OF WHAT AVAIL?
Berkley's words did have the effect of encouraging Mr. Jeffreys to take
heart anew, and, as it would be another month before his presence would
be required in Hartford, he concluded not to neglect his opportunities.
Therefore again Berkley retired to the background to watch his rival
pass by with Linda, walk to church with her, while he heard of his
visiting her daily. It seemed, then, that he did not intend to give her
up lightly.
"I don't know what to do about it," Linda confided to Miss Ri ruefully.
"I can't tell him to go home when he comes, and I can't disappear like
the Cheshire cat when he joins me on the street. He will be such a
short time here that it doesn't seem worth while to do more than let
matters drift."
"I rather like his persistence," declared Miss Ri. "He'll win you yet,
Verlinda."
Linda neither affirmed nor denied. Another little poem had found its
way into print and there was hope ahead, even though Talbot's Angles
should be lost to her.
"It isn't such a tremendously valuable piece of property after all,"
Miss Ri continued her remarks, showing the trend of her thought, "and
if you weren't so sentimentally fond of it, Verlinda, I don't know that
it would be such a great loss. I wish you'd let me adopt you; then I'd
leave you this place."
"You'd have me give up my independence, Aunt Ri? Oh, no. We've
canvassed that question too often. If you had taken me before I had
known what it was to hoe my own row, it might have done, but now, oh,
no. You're the dearest of dears to tempt me, but we shall both be
happier with no faster bond than that which self-elected friends must
always feel. I love no one so well as you, and you don't dislike me,
though I admit I don't consider myself first in your regard."
"And who do you think is? Not Becky Hill's brood, I'm sure. They will
have enough, and I am not one of those who think everything should go
to those of the name, unless there's love, too. Who do you mean? If
you're not first, who is?"
"Berkley Matthews."
"Better say he used to be. He hasn't the sense he was born with. If I
were his mother I'd spank him."
"Now, Aunt Ri, what for?"
"On general principles, just because he is such a notional piece of
humanity. I admire him, too; I can't help it; all the same he tries me.
When you desert me to turn Yankee, Verlinda, I'll make my will and
leave this place as a home for indigent females or something of that
kind."
"How nice," returned Linda comfortably; "then when I grow decrepit I
can come back here and have my old room."
The little creases appearing around Miss Ri's eyes, showed that she
appreciated this retort. "There comes Bertie," she announced a moment
after.
"Then I'll ask her to walk with me," returned Linda, rising with
alacrity.
"Doesn't Mr. Jeffreys make his appearance about this time?"
"Generally, but I can skip him to-day. I'd rather go with Bertie. Just
tell him, Aunt Ri."
"That you'd rather go with Bertie?"
"Of course not, but that we have gone out for a walk."
"Where are you going?"
"There's no need of your knowing, is there?"
Miss Ri looked up with a smile. "I understand. Go along. I reckon
you're right to suggest the unattainable once in a while; it adds to
the zest later." And with this Parthian shot following her, Linda left
the room to join Bertie.
In another moment Miss Ri saw the two girls going out the gate. "I'll
not even watch to see which way they turn," she said to herself,
letting her gaze fall on her work rather than on the outside world.
The dear lady made a good conspirator.
"When are you going to announce your engagement?" was one of the first
questions Bertie put to her companion, as they set their faces toward
the main street.
"What do you mean?" asked Linda.
"Oh, now Linda Talbot, everyone knows you are engaged to Mr. Jeffreys.
You wouldn't be together so continually if you were not."
"I think I could mention several young persons in this town who have
set a worthy precedent," replied Linda.
"Oh, well, of course, but in this case--He isn't the flirty kind, we
all know."
"He is my cousin," argued Linda in self-defence.
Bertie laughed. "We all know that kind of cousin. The Irish maids have
flaunted them before our eyes for generations. That won't do, Linda.
Own up."
"Positively there are none but friendly relations between Wyatt
Jeffreys and myself."
"Truly? I can scarcely believe it, but there is not a doubt but that
there will be different ones, and everyone is thinking it such an ideal
arrangement, for of course it is known that he is the claimant for
Talbot's Angles."
"I am sorry to disappoint my neighbors."
"I, for one, don't expect to be disappointed. If I did I would set my
cap for the young man myself. I've heard girls talk that way before,
and the first thing you knew their wedding cards were out. I don't see
how you can possibly give up the joy of owning that dear old home of
yours. He'd better not offer himself to me, I'd accept him for Talbot's
Angles if for nothing else."
Linda winced. It might come to that, perhaps. For the moment she felt
annoyed at Bertie who might have been more tactful, she thought.
"Do you know," continued Bertie, "whether Mr. Jeffreys intends to
live there? We are all dying to know, and if you don't become the
mistress of the dear old place it will not want for one for the lack of
appreciative damsels. The girls are ready, even now to reckon on their
chances. We don't have so many eligible young men come to town that we
can afford to let such a desirable one go away unappropriated."
"It seems to me that he is not the only one," responded Linda.
"There are not more than half a dozen, not near enough to go around. I
know perfectly well, for at the last dance I had to dance twice with
a girl, and I do hate that. Let me see, there are Elmer Dawson, John
Emory, Todd Bryan, Billy Tucker, Tom Willis, and Berk Matthews, though
Berk doesn't count. Nobody sees him nowadays. He has turned into a
regular greasy grind, so that he is no good at all. He has a girl up in
the city, you know. I charged him with it, and he the same as admitted
it. I think he might have looked nearer home. Berk used to be great
fun, too; it is rather a shame. So you see, Linda, even counting him
there are not more than six who are really worth while; the rest are
mere boys. Now, if you really don't want your cousin yourself, you
might speak a good word for me, and I'll be mighty thankful."
"Bertie, you are a silly child. You know you don't mean a word of all
this. Why do you rattle on in such a brainless way?"
"I'm in dead earnest, I assure you. I'll take him in a minute, now that
I can't get Berk who is as good as gone. We are wild to know who the
girl is, what she looks like and all that. I suppose you didn't happen
to meet her when you were in the city. Miss Ri ought to know, if anyone
does."
"We didn't meet any such person," replied Linda a little defiantly. "We
saw Mrs. Matthews and Margaret, but, of course, they did not mention
her."
"Very likely they would be the last ones to know. At all events he is
not the lad he was, as anyone with half an eye can see. Even if he
hadn't told me there would be but one conclusion to gather from his
absolute indifference to us all. Every one of the girls agree to that."
Linda smiled mechanically. Suppose it were true. There had been but the
one meeting, that which took place upon the day of her arrival from
the city, then it had seemed as if they were about to return to the
old pleasant relations, but since then not another sign. Yet--"There
isn't anything I wouldn't do to make you happy, Linda Talbot." What was
the meaning of that saying? Only the gentle concern of a chivalrous,
tender-hearted man, probably. She gave a little sigh which drew
Bertie's attention.
"Tired, Linda? We're going too far, perhaps. I forget that you are a
busy bee all the morning. We'd better turn back."
Linda agreed. She felt singularly heavy-spirited and would be glad to
reach home, she realized. Bertie left her with a laughing challenge to
"hurry up or she would try to cut her out," and then Linda went in.
Miss Ri was just stirring the fire, for she loved the dancing lights at
a twilight hour. "Draw up, draw up," she cried, "and tell me the news.
What did you learn from Bertie?"
"First that I was engaged to Mr. Jeffreys, and if not that I ought to
be. Second; it is reported that Berkley Matthews has a sweetheart in
the city."
"The wretch!" cried Miss Ri. "I'd like to see him bring a strange girl
here for me to conciliate and defer to."
"He has a perfect right, hasn't he, Aunt Ri?"
"Oh, I don't know, I'm sure. I hate to think of it. So the report is
that you are certainly engaged."
"Yes, they have arranged it all, and are quite pleased. I am to live
at Talbot's Angles, it seems, and it is considered a delightful way to
settle matters for me. Bertie was quite enthusiastic. Did Mr. Jeffreys
come?"
"Yes, and was sorry to have missed you. He'll be back this evening. He
tells me he is going to leave for Hartford next week. Are you going
with him, Verlinda?"
The girl thoughtfully prodded a long stick which needed pushing further
back. "I haven't decided," she replied presently.
"You had decided there in Baltimore, if I remember correctly."
"Yes, so I had. Oh, I don't know. I don't know. I don't see how I could
stand it to keep on living here." She put down the tongs and clasped
her hands tightly.
"Why, Verlinda, my dear child, what do you mean? You--" Miss Ri paused
and laid her hand gently on the girl's. "The wretch," she murmured,
"the wretch."
Linda turned to kiss her cheek. "Never mind, Aunt Ri," she rejoined;
"no doubt I'll be thanking the Lord yet."
Miss Ri laughed shortly, then the words came pleadingly, "Don't leave
me, Verlinda, and don't think you will be any happier if you go away.
You can't run from yourself, you know. Stay where you are and fight it
out as I did. I'll do my best for you."
"Dear Aunt Ri! As if I didn't know that. After all, I believe you are
right. I'd be happier here with you than among strangers under any
circumstances, even with my old home calling me and a good man to share
it. I suppose it is cowardly to want to take refuge in a love you can't
return."
"It isn't only cowardly," affirmed Miss Ri with decision, "but it is
unfair to the one who gives all and receives no return. I think you are
too proud as well as too honest to allow that, Verlinda."
"Do you think I've been unkind, unfair to Mr. Jeffreys? I haven't meant
to be. I've been trying my best to care for him, to learn to know
him better and to appreciate his good qualities so they would seem
sufficient for me. I haven't meant to encourage him unduly. I meant to
do the very fairest thing I could, but I am afraid I haven't, after
all, or the town wouldn't take things so for granted."
"The town takes things for granted upon slighter evidence than that.
Don't struggle any more, dear child. What is that old quotation? 'To
thine own self be true and it must follow as the night the day, thou
can'st not then be false to any man.' Don't forget that. Now, let's
light up and be as cheery as we can. Don't believe all the gossip you
hear; there's not one tenth of it true."
Mr. Jeffreys came again that evening. Miss Ri, with a wisdom born of
experience, went around to Miss Parthy's and with the opportunity
afforded him Mr. Jeffreys made a final throw--and lost. Miss Ri
returned to find Linda, with her head in the cushions of the sofa,
shaking with sobs.
"You poor darling child," said Miss Ri, bending over her, "was it so
hard?"
"Oh, I hated to do it. I hated to, Aunt Ri. He was so quiet and
dignified, and so kind. He tried to make me feel that it wasn't my
fault and he--cares much more than I believed. He didn't say so before."
"Before? There was a first time, then, and this was the second."
"Yes, as you suspected, there in Baltimore, but I wasn't half so
distressed then. Oh, dear, why should we have such contrary hearts?"
Down went her head again.
"There, dear, there," Miss Ri soothed her. "Don't cry about it.
There never was a man living worth so many tears. He will get over
it beautifully; I never knew one who didn't. You will probably get
cards for his wedding while you are still grieving over this night's
business. Mark my words."
Linda sat up at this. "I suppose I am silly," she said steadily. "I
haven't a doubt but I was overwrought and nervous. You see it is the
first time I ever refused a man to his face; I gave him a note before.
Very likely if I had refused a dozen men as some girls do, I should get
to rather enjoying it." She smiled ruefully.
Miss Ri sat down and snuggled her up close. "Dear, good little lass,
you'd never be one to glory in scalps. I am sorry for you both, but it
can't be helped, and you have done exactly right. Now don't lie awake
all night thinking about it." A wise piece of advice but one which
profited Linda little.
With more than his usual gravity Wyatt Jeffreys presented himself
at Berkley's office the next morning. "Can I see you privately?" he
asked, for Billy was rattling papers in the next room where a couple
of countrymen were waiting, beguiling the time by a plentiful use of
chewing tobacco.
Berkley glanced at his clients. "Can you wait a few minutes? I shall
be through with these men before very long. Suppose you go over to the
hotel and tell them that you are to meet me there. Ask them to show
you to my room. I'll be over as soon as I can."
Jeffreys nodded approvingly. "Very well. I will meet you there. Thank
you for suggesting it."
He was admitted to the room without question. He remembered it from
having first visited Berkley there to identify the little trunk. Better
it had never been found and that he had left the place then and there.
He sat down in the one easy chair, and looked around. On the bureau
stood a row of photographs, the first of a gentle looking woman whose
eyes were like Berkley's; that must be his mother, and the next his
sister. A third, evidently taken some years before, showed a man with
thoughtful brow and a strong, though not handsome face; this was Dr.
Matthews of whom Jeffreys had heard much from those who still missed
their beloved physician. There was another photograph standing by
itself, the thin white outer covering dropped like a veil over it, but
through this Jeffreys could see that it was a head of Linda. He did not
lift the veil, but stood thoughtfully looking at the dim outline. He
had put his own camera to use often enough to secure several snap-shots
of the girl in Miss Ri's old garden, but this picture he had not seen.
He wondered if she had given it to Berkley, and when. There were no
other pictures about except those three of the family standing side by
side.
The man sat down again and presently Berkley hurried in. "Sorry I had
to keep you waiting," he said, "but these country fellows are slow.
Well, anything new?"
"Nothing," responded Jeffreys dully. "I only wanted to tell you that I
am leaving next week, and that I wish to stop proceedings in the matter
of Talbot's Angles."
"What do you mean, man?" Berkley turned in surprise.
"Just that. Do you think you're the only man who can do a brave thing?
Do you suppose you can flaunt your heroics without making me feel that
I am a small specimen who has no right to be smirking around as a
complacent recipient of others' property? I will not have it. I am as
capable as you of making sacrifices. I will not be outdone by you."
"Please explain yourself." Berkley spoke quietly, eyeing the other
man's tense face.
"I mean this: I wish Miss Talbot to retain her property. I have taken
your advice, but, as I told you before, it was not worth while. Not
even for the sake of having her own again would she take me with the
property."
"You wouldn't expect one of her caliber to do it for the sake of that
only," said Berkley a little proudly. Then more gently, "I am no end
of sorry. Believe me or not, I had hoped for a better report from you."
"Is that honestly said?"
"It is."
The man's face softened. "I believe you, Matthews. If ever a man
has shown himself loyal, you are he. I see it all, and I bow to the
inevitable. I never have had much of what I wanted in this world, and
I suppose I shall never have. As yet I cannot be as generous as you,
but some day I hope to reach your heights. I have the promise of a good
future before me, and I can do without Cyrus Talbot's inheritance. What
I came to say I have said. Stop proceedings. I relinquish all claim to
Talbot's Angles."
What could Berkley answer? He realized that these were sorry days for
Jeffreys, and the least said now the better. "Very well," he agreed;
"it shall be as you wish. I consider it most generous of you. Of course
nothing of any account has been done, and we will drop the whole thing
for the present. Perhaps you will wish to reconsider it some day. If
you do, I am at your service. Shall I hand you back your papers?"
"No. Throw them into the fire. I don't care what you do with them. I
shall never want them."
He rose to go. Berkley followed him to the street where they parted,
the one to return to his room, the other to his office where he tied
up the papers and thrust them into his desk. That was done. What a
storm of feeling those yellow sheets had raised, and now--"Poor devil,"
said Berkley to himself. "It was pretty hard lines and he has shown
himself of good stuff. Confound it all, why did it have to happen so?
At least I must have the delicacy to keep out of the way while the
man is in town." The color rushed to his face, but receded almost as
quickly. "I'm a conceited ass," he cried inwardly. "If she couldn't
care for such a man as Jeffreys why should I expect her to care for me?
Go to, Berkley Matthews. Crawl down from your pinnacle, and don't lay
any such flattering unction to your soul." He set to work at one of his
briefs, determined not to encourage himself in any illusions.