her very much, and I remember I was almost as well pleased when
she was talking to me as when she was listening, and I am sure there
are very few persons, men or women, of whom I can say this."
Here a smile came upon the faces of the company, but they were too
polite to make any comment on what had called forth the smile. The
Master of the House asked permission to light a cigar, and the Old
Professor, who never smoked, remarked: "There is deep philosophy in all
this."
"I don't know about the philosophy," said the Next Neighbor, "but it is
absolute truth. Well, after a time I began to wish that Miss Temple
lived near our home, because she would be such an admirable person for a
friend and neighbor. Then, suddenly, without any warning, there flashed
through me the strangest feeling I ever had in my life. I must have
turned pale, for Miss Temple asked me if I did not feel ill. I soon
recovered from the effects of this strange feeling, and went on talking;
but I was very glad when Mrs. Cheston came home, and took the
conversation out of my hands.
"For two or three days after this my mind was very much troubled, and
Bernard thought that the air of that part of the country did not agree
with me, and that we ought to go to the sea-shore. But this I positively
refused to consider. There could be no sea-shore for me until a good
many things had been settled. It was at this time that I first began to
think that we cannot grow up fresh and green and blossom undisturbed,
and that we must consider untimely cows coming along.
"To make the state of my mind clearly understood, I must say that there
is an hereditary disease in my family. I had never thought anything
about it, for there had been no reason why I should; but now I did
think about it, and there did seem to be reason. My grandfather had had
this disease, and had died of it. To be sure, he was very old; but that
did not matter: he died of it, all the same. It never troubled my
father, but this made no difference, so far as I was concerned, for I
have always heard that hereditary diseases are apt to skip a generation,
and if this one had skipped, there was nobody for it to skip to but me;
for I have no brothers or sisters.
"The more I thought on this subject, the more troubled my mind became,
and at last I believed it to be my duty to speak to Bernard, although I
did not tell him all my thoughts; for I had had a good many that were
not necessarily connected with hereditary diseases. I was positively
amazed at the way my husband received what I told him. I had expected
that perhaps he might pooh-pooh the whole thing, but he did nothing of
the kind. He became very serious, and talked to me in the most earnest
way.
"'Now, Rosa,' said he, 'I am glad you told me about this, and I want to
impress it upon your mind that you must be very careful. In the first
place, you must totally give up hot spirits and water. You must not
drink more than two glasses of wine, or three at the utmost, at any of
your meals. When you get up in the morning you must totally abstain from
drinking those mixtures that are taken by some people to give appetite
for breakfast. At night you must try to do without any sort of punch or
toddy to make you sleep. If you will take this advice, and restrict
yourself to water and milk, and not over-rich food, I think you may
reasonably expect to live longer than your grandfather did, although I
cannot imagine why any one should want to live that long.'
"Of course I was angry at all this, for I saw then that he was making
fun of me; and I said no more to him, for he was not in the right frame
of mind to listen to me. But I did not stop thinking.
"I now became very intimate with Miss Temple. I began to like her very
much, and I think she liked me. I continued to study her, and I became
convinced that she was a woman to whom a very fastidious man might be
attracted--I do not mean that he would fall in love with her, but that
he would be perfectly satisfied with her. In fact, I summed up her
character by assuring myself that in every way she was perfectly
satisfactory. I have known other women who were more charming, but they
all had faults; and I do not see how any one could have found fault with
Miss Temple.
"One day we had taken a long walk, and were on our way home when I began
to talk to her about my own affairs. I thought I knew her so well in a
general way that the time had come for me to find out some things more
definitely. I began in an offhand but cautious manner to talk about
Bernard. I alluded to his love of outdoor sports, and mentioned that I
thought it my duty frequently to speak to him in regard to the terrible
consequences which might follow a false step when he was out fishing,
and that I thought it necessary to repeat this advice very often, for it
was my opinion he paid very little attention to it. I also made several
other allusions to his indisposition to take care of himself, and
remarked how very necessary it was for me to look after his health. I
mentioned his great carelessness in regard to flannel, and told her that
it was often quite late in the autumn before he would make any change in
his clothing.
"Then I spoke of his domestic habits; and, as I saw Miss Temple seemed
much interested, I talked a good deal about them. He was the most loving
husband in the world, I said, and was always anxious to know what he
could do for me more than he was already doing; but when we were in the
city he did like to go out in the evenings, and I thought he went to his
club too often. Of course, I said, I did not say anything to him about
it, for I would not want him to think that I desired him to deny himself
the company of other gentlemen; but the habit of club attendance was one
that might grow on a man, especially a young one, and there were a good
many other things that might result from it, such as excessive smoking.
So I had thought it well to offer him additional inducements for
spending his evenings at home, and I had begun a regular system of
reading aloud. It had proved very beneficial to both of us, for I chose
good, standard books; and although he sometimes went to sleep, that was
to be expected, for Bernard was a hard-working man. As for myself, I
liked this reading aloud very much, although at first it was rather
tiresome, as I had never been used to it. Then I asked her if she liked
reading aloud--it is such a good way of giving pleasure to others at the
same time that you are pleasing yourself. She smiled, and said she was
very fond of reading aloud.
"Then I changed the subject to churches and preachers, for I did not
want her to think I was saying too much about my husband, and asked
her who was the best preacher in the village. When she said it was
Mr. Barnes, I asked her if she went to his church. She answered that she
did, and then I told her that I was also an Episcopalian, but that
Bernard's parents were Methodists. I did not think, however, that this
would make much difference, for when he began to go regularly to church,
I was sure he would rather go with me than to travel off somewhere by
himself.
"I did not suppose that Miss Temple would care so much about what I was
saying, but she did seem to care, and listened attentively to every
word.
"'You must not think I am talking too much about my family affairs,' I
remarked, 'but doesn't it strike you that a really good wife ought to
try just as hard as she can to be on good terms with her husband's
family, no matter how queer they may be? I mean the women in it; for
they are more likely to be queer than the men. For if she does not do
this,' I continued, 'the worst of the trouble, if there is any, will
come on him. He will have to take sides either with his wife or his
sisters,--and mother too, if he happens to have one,--and that would be
sure to make him unhappy if he is a good-hearted man, such as Bernard
is.'
"At this Miss Temple burst out laughing, and it was the first time I
had ever heard her laugh so heartily. As soon as she could speak she
exclaimed: 'Are you going to ask me to marry your husband if you should
happen to die?'
"I must have turned as red as the most scarlet poppy, for I felt my face
burn. I hesitated a little, but I was obliged to tell the truth, and so
I stammered out that I had been thinking of something of the kind.
"'Oh, please don't look so troubled,' said she. 'Several persons have
spoken to me on the same subject; but I never should have dreamed that
such an idea would come into your head. I think it is the funniest thing
in the world!' And then she laughed again.
"I was greatly embarrassed, and all I could say was that I hoped I had
not offended her.
"'Oh, not in the least,' she said. 'I am getting used to this sort of
thing, and I can bear it.'
"This remark helped me very much, for I resented it. 'I do not see what
there is to bear,' I said. 'Such a man as Bernard--and then I have
special reasons--'
"'Oh, yes,' she interrupted quickly; 'each one has a special reason. But
there is one general reason that is common to all. Now tell me, my
dear,'--and as she spoke she took both my hands and looked steadily into
my face,--'were you not about to ask me to marry your husband, in case
of your death, because you could think of it without being jealous of
me, and because you are afraid he might marry some one of whom you would
probably be jealous if you knew of it?'
"She looked at me in such a kind, strong way that I was obliged to
confess that this was my reason for speaking to her about Bernard. 'I
cannot exactly explain,' I added, and my face burned again, 'why I
should think about you in this way; but I hope you will not imagine--'
"'Oh, I shall not imagine anything that will be disagreeable to you,'
she said; and she looked just as good-humored as possible."
"Does that lady live in any place where my wife can get at her?" asked
the Master of the House, as the Next Neighbor paused to take breath.
"I have not yet developed a disease," said the Mistress of the House.
"Well, when you do, please find that woman. She is a very good sort."
"I shall have an opinion on that subject, papa," said the Daughter of
the House.
"You little minx!" he replied. "I shall see that you are provided for
before that."
"It is not well to joke about so serious a matter," said the Next
Neighbor, "as you will see when I finish my story.
"For a little while Miss Temple walked on in silence, and I tried hard
to think of what would be proper for me to say next, when suddenly she
stopped.
"'We are not far from the house now,' she said, 'and before we get there
I want to set your mind at rest by telling you that if you should die
before your husband, and if nothing should happen at any time or in any
way to interfere with such a plan, I will marry your Bernard and take
good care of him. I have never made such a positive promise to any one,
but I do not mind making it to you. I am sure I need not ask you to say
nothing about this compact to your husband.'
"I was stunned, but I managed to stammer: 'Oh, no, indeed!'
"Fortunately for me, Miss Temple did not stay to supper. I do not think
I could have borne to see her and Bernard together. It was bad enough
as it was. I felt greatly humiliated; I could not understand how I could
have done such a thing. It was worse than selling a birthright--it was
giving away the dearest thing on earth. I trembled from head to foot
when Bernard came home from fishing. I do not believe I ever before
greeted him so affectionately. My emotion troubled him, and he asked me
if I were ill, and if I had been lonely and bored while he was away. He
was just as good as good could be, and began to talk again about going
to the sea-shore. I did not object this time, for I could not know what
would be best to do.
"In the evening, after every one else had gone indoors, I begged him to
sit longer on the piazza, and to smoke another cigar. He was quite
surprised, because, as he said, I had never asked him to do such a thing
before, but had rather discouraged his smoking. But I declared I wanted
to sit with him in the moonlight all by ourselves. And so we did until
his cigar was finished.
"For the first hour of that night I did not sleep a wink, my mind was so
troubled. I felt as though I were not really Bernard's wife, but some
sort of a guardian angel who was watching over him to see that somebody
else made him happy. After I had thus been in the depths of grief for a
long while, I became angry.
"'She shall never have him!' I said to myself. 'I will make it the
object of my life to live longer than he does. My grandfather lived to
be much older than ordinary men, and why should not I have as long a
life? Perhaps it was the things he ate and drank, and his jovial
disposition, that gave him such longevity. If I were sure of this I
would be willing to take hot drinks at night, and wine at dinner. No;
Bernard must not be left behind.' It was while making up my mind very
firmly about this that I fell asleep.
"The next morning I was possessed with an overwhelming desire to go to
see Miss Temple. Why I should do so I could not tell myself. I certainly
did not want to see her; I did not wish to speak to her; I did not want
her to say anything to me: but I felt that I must go; and I went. She
received me very pleasantly, and did not say one word about our
conversation of the day before. There were a good many things I should
have liked to say, but I did not know how, unless she gave me the
opportunity. But she did not, and so it happened that we talked only
about something she was sewing--I do not know whether it was a
shirt-waist or an army blanket. In fact, I did not hear one word she
said about her stupid work, whatever it was, I was so busy re-studying
her face, her character, and everything about her. I now found she was
much more than satisfactory--she was really good-looking. Her eyes were
not very large, but they were soft and dark. Her voice was clear and
sweet. I had noticed this before, but, until now, I had not thought of
it as an objection. There were a good many other things that might be
very effective to a man, especially to one with half-healed sorrows. I
acknowledged to myself that I had been mistaken in her, and I did not
doubt she had deceived a good many other people in that neighborhood.
"When I rose to leave, she stood for a moment, looking at me as though
she expected me to say something on the subject which was certainly
interesting to her as well as to me. But now I did not want to talk, and
I gave her no chance to say anything. I walked rapidly home, feeling as
jealous of Margaret Temple as any woman could feel of another.
"I was glad that day that Bernard liked to go fishing, for my mind was
in such a condition that I did not think of anything that might happen
to him--at least, anything but just one thing, and that was awful. Emily
Cheston supposed I had a headache, and I let her think so, for it gave
me more time to myself. I looked at the thing that threatened to crush
all my happiness, on every possible side. Early in the morning a ray of
relief had come to my troubled mind, and this was that I did not believe
he would have her, anyway. But I had seen her since, and no such ray
comforted me now.
"I knew, as I had not known before, what a power she might have over a
man. Widowers, I thought, are generally ready enough to marry again;
but, no matter what they think about it, they mostly wait a good while,
for the sake of appearances. But this would be different. When a man
knows that his wife had selected some one as her successor--and he would
be sure to know this, the woman would see to that--he would not feel it
necessary to wait. He would be carrying out his dead wife's wishes, and
of course in this there should be no delay. Oh, horrible! When I thought
of myself as Bernard's dead wife, and that woman living, I actually
kicked the stool my feet were resting on. I vowed in my mind the thing
should never be. I felt better after I had made this vow, although I had
not thought of any way by which I could carry it out. Certainly I was
not going to say anything to Bernard about it, one way or another."
Here the Next Neighbor paused again. And at that moment the red thrush
gave a little low trill, as much as to say: "Listen to me now." Then he
twittered and chirped in a tentative way as if he had not made up his
mind about singing, and the party on the terrace felt like clapping to
encourage him.
"I wonder if he knows he has an audience," said the Daughter of the
House, in a very low tone.
"He knows it is impolite to interrupt the story," said her father. "No;
there he goes!"
And, sure enough, the bird, having decided that on the whole it would
help matters in whatever direction he wished them to be helped, sang
out, clear and loud, what seemed to his audience the most delightful
song he had yet given them.
When he had finished, the Next Neighbor said: "That was so full of soul
I hate to go on with my very material story."
"It strikes me," said the Old Professor, "that there is a good deal of
soul in your story."
"Thank you," said the Next Neighbor, as she again took up the thread of
her narrative.
"That evening, prompted by a sudden impulse, I went up to Bernard, and,
looking into his face, I declared that I would never leave him.
"'What!' he exclaimed. 'Has any one been asking you to leave me?'
"'Of course not,' said I, a little irritated--he has such queer ways of
taking what I say. 'I mean I am not going to die before you do. I am not
going to leave you in this world to take care of yourself.'
"He looked at me as though he did not understand me, and I do not
suppose he did, although he only said: 'I am delighted to hear that, my
dear girl. But how are you going to manage it? How about that hereditary
disease you were talking of the other day?'
"'I have nothing to say about that,' I answered; 'but if I live as long
as my grandfather did, I do not believe that your being a little older
than I am would--I mean that you would not be left alone. Don't you
understand?'
"Bernard did not laugh. 'You are the dearest little woman in the world,'
he said, 'and I believe you would do anything to make me happy--you
would even be willing to survive me, so that I should never lose you.
But don't let us talk any more about such doleful things. We are both
going to live to be a great deal older than your grandfather. Now I will
tell you something pleasant: I had a letter this morning, just as I was
starting out. I put it in my pocket, and did not have time to open it
until we were eating our lunch. It is from my brother George, who is
going to England next month, you know; and as he wants to see something
of us before he starts, he intends to spend a few days in the village,
so that he can be with us. He is coming to-morrow.'
"A ray of hope shot into my heart so bright that I could almost feel it
burn.
"'Well,' said Bernard, 'what have you to say to this? Aren't you glad
that George is coming?'
"'Glad!' I replied. 'I am more than delighted.'
"Bernard looked as though he did not understand this extraordinary
ecstasy; but as he was used to not understanding me, I do not suppose
he thought it worth while to bother himself about it.
"George was a fine young fellow, and, next to Bernard, I thought he was
the best man in the world. It will be remembered that I had no brother,
and George was always as kind and brotherly as he could be. I was fond
of him even before I was married; in fact, I knew him quite well before
I became acquainted with Bernard; and I was always glad to see him. But
I had never been so delighted to think he was coming as I was then. My
face must have shown this, for Bernard laughingly said:
"'You must be awfully glad to see George.'
"'I am glad,' I answered; and as I spoke I thought that if he knew
everything he would understand why my eyes glistened, as I am sure they
did.
"The reason of my great joy was that a plan had suddenly come into my
mind. George had spoken to me several times about marrying, and he had
told me just what kind of a wife he wanted; and now, as I remembered
what he had said on the subject, it seemed to me he had been describing
Margaret Temple. He wanted a wife who was good-looking but not a belle,
and she must be sensible and practical, a good housekeeper, and a
charming hostess. Besides, she must be intellectual, and fond of books,
and appreciate art, and all that. Moreover, he had said he would like
her to be just about a year older than himself, because he thought that
was a good proportion in a young couple. It was apt to make the man look
up to his wife a little, which might not be the case if he were the
elder. I remembered this, because when he told me I wished very much
that I were a year older than Bernard.
"Now, as I said before, all this seemed as though he had been talking of
Miss Temple; and I, knowing her so well, could see other points than
those he mentioned in which she would suit him as no other woman could.
If George would fall in love with Miss Temple,--and there was no earthly
reason why he should not, for Bernard told me he was going to make him
stay a week,--then everything would be all right; all my anxieties, my
forebodings, and my jealousies would be gone, and I should be as happy
as I was before I met that dear girl, Miss Temple.