During the weeks immediately following Darrell's departure the daily
routine of life at The Pines continued in the accustomed channels, but
there was not a member of the family, including Mr. Underwood himself,
to whom it did not seem strangely empty, as though some essential
element were missing.
To Kate her present life, compared with the first months of her return
home, was like the narrow current creeping sluggishly beneath the icy
fetters of winter as compared with the same stream laughing and singing
on its way under summer skies. But she was learning the lesson that all
must learn; that the world sweeps relentlessly onward with no pause for
individual woe, and each must keep step in its ceaseless march, no
matter how weary the brain or how heavy the heart.
Walcott's visits continued with the same frequency, but he was less
annoying in his attentions than formerly. It had gradually dawned upon
him that Kate was no longer a child, but a woman; and a woman with a
will as indomitable as her father's once it was aroused. He was not
displeased at the discovery; on the contrary, he looked forward with all
the keener anticipation to the pleasure of what he mentally termed the
"taming" process, once she was fairly within his power. Meantime, he was
content to make a study of her, sitting evening after evening either in
conversation with her father or listening while she played and sang,
but always watching her every movement, scanning every play of her
features.
"A loose rein for the present," he would say to himself, with a smile;
"but by and by, my lady, you will find whether or no I am master!"
He seldom attempted now to draw her into a tete a tete conversation, but
finding her one evening sitting upon a low divan in one of the
bay-windows looking out into the moonlight, he seated himself beside her
and began one of his entertaining tales of travel. An hour or more
passed pleasantly, and Walcott inquired, casually,--
"By the way, Miss Underwood, what has become of my four-footed friend? I
have not seen him for three weeks or more, and his attentions to me were
so marked I naturally miss them."
"Duke is at the mining camp," Kate answered, with a faint smile.
Walcott raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Possible! With my other
admirer, Mr. Darrell?"
"He is with Mr. Darrell."
"Accept my gratitude, Miss Underwood, for having made my entree to your
home much pleasanter, not to say safer."
"I neither claim nor accept your gratitude, Mr. Walcott," Kate replied,
with cool dignity, "since I did it simply out of regard for Duke's
welfare and not out of any consideration whatever for your wishes in the
matter."
"I might have known as much," said Walcott, with a mock sigh of
resignation, settling back comfortably among the pillows on the divan
and fixing his eyes on Kate's face; "I might have known that
consideration for any wish of mine could never by any chance be assigned
as the motive for an act of yours."
Kate made no reply, but the lines about her mouth deepened. For a moment
he watched her silently; then he continued slowly, in low, nonchalant
tones:
"I am positive that when I at last gain your consent to marry me,"--he
paused an instant to note the effect of his words, but there was not the
quiver of an eyelash on her part,--"even then, you will have the
audacity to tell me that you gave it for any other reason under heaven
than consideration for me or my wishes."
"Mr. Walcott," said Kate, facing him with sudden hauteur of tone and
manner, "you are correct. If ever I consent to marry you I can tell you
now as well as then my reason for doing so: it will be simply and solely
for my dear father's sake, for the love I bear him, out of consideration
for his wishes, and with no more thought of you than if you did not
exist."
Conflicting emotions filled Walcott's breast at these words, but he
preserved a calm, smiling exterior. He could not but admire Kate's
spirit; at the same time the thought flashed through his mind that this
apparent slip of a girl might prove rather difficult to "tame;" but he
reflected that the more difficult, the keener would be his enjoyment of
the final victory.
"A novel situation, surely!" he commented, with a low, musical laugh;
"decidedly unique!"
"But, my dear Miss Underwood," he continued, a moment later, "if your
love for your father and regard for his wishes are to constitute your
sole reasons for consenting to become my wife, why need you withhold
that consent longer? I am sure his wishes in the matter will remain
unchanged, as will also your love for him; why then should our marriage
be further delayed?"
"After what I have just told you, Mr. Walcott, do you still ask me to
be your wife?" Kate demanded, indignantly.
"I do, Miss Underwood; and, pardon me, I feel that you have trifled with
me long enough; I must have your answer."
She rose, drawing herself proudly to her full height.
"Take me to my father," she said, imperiously.
Walcott offered his arm, which she refused with a gesture of scorn, and
they proceeded to the adjoining room, where Mr. Underwood and his sister
were seated together before the fire. As Kate advanced towards her
father both looked up simultaneously, and each read in her white face
and proud bearing that a crisis was at hand. Mrs. Dean at once arose and
noiselessly withdrew from the room.
Walcott paused at a little distance from Mr. Underwood, assuming a
graceful attitude as he leaned languidly over the large chair just
vacated by Mrs. Dean, but Kate did not stop till she reached her
father's side, where she bowed coldly to Walcott to proceed with what he
had to say.
"Some time ago, Mr. Underwood," he began, smoothly and easily, "I asked
you for your daughter's hand in marriage, and you honored me with your
consent. Since that time I have paid my addresses to Miss Underwood in
so marked a manner as to leave her no room for doubt or misunderstanding
regarding my intentions, although, finding that she was not inclined to
look upon me with favor, I have hitherto refrained from pressing my
suit. Feeling now that I have given her abundance of time I have this
evening asked her to become my wife, and insisted that I was entitled to
a decision. Instead, however, of giving me a direct answer, she has
suggested that we refer the matter to yourself."
"How is this, Kate?" her father asked, not unkindly; "I supposed you and
I had settled this matter long ago."
Her voice was clear, her tones unfaltering, as she replied: "Before
giving my answer I wanted to ask you, papa, for the last time, whether,
knowing the circumstances as you do and how I regard Mr. Walcott, it is
still your wish that I marry him?"
"It is; and I expect my child to be governed by my wishes in this matter
rather than by her own feelings."
"Have I ever gone contrary to your wishes, papa, or disobeyed you?"
"No, my child, no!"
"Then I shall not attempt it at this late day. I only wanted to be sure
that this was still your wish."
"I desire it above all things," said Mr. Underwood, delighted to find
Kate so ready to accede to his wishes, rising and taking her hand in
his; "and the day that I see my little girl settled in the home which
she will receive as a wedding-gift from her old father will be the
proudest and happiest day of my life."
Kate smiled sadly. "No home can ever seem to me like The Pines, papa,
but I appreciate your kindness, and I want you to know that I am taking
this step solely for your happiness."
She then turned, facing Walcott, who advanced slightly, while Mr.
Underwood made a movement as though to place her hand in his.
"Not yet, papa," she said, gently; then, addressing Walcott, she
continued:
"Mr. Walcott, this must be my answer, since you insist upon having one:
Out of love for him who has been both father and mother to me, out of
reverence for his gray hairs frosted by the sorrows of earlier years,
out of regard for his wishes, which have always been my law,--for his
sake only,--I consent to become your wife upon one condition."
"Name it," Walcott replied.
"There can be no love between us, either in our engagement or our
marriage, for, as I have told you, I can never love you, and you
yourself are incapable of love in its best sense; you have not even the
slightest knowledge of what it is. For this reason any token of love
between us would be only a mockery, a farce, and true wedded love is
something too holy, too sacred, to be travestied in any such manner. I
consent to our marriage, therefore, only upon this condition: that we
henceforth treat each other simply with kindness and courtesy; that no
expressions of affection or endearment are to be used by either of us to
the other, and that no word or sign of love ever pass between us."
"Kate," interposed her father, sternly, "this is preposterous! I cannot
allow such absurdity;" but Walcott silenced him with a deprecatory wave
of his hand, and, taking Kate's hand in his, replied, with smiling
indifference,--
"I accept the condition imposed by Miss Underwood, since it is no more
unique than the entire situation, and I congratulate her upon her
decided originality. I suppose," he added, addressing Kate, at the same
time producing a superb diamond ring, "you will not object to wearing
this?"
"I yield that much to conventionality," she replied, allowing him to
place it on her finger; "there is no need to advertise the situation
publicly; besides, it is a fitting symbol of my future fetters."
"Conventionality, I believe, would require that it be placed on your
hand with a kiss and some appropriate bit of sentiment, but since that
sort of thing is tabooed between us, we will have to dispense with that
part of the ceremony."
Then turning to Mr. Underwood, who stood looking on frowningly, somewhat
troubled by the turn matters had taken, Walcott added, playfully,--
"According to the usual custom, I believe the next thing on the
programme is for you to embrace us and give us a father's blessing, but
my lady might not approve of anything so commonplace."
Before her father could reply Kate spoke for him, glancing at him with
an affectionate smile:
"Papa is not one of the demonstrative sort, and he and I need no
demonstration of our love for each other; do we, dear?"
"No, child, we understand each other," said her father, reseating
himself, with Kate in her accustomed place on the arm of his chair,
while Walcott took the large chair on the other side of the fire; "and
you neither of you need any assurance of my good wishes or good
intentions towards you; but," he continued, doubtfully, shaking his
head, "I don't quite like the way you've gone about this business,
Puss."
"It was the only way for me, papa," Kate answered, gravely and
decidedly.
"I admit," said Walcott, "it will be quite a departure from the mode of
procedure ordinarily laid down for newly engaged and newly wedded
couples; but really, come to think it over, I am inclined to think that
Miss Underwood's proposition will save us an immense amount of boredom
which is the usual concomitant of engagements and honeymoons. That sort
of thing, you know," he added, his lip curling just perceptibly, "is apt
to get a little monotonous after a while."
Kate, watching him from under level brows, saw the slight sneer and
inwardly rejoiced at the stand she had taken.
"Well," said Mr. Underwood, resignedly, "fix it up between you any way
to suit yourselves; but for heaven's sake, don't do anything to cause
comment or remarks!"
"Papa, you can depend on me not to make myself conspicuous in any way,"
Kate replied, with dignity. "What I have said to-night was said simply
to let you and Mr. Walcott know just where I stand, and just what you
may, and may not, expect of me; but this is only between us three, and
you can rest assured that I shall never wear my heart upon my sleeve or
take the public into my confidence regarding my home life."
"I think myself you need have no fear on that score, Mr. Underwood,"
Walcott remarked, with a smile of amusement; "I believe Miss Underwood
is entirely capable of carrying out to perfection any role she may
assume, and if she chooses to take the part of leading lady in the
little comedy of 'The Model Husband and Wife, I shall be only too
delighted to render her any assistance within my power."
As Walcott bade Kate good-night at a late hour he inquired, "What do you
think of the little comedy I suggested to-night for our future line of
action? Does it meet with your approval?"
She was quick to catch the significance of the question, and, looking
him straight in the eyes, she replied, calmly,--
"It will answer as well as any, I suppose; but it has in it more of the
elements of tragedy than of comedy."
_Chapter XXI_