One afternoon, shortly after dinner, she had gone out to gather a
nosegay of wild flowers to brighten her little living-room. She was
busily engaged in arranging them in a pudding bowl, smiling to think
that her hand had lost none of the cunning to which Miss Wickham had
always paid grudging tribute, even if her improvised vase was of homely
ware, when she heard her husband's step at the door. It was so unusual
for him to return at this hour that for a moment she was almost
startled.
"_I_ didn't know you were about."
"Oh," he said easily, "I ain't got much to do to-day. I've been out with
Sid Sharp and a man come over from Prentice."
"From Prentice?"
Having arranged her flowers to her satisfaction, she stepped back to
view the effect. At that moment her husband's eye fell on them.
"Say, what you got there?"
"Aren't they pretty? I picked them just now. They're so gay and
cheerful."
"Very." But his tone had none of the enthusiasm with which he usually
greeted her efforts to beautify the house.
"A few flowers make the shack look more bright and cozy."
He took in the room with a glance that approved of everything.
"You've made it a real home, Nora. Mrs. Sharp never stops talking of how
you've done it. She was saying only the other day it was because you was
a lady. It does make a difference, I guess, although I didn't use to
think _so_."
Nora gave him a smile full of indulgence.
"I'm glad you haven't found me quite a hopeless failure."
"I guess I've never been so comfortable in all my life. It's what I
always said: once English girls _do_ take to the life, they make a
better job of it than anybody."
"What's the man come over from Prentice for?" asked Nora. They were
approaching a subject she always avoided.
"I guess you ain't been terribly happy here, my girl," he said gravely,
unmindful of her question.
"What on earth makes you say that?"
"You've got too good a memory, I guess, and you ain't ever forgiven me
for that first night."
It was the first time he had alluded to the subject for months. Would
he never understand that she wanted to forget it! He might know that it
always irritated her.
"I made up my mind very soon that I must accept the consequences of what
I'd done. I've tried to fall in with your ways," she said coldly.
"You was clever enough to see that I meant to be the master in my own
house and that I had the strength to make myself so."
How unlike his latter self this boastful speech was. But then he had
been utterly unlike himself for several days. What did he mean? She knew
him well enough by now to know that he never acted without meaning. But
directness was one of his most admirable characteristics. It was unlike
him to be devious, as he was being now. But if the winter had taught her
anything, it had taught her patience.
"I've cooked for you, mended your clothes, and I've kept the shack
clean. I've tried to be obliging and--and obedient." The last word was
not yet an easy one to pronounce.
"I guess you hated me, though, sometimes." He gave a little chuckle.
"No one likes being humiliated; and you humiliated me."
"Ed's coming here presently, my girl."
"Ed who?"
"Your brother Ed."
"Eddie! When?"
"Why, right away, I guess. He was in Prentice this morning."
"How do you know?"
"He 'phoned over to Sharp to say he was riding out."
"Oh, how splendid! Why didn't you tell me before?"
"I didn't know about it."
"Is that why you asked me if I was happy? I couldn't make out what was
the matter with you."
"Well, I guess I thought if you still wanted to quit, Ed's coming would
be kind of useful."
Nora sat down in one of the chairs and gave him a long level look.
"What makes you think that I want to?" she said quietly.
"You ain't been so very talkative these last months, but I guess it
wasn't so hard to see sometimes that you'd have given pretty near
anything in the world to quit."
"I've no intention of going back to Eddie's farm, if that's what you
mean."
To this he made no reply. Still with the same grave air, he went over to
the door and started out again, pausing a moment after he had crossed
the threshold.
"If Ed comes before I get back, tell him I won't be long. I guess you
won't be sorry to do a bit of yarning with him all by yourself."
"You are not going away with the idea that I'm going to say beastly
things to him about you, are you?"
"No, I guess not. That ain't your sort. Perhaps we don't know the best
of one another yet, but I reckon we know the worst by this time."
"Frank!" she said sharply. "There's something the matter. What is it?"
"Why, no; there's nothing. Why?"
"You've not been yourself the last few days."
"I guess that's only your imagination. Well, I'd better be getting
along. Sid and the other fellow'll be waiting for me."
Without another look in her direction, he was gone, closing the door
after him.
Nora remained quite still for several minutes, biting her lips and
frowning in deep thought. It was all very well to say that there was
nothing the matter, but there was. Did he think she could live with him
day after day all these months and not notice his change of mood, even
if she could not translate it? He had still a great deal to learn about
women!
On the way over to the shelf to get her work, she paused a moment beside
her flowers to cheer herself once more with their brightness. Sitting
down by the table, she began to darn one of her husband's thick woolen
socks. An instant later she was startled by a loud knock on the door.
With a little cry of pleasure she flung it open, to find Eddie standing
outside. She gave a cry of delight. Somehow, the interval since she had
seen him last, significant as it was in bringing to her the greatest
change her life had known, seemed for the second longer than all the
years she had spent in England without seeing him.
"Eddie! Oh, my dear, I'm so glad to see you!" she cried, flinging her
arms around his neck.
"Hulloa there," he said awkwardly.
"But how did you come? I didn't hear any wheels."
"Look." He pointed over to the shed; she looked over his shoulder to see
Reggie Hornby grinning at her from the seat of a wagon.
"Why, it's Reggie Hornby. Reggie!" she called.
Reggie took off his broad hat with a flourish.
"Tell him he can put the horse in the lean-to."
"All right. Reg," called Marsh, "give the old lady a feed and put her in
the lean-to."
"Right-o!"
"Didn't you meet Frank? He's only just this moment gone out."
"No."
"He'll be back presently. Now, come in. Oh, my dear, _it is_ splendid to
see you!"
"You're looking fine, Nora."
"Have you had your dinner?"
"Sure. We got something to eat before we left Prentice."
"Well, you'll have a cup of tea?"
"No, I won't have any, thanks."
"Ah," laughed Nora happily, "you're not a real Canadian yet, if you
refuse a cup of tea when it's offered you. But do sit down and make
yourself comfortable," she said, fairly pushing him into a chair.
"How are you getting along, Nora?" His manner was still a little
constrained. They were both thinking of their last parting. But she,
being a woman, could carry it off better.
"Oh, never mind about me," she said gayly. "Tell me all about yourself.
How's Gertie? And what has brought you to this part of the world? And
what's Reggie Hornby doing here? And is Thingamajig still with you; you
know, the hired man?"--The word "other" almost slipped out.--"What _was_
his name, Trotter, wasn't it? Oh, my dear, don't sit there like a
stuffed pig, but answer my questions, or I'll shake you."
"My dear child, I can't answer fifteen questions all at once!"
"Oh, Eddie, I'm so glad to see you! You are a perfect duck to come and
see me."
"Now let me get a word in edgeways."
"I won't utter another syllable. But, for goodness' sake, hurry up. I
want to know all sorts of things."
"Well, the most important thing is that I'm expecting to be a happy
father in three or four months."
"Oh, Eddie, I'm so glad! How happy Gertie must be."
"She doesn't know what to make of it. But I guess she's pleased right
enough. She sends you her love and says she hopes you'll follow her
example very soon."
"I?" said Nora sharply. "But," she added with a return to her gay tone,
"you've not told me what you're doing in this part of the world,
anyway."
"Anyway?"
Nora blushed. "I've practically spoken to no one but Frank for months;
it's natural that I should fall into his way of speaking."
"Well, when I got Frank's letter about the clearing-machine----"
"Frank has written to you?"
"Why, yes; didn't you know? He said there was a clearing-machine going
cheap at Prentice. I've always thought I could make money down our way
if I had one. They say you can clear from three to four acres a day with
one. Frank thought it was worth my while to come and have a look at it
and he said he guessed you'd be glad to see me."
"How funny of him not to say anything to me about it," said Nora,
frowning once more.
"I suppose he wanted to surprise you. And now for yourself; how do you
like being a married woman?"
"Oh, all right. But you haven't answered half my questions yet. Why has
Reggie Hornby come with you?"
"Do you realize I've not seen you since before you were married?"
"That's so; you haven't, have you?"
"I've been a bit anxious about you. That's why, when Frank wrote about
the clearing-machine, I didn't stop to think about it, but just came."
"It was awfully nice of you. But why has Reggie Hornby come?"
"Oh, he's going back to England."
"Is he?"
"Yes, he got them to send his passage money at last. His ship doesn't
sail till next week, and he said he might just as well stop over here
and say good-by to you."
"How has he been getting on?"
"How do you expect? He looks upon work as something that only damned
fools do. Where's Frank?"
"Oh, he's out with Sid Sharp. Sid's our neighbor. He has the farm you
passed on your way here."
"Getting on all right with him, Nora?"
"Why, of course," said Nora with just a suggestion of irritation in her
voice.
"What's that boy doing all this time?" she asked, going over to the
window and looking out. "He _is_ slow, isn't he?"
But Marsh was not a man whom it was easy to side-track.
"It's a great change for you, this, after the sort of life you've been
used to."
"I was rather hoping you'd have some letters for me," said Nora from the
window. "I haven't had a letter for a long time."
As a matter of fact she had no reason to expect any, not having answered
Miss Pringle's last and having practically no other correspondent. But
the speech was a happy one, in that it created the desired diversion.
"There now!" said her brother with an air of comical consternation.
"I've got a head like a sieve. Two came by the last mail. I didn't
forward them, because I was coming myself."
"You don't mean to tell me you've forgotten them!"
"No; here they are."
Nora took them with a show of eagerness. "They don't look very
exciting," she said, glancing at them. "One's from Agnes Pringle, the
lady's companion that I used to know at Tunbridge Wells, you remember.
And the other's from Mr. Wynne."
"Who's he?"
"Oh, he was Miss Wickham's solicitor. He wrote to me once before to say
he hoped I was getting on all right. I don't think I want to hear from
people in England any more," she said in a low voice, more to herself
than to him, tossing the letters on the table.
"My dear, why do you say that?"
"It's no good thinking of the past, is it?"
"Aren't you going to read your letters?"
"Not now; I'll read them when I'm alone."
"Don't mind me."
"It's silly of me; but letters from England always make me cry."
"Nora! Then you aren't happy here."
"Why shouldn't I be?"
"Then why haven't you written to me but once since you were married?"
"I hadn't anything to say. And then," carrying the war into the enemy's
quarter, "I'd been practically turned out of your house."
"I don't know what to make of you. Frank Taylor's kind to you and all
that sort of thing, isn't he?"
"Very. But don't cross-examine me, there's a dear."
"When I asked you to come and make your home with me, I thought it
mightn't be long before you married. But I didn't expect you to marry
one of the hired men."
"Oh, my dear, please don't worry about me." Nora was about at the end of
her endurance.
"It's all very fine to say that; but you've got no one in the world
belonging to you except me."
"Don't, I tell you."
"Nora!"
"Now listen. We've never quarreled once since the first day I came here.
Now are you satisfied?"
She said it bravely, but it was with a feeling of unspeakable relief
that she saw Reggie Hornby at the door.
She certainly had never before been so genuinely glad to see him. As she
smilingly held out her hand, her eye took in his changed appearance.
Gone were the overalls and the flannel shirt, the heavy boots and broad
belt. Before her stood the Reggie of former days in a well-cut suit of
blue serge and spotless linen. She was surprised to find herself
thinking, after all, men looked better in flannels.
"I was wondering what on earth you were doing with yourself," she said
gayly.
"I say," he said, his eye taking in the bright little room, "this is a
swell shack you've got."
"I've tried to make it look pretty and homelike."
"Helloa, what's this!" said Marsh, whose eye had fallen for the first
time on the bowl of flowers.
"Aren't they pretty? I've only just picked them. They're mustard
flowers."
"We call them weeds. Have you much of it?"
"Oh, yes; lots. Why?"
"Oh, nothing."
"Eddie tells me you're going home."
"Yes," said Reggie, seating himself and carefully pulling up his
trousers. "I'm fed up for my part with God's own country. Nature never
intended me to be an agricultural laborer."
"No? And what are you going to do now?"
"Loaf!" Mr. Hornby's tone expressed profound conviction.
"Won't you get bored?" smiled Nora.
"I'm never bored. It amuses me to watch other people do things. I should
hate my fellow-creatures to be idle."
"I should think one could do more with life than lounge around clubs and
play cards with people who don't play as well as oneself."
Hornby gave her a quick ironic look. "I quite agree with you," he said
with his most serious air. "I've been thinking things over very
seriously this winter. I'm going to look out for a middle-aged widow
with money who'll adopt me."
"I recall that you have decided views about the White Man's Burden."
"All I want is to get through life comfortably. I don't mean to do a
stroke more work than I'm obliged to, and I'm going to have the very
best time I can."
"I'm sure you will," said Nora, smiling.
But her smile was a little mechanical. Somehow she could no longer be
genuinely amused at such sentiments which, in spite of his airy manner,
she knew to be real. And yet, it was not so very long ago that she would
have thought them perfectly natural in a man of his position. Somehow,
her old standards were not as fixed as she had thought them.
"The moment I get back to London," continued Hornby imperturbably, "I'm
going to stand myself a bang-up dinner at the Ritz. Then I shall go and
see some musical comedy at the Gaiety, and after that, I'll have a
slap-up supper at Romano's. England, with all thy faults, I love thee
still!" he finished piously.
"I suppose it's being alone with the prairie all these months," said
Nora, more to herself than him; "but things that used to seem clever and
funny--well, I see them altogether differently now."
"I'm afraid you don't altogether approve of me," he said, quite
unabashed.
"I don't think you have much pluck," said Nora, not unkindly.
"Oh, I don't know about that. I've as much as anyone else, I expect,
only I don't make a fuss about it."
"Oh, pluck to stand up and let yourself be shot at."--She flushed
slightly at the remembrance of Frank standing in this very room in front
of the gun in her hand. Would she ever forget his laugh!--"But pluck to
do the same monotonous thing day after day, plain, honest, hard
work--you haven't got that sort of pluck. You're a failure and the worst
of it is, you're not ashamed of it. It seems to fill you with
self-satisfaction. Oh, you're incorrigible," she ended with a laugh.
"I am; let's let it go at that. I suppose there's nothing you want me to
take home; I shall be going down to Tunbridge Wells to see mother. Got
any messages?"
"I don't know that I have. Eddie has just brought me a couple of
letters. I'll have a look at them first."
She went over to the table and picked up Miss Pringle's letter and
opened it.
After reading a few lines, she gave a little cry.
"Oh!"
"What's the matter?" asked Marsh.
"What _can_ she mean? Listen! 'I've just heard from Mr. Wynne about your
good luck and I'm glad to say I have another piece of good news for
you.'"
Dropping the letter, she tore open the other. It contained a check. She
gave it a quick glance.
"A check for five hundred pounds! Oh, Eddie, listen." She read from Mr.
Wynne's letter: "'Dear Miss Marsh--I have had several interviews with
Mr. Wickham in relation to the late Miss Wickham's estate, and I
ventured to represent to him that you had been very badly treated. Now
that everything is settled, he wishes me to send you the enclosed check
as some recognition of your devoted services to his late aunt--five
hundred pounds."
"That's a very respectable sum," said Marsh, nodding his head sagely.
"I could do with that myself," remarked Hornby.
"I've never had so much money in all my life!"
"But what's the other piece of good news that Miss Stick-in-the-mud has
for you?"
"Oh, I quite forgot. Where is it?" Her brother stooped and picked the
fallen letter from the floor.
"Thank you. Um-um-um-um-um. Oh, yes, 'Piece of good news for you. I
write at once so that you may make your plans accordingly. I told you in
my last letter, did I not, of my sister-in-law's sudden death? Now my
brother is very anxious that I should make my home with him. So I am
leaving Mrs. Hubbard. She wishes me to say that if you care to have my
place as her companion, she will be very pleased to have you. I have
been with her for thirteen years and she has always treated me like an
equal. She is very considerate and there is practically nothing to do
but to exercise the dear little dogs. The salary is thirty-five pounds a
year.'"
"But," said Marsh, looking at the envelope in his hand, "the letter is
addressed to Miss Marsh. I'd intended to ask you about that; don't they
know you're married?"
"No. I haven't told them."
"What a lark!" said Reggie, slapping his knee. "You could go back to
Tunbridge Wells, and none of the old frumps would ever know you'd been
married at all."
"Why, so I could!" said Nora in a breathless tone. She gave Hornby a
strange look and turned toward the window to hide the fact that she had
flushed to the roots of her hair.
Her brother gave her a long look.
"Just clear out for a minute, Reg. I want to talk with Nora."
"Right-o!" He disappeared in the direction of the shed.
"Nora, do you _want_ to clear out?"
"What on earth makes you think that I do?"
"You gave Reg such a look when he mentioned it."
"I'm only bewildered. Tell me, did Frank know anything about this?"
"My dear, how could he?"
"It's most extraordinary; he was talking about my going away only a
moment before you came."
"About your going away? But why?"
She realized that she had betrayed herself and kept silent.
"Nora, for goodness' sake tell me if there's anything the matter. Can't
you see it's now or never? You're keeping something back from me. I
could see it all along, ever since I came. Aren't you two getting on
well together?"
"Not very," she said in a low, shamed tone.
"Why in heaven's name didn't you let me know."
"I was ashamed."
"But you just now said he was kind to you."
"I have nothing to reproach him with."
"I tell you I felt there was something wrong. I knew you couldn't be
happy with him. A girl like you, with your education and refinement, and
a man like him--a hired man! Oh, the whole thing would have been
ridiculous if it weren't horrible. Not that he's not a good fellow and
as straight as they make them, but---- Well, thank God, I'm here and
you've got this chance."
"Eddie, what do you mean?"
"You're not fit for this life. I mean you've got your chance to go back
home to England. For God's sake, take it! In six months' time, all
you've gone through here will seem nothing but a hideous dream."
The expression of her face was so extraordinary, such a combination of
fear, bewilderment, and something that was far deeper than dismay, that
he stared at her for a moment without speaking.
"Nora, what's the matter!"
"I don't know," she said hoarsely.
But she did, she did.
At his words, the picture of the little shack--her home now--as it had
looked the first time she saw it in all its comfortlessness, its untidy
squalor, rose before her eyes. And she saw a lonely man clumsily busying
himself about the preparation of an illy-cooked meal, and later sitting
smoking in the desolate silence. She saw him go forth to his daily toil
with all the lightness gone from his step, to return at nightfall, with
a heaviness born of more than mere physical fatigue, to the same bleak
bareness.
And she saw herself, back at Tunbridge Wells. No longer the mistress,
but the underpaid underling. Eating once more off fine old china, at a
table sparkling with silver and glass. But the bread was bitter, the
bread of the dependent. And she came and went at another's bidding, and
the yoke was not easy. She trod once more, round and round, in that
little circle which she knew so well. She used to think that the walls
would stifle her. How much more would they not stifle her now that she
had known this larger freedom?
"I say," said Reggie's voice from the doorway, "here's someone coming to
see you."