THE DIPLOMAT.
Aunt Jane was in her garden, enjoying the flowers. This was her
especial garden, surrounded by a high-box hedge, and quite distinct
from the vast expanse of shrubbery and flower-beds which lent so much
to the beauty of the grounds at Elmhurst. Aunt Jane knew and loved
every inch of her property. She had watched the shrubs personally for
many years, and planned all the alterations and the construction of
the flower-beds which James had so successfully attended to. Each
morning, when her health permitted, she had inspected the greenhouses
and issued her brief orders--brief because her slightest word to the
old gardener incurred the fulfillment of her wishes. But this bit of
garden adjoining her own rooms was her especial pride, and contained
the choicest plants she had been able to secure. So, since she had
been confined to her chair, the place had almost attained to the
dignity of a private drawing-room, and on bright days she spent many
hours here, delighting to feast her eyes with the rich coloring of the
flowers and to inhale their fragrance. For however gruff Jane Merrick
might be to the people with whom she came in contact, she was always
tender to her beloved flowers, and her nature invariably softened when
in their presence.
By and by Oscar, the groom, stepped through an opening in the hedge
and touched his hat.
"Has my niece arrived?" asked his mistress, sharply.
"She's on the way, mum," the man answered, grinning. "She stopped
outside the grounds to pick wild flowers, an' said I was to tell you
she'd walk the rest o' the way."
"To pick wild flowers?"
"That's what she said, mum. She's that fond of 'em she couldn't
resist it. I was to come an' tell you this, mum; an' she'll follow me
directly."
Aunt Jane stared at the man sternly, and he turned toward her an
unmoved countenance. Oscar had been sent to the station to meet Louise
Merrick, and drive her to Elmhurst; but this strange freak on the part
of her guest set the old woman thinking what her object could be. Wild
flowers were well enough in their way; but those adjoining the grounds
of Elmhurst were very ordinary and unattractive, and Miss Merrick's
aunt was expecting her. Perhaps--
A sudden light illumined the mystery.
"See here, Oscar; has this girl been questioning you?"
"She asked a few questions, mum."
"About me?"
"Some of 'em, if I remember right, mum, was about you."
"And you told her I was fond of flowers?"
"I may have just mentioned that you liked 'em, mum."
Aunt Jane gave a scornful snort, and the man responded in a curious
way. He winked slowly and laboriously, still retaining the solemn
expression on his face.
"You may go, Oscar. Have the girl's luggage placed in her room."
"Yes, mum."
He touched his hat and then withdrew, leaving Jane Merrick with a
frown upon her brow that was not caused by his seeming impertinence.
Presently a slight and graceful form darted through the opening in the
hedge and approached the chair wherein Jane Merrick reclined.
"Oh, my dear, dear aunt!" cried Louise. "How glad I am to see you at
last, and how good of you to let me come here!" and she bent over and
kissed the stern, unresponsive face with an enthusiasm delightful to
behold.
"This is Louise, I suppose," said Aunt Jane, stiffly. "You are welcome
to Elmhurst."
"Tell me how you are," continued the girl, kneeling beside the chair
and taking the withered hands gently in her own. "Do you suffer any?
And are you getting better, dear aunt, in this beautiful garden with
the birds and the sunshine?"
"Get up," said the elder woman, roughly. "You're spoiling your gown."
Louise laughed gaily.
"Never mind the gown," she answered. "Tell me about yourself. I've
been so anxious since your last letter."
Aunt Jane's countenance relaxed a trifle. To speak of her broken
health always gave her a sort of grim satisfaction.
"I'm dying, as you can plainly see," she announced. "My days are
numbered, Louise. If you stay long enough you can gather wild flowers
for my coffin."
Louise flushed a trifle. A bunch of butter-cups and forget-me-nots was
fastened to her girdle, and she had placed a few marguerites in her
hair.
"Don't laugh at these poor things!" she said, deprecatingly. "I'm so
fond of flowers, and we find none growing wild in the cities, you
know."
Jane Merrick looked at her reflectively.
"How old are you, Louise," she asked.
"Just seventeen, Aunt."
"I had forgotten you are so old as that. Let me see; Elizabeth cannot
be more than fifteen."
"Elizabeth?"
"Elizabeth De Graf, your cousin. She arrived at Elmhurst this morning,
and will be your companion while you are here."
"That is nice," said Louise.
"I hope you will be friends."
"Why not, Aunt? I haven't known much of my relations in the past, you
know, so it pleases me to find an aunt and a cousin at the same time.
I am sure I shall love you both. Let me fix your pillow--you do not
seem comfortable. There! Isn't that better?" patting the pillow
deftly. "I'm afraid you have needed more loving care than a paid
attendant can give you," glancing at old Martha Phibbs, who stood some
paces away, and lowering her voice that she might not be overheard.
"But for a time, at least, I mean to be your nurse, and look after
your wants. You should have sent for me before, Aunt Jane."
"Don't trouble yourself; Phibbs knows my ways, and does all that is
required," said the invalid, rather testily. "Run away, now, Louise.
The housekeeper will show you to your room. It's opposite Elizabeth's,
and you will do well to make her acquaintance at once. I shall expect
you both to dine with me at seven."
"Can't I stay here a little longer?" pleaded Louise. "We haven't
spoken two words together, as yet, and I'm not a bit tired or anxious
to go to my room. What a superb oleander this is! Is it one of your
favorites, Aunt Jane?"
"Run away," repeated the woman. "I want to be alone."
The girl sighed and kissed her again, stroking the gray hair softly
with her white hand.
"Very well; I'll go," she said. "But I don't intend to be treated as
a strange guest, dear Aunt, for that would drive me to return home at
once. You are my father's eldest sister, and I mean to make you love
me, if you will give me the least chance to do so."
She looked around her, enquiringly, and Aunt Jane pointed a bony
finger at the porch.
"That is the way. Phibbs will take you to Misery, the housekeeper, and
then return to me. Remember, I dine promptly at seven."
"I shall count the minutes," said Louise, and with a laugh and a
graceful gesture of adieu, turned to follow Martha into the house.
Jane Merrick looked after her with a puzzled expression upon her face.
"Were she in the least sincere," she muttered, "Louise might prove a
very pleasant companion. But she's not sincere; she's coddling me to
win my money, and if I don't watch out she'll succeed. The girl's a
born diplomat, and weighed in the balance against sincerity, diplomacy
will often tip the scales. I might do worse than to leave Elmhurst to
a clever woman. But I don't know Beth yet. I'll wait and see which
girl is the most desirable, and give them each an equal chance."