AT THE BEACH GATE.
A fortnight after this, Mr. Andrews was smoking his post-prandial cigar
with the Varians at the beach gate, and watching the sunset. It had been
a fortnight of not very varied experiences. Mr. Andrews had chiefly
learned from it how difficult it was to see much of his neighbors
without making it a formal business. It was in vain to ask Miss
Rothermel to drive; equally unfruitful to ask her to sail. So many
evenings of the week proved rainy, or foggy, or cold, that this was only
the third cigar he had smoked on their lawn since the evening when they
watched the boat which was lying in wait for poor Jay. It was impossible
to deny that the evenings were lonely, and that meerschaum companions
were scarce, and that Mr. Andrews, since his stirring adventure, had
rather hankered for some one to speak to. This evening he said, rather
awkwardly,
"Mrs. Varian, I am expecting some visitors this week. I am going to ask
you to call on them, and--and show them some attention."
Missy, who was making some pictures on a slate for Jay on the ground at
her feet, suddenly looked up with a face of amazement.
"I hope it isn't Mr. McKenzie, for he'd rather be excused from our
attentions," she said with a laugh.
"No," said Mr. Andrews, looking embarrassed, "it isn't any of my boorish
men, Miss Rothermel. It is--some ladies."
"Oh!" said Missy, and she dropped her eyes on Jay's pictures, and did
not say another word. What she thought, it would be unwise to
conjecture. For she felt a keen, fine tingle of anger all through her,
and she knew, as she looked at Jay's yellow mane lying on her lap, that
he was going to be taken away from her more surely than by Alphonsine,
and that there were breakers ahead, and her short-lived peace was going
to founder. She went through it all in such a flash that she felt her
fate was settled when Mr. Andrews spoke again.
"I have asked my cousin, a charming person, Mrs. Eustace, whom I am sure
you'll like, to come with her daughter and spend the remainder of the
summer with me. They are without a home of their own at present, and are
drifting, and it seems to suit them very well."
"No doubt," said Miss Varian, with keen interest. "I'm sure they'll have
a nice time. Is the daughter pretty?"
"I believe so, rather," returned Mr. Andrews, beginning to feel
uncomfortable. "It is two or three years since I have seen her. They
have been living abroad some time."
"I am sure," said Mrs. Varian, with gentle sympathy, "it will be a very
pleasant thing for you. You may depend upon us to do all we can to make
the ladies satisfied with Yellowcoats. I am sure they can't help liking
it if they do not care for gayety."
"I am certain that they don't. They seem to me the very persons to be
happy here. They are cultivated; I'm _sure_ you'll like them, Miss
Rothermel, and the daughter has quite a talent for drawing, and they are
cheerful and always ready to be amused, and are generally very popular."
"Well, well," cried Miss Varian, "now that sounds pleasant. They are
just what we want here. Missy needs somebody to stir her up a little,
she is a trifle set and selfish, and I tell her she never will be
popular till she gets over that and goes into things with a little dash
of jollity. It doesn't do to be too dictatorial and exclusive and
superior; people leave you behind and forget that you're anything but a
feature of the landscape. It's always been your mistake, Missy. Now
we'll see if it's too late to mend, and whether this young lady and her
mother will not teach you something."
"I am sure," said Mr. Andrews, uncomfortably, "Miss Rothermel doesn't
need to be taught--anything. I should think it was rather the other
way."
"Thank you," said Mrs. Varian, with a smile, covering up Missy's
silence. "I hope it need not be a matter of instruction either side. I
can quite understand neither young lady would enjoy that."
"I don't know anybody would enjoy it less than Missy," cried Miss
Varian, sharply, for she scorned the making of peace. "But what we need,
is not always the thing we enjoy."
"When do you expect your guests?" said Mrs. Varian, anxious to create a
diversion.
"The latter part of the week, I should think; I don't quite know what
day. The children will be so much the better for having them, I shall be
glad when they are here. I shall feel so much safer about Jay, when I am
in town. You can understand for the last two weeks I have had a
continual feeling of uneasiness when I am away from him."
Considering that he had spent every day since that fatal time, in
Missy's care, this did seem a little hard. She did not reflect, that
perhaps he did not know it--her bitter feelings did not favor calm
reflection.
"Tell us something more about our future neighbors," said Miss Varian.
But Mr. Andrews had no ability to tell things when he was uncomfortable,
and the atmosphere was palpably uncomfortable, murky and lowering. He
didn't know what he had done, poor man, he had thought he had done such
a fine thing. But in spite of Mrs. Varian's gentle courtesy, and Miss
Varian's cheerful bantering, he knew he had made a mistake. He wished
himself well out of it, and was glad when Mrs. Varian found it chilly
and got up to go into the house. He had found it chilly for some time.