Anthony Robeson glanced about him in a satisfied way at the shaded nook
under the low-hanging boughs into which he had guided the boat. Then he
drew in his oars and let the little craft drift.
"This is an ideal spot," said he, looking into his friend's face, "in
which to tell you a rather interesting piece of news."
"Oh, fine!" cried his friend, settling herself among the cushions in the
stern and tilting back her parasol so that the light through its white
expanse framed her health-tinted face in a sort of glory. "Tell me at
once. I suspected you came with something on your mind. There couldn't be
a lovelier place on the river than this for confidences. But I can guess
yours. Tony, you've found 'her'!"
"And you'll be my friend just the same?" questioned Anthony anxiously. "My
chum--my confidante?"
"Oh, well, Tony, that's absurd," declared Juliet Marcy severely. "As if
_she_ would allow it!"
"She's three thousand miles away."
"I'm ashamed of you!"
"Just in the interval, then," pleaded Anthony. "I need you now worse than
ever. For I've a tremendous responsibility on my hands. The--the--you
know--is to come off in September, and this is June--and I've a house to
furnish. Will you help me do it, Juliet?"
"_Anthony Robeson!_" she said explosively under her breath, with a laugh.
Then she sat up and leaned forward with a commanding gesture. "Tell me all
about it. What is her name and who is she? Where did you meet her? Are you
very much----"
"Would I marry a girl if I were not 'very much'?" demanded Anthony.
"Well--I'll tell you--since you insist on these non-essentials before you
really come down to business. Her name is Eleanor Langham, and she lives
in San Francisco. Her family is old, aristocratic, wealthy--yet she
condescends to me."
He looked up keenly into her eyes, and her brown lashes fell for an
instant before something in his glance, but she said quickly: "Go on."
"When the--affair--is over I want to bring my bride straight home,"
Anthony proceeded, with a tinge of colour in his smooth, clear cheek. "I
shall have no vacation to speak of at that time of year, and no time to
spend in furnishing a house. Yet I want it all ready for her. So you see I
need a friend. I shall have two weeks to spare in July, and if you would
help me--"
"But, Tony," she interrupted, "how could I? If--if we were seen shopping
together----"
"No, we couldn't go shopping together in New York without being liable to
run into a wondering crowd of friends, of course--not in the places where
you would want to go. But here you are only a couple of hours from Boston;
you will be here all summer; you and Mrs. Dingley and I could run into
Boston for a day at a time without anybody's being the wiser. I know--that
is--I'm confident Mrs. Dingley would do it for me----"
"Oh, of course. Did Auntie ever deny you anything since the days when she
used to give you jam as often as you came across to play with me?"
"Never."
"Have you _her_ photograph?" inquired Miss Marcy with an emphasis which
left no possible doubt as to whose photograph she meant.
"I expected that," said Anthony gravely. "I expected it even sooner. But I
am prepared."
She sat watching him curiously as he slowly drew from his breast-pocket a
tiny leather case, and gazed at it precisely as a lover might be expected
to gaze at his lady's image before jealously surrendering it into other
hands. She had never seen Anthony Robeson look at any photograph except
her own with just that expression. She had often wondered if he ever
would. She had recommended this course of procedure to him many times,
usually after once more gently refusing to marry him. She had begun at
last to doubt whether it would ever be possible to divert Tony's mind from
its long-sought object. But that trip to San Francisco, and the months he
had spent there in the interests of the firm he served, had evidently
brought about the desired change. She had not seen him since his return
until to-day, when he had run up into the country where was the Marcy
summer home, to tell her, as she now understood, his news and to make his
somewhat extraordinary request.
She accepted the photograph with a smile, and studied it with attention.
"Oh, but isn't she pretty?" she cried warmly--and generously, for she was
thinking as she looked how much prettier was Miss Langham than Miss
Marcy.
"Isn't she?" agreed Anthony with enthusiasm.
"Lovely. What eyes! And what a dear mouth!"
"You're right."
"She looks clever, too."
"She is."
"How tall is she?"
"About up to my shoulder."
"She's little, then."
"Well, I don't know," objected Anthony, surveying his own stalwart length
of limb. "A girl doesn't have to be a dwarf not to be on a level with me.
I should say she must be somewhere near your height."
"What a magnificent dresser!"
"Is she? She never irritates one with the fact."
"Oh, but I can see. And she's going to marry you. Tony, what can you give
her?"
"A little box of a house, one maidservant, an occasional trip into town,
four new frocks a year--moderate ones, you know, in keeping with her
circumstances--and my name," replied Anthony composedly.
"You won't let her live in town, then?"
"Let her! Good heavens, what sort of a place could I give her in town on
my salary? Now, in the very rural suburb I've picked out she can live in
the greatest comfort, and we can have a real home--something I haven't had
since Dad died and the old home and the money and all the rest of it
went."
His face was grave now, and he was staring down into the water as if he
saw there both what he had lost and what he hoped to gain.
"Yes," said Juliet sympathetically, though she did not know how to imagine
the girl whose photograph she held in the surroundings Anthony suggested.
Presently she went on in her gentlest tone: "I'm not saying that the name
isn't a proud one to offer her, Tony--and if she is willing to share your
altered fortunes I've no doubt she will be happy. Along with your name
you'll give her a heart worth having."
"Thank you," said Anthony without looking up.
Miss Marcy coloured slightly, and hastened to supplement this speech with
another.
"The question is--since the home is to be hers--why not let her furnish
it? Her tastes and mine might not agree. Besides----"
"Well----"
"Why--you know, Tony," explained Juliet in some confusion, "I shouldn't
know how to be economical."
"I'm aware that you haven't been brought up on the most economical basis,"
Anthony acknowledged frankly. "But I'll take care of my funds, no matter
how extravagant you are inclined to be. If I should hand you five dollars
and say, 'Buy a dining-table,' you could do it, couldn't you? You couldn't
satisfy your ideals, of course, but you could give me the benefit of your
discriminating choice within the five-dollar limit."
Juliet laughed, but in her eyes there grew nevertheless a look of doubt.
"Tony," she demanded, "how much have you to spend on the furnishing of
that house?"
"Just five hundred dollars," said Anthony concisely. "And that must cover
the repairing and painting of the outside. Really, Juliet, haven't I done
fairly well to save up that and the cost of the house and lot--for a
fellow who till five years ago never did a thing for himself and never
expected to need to? Yes, I know--the piano in your music-room cost twice
that, and so did the horses you drive, and a very few of your pretty gowns
would swallow another five. But Mrs. Anthony Robeson will have to chasten
her ideas a trifle. Do you know, Juliet--I think she will--for love of
me?"
He was smiling at his own audacious confidence. Juliet attempted no reply
to this very unanswerable statement. She studied the photograph in
silence, and he lay watching her. In her blue-and-white boating suit she
was a pleasant object to look at.
"Will you help me?" he asked again at length. "I'm more anxious than I can
tell you to have everything ready."
"I shouldn't like to fail you, Tony, since you really wish it, though I'm
very sure you'll find me a poor adviser. But you haven't been a brother to
me since the mud-pie days for nothing, and if I can help you with
suggestions as to colour and style I'll be glad to. Though I shall all the
while be trying to live up to this photograph, and that will be a little
hard on the five-dollar-dining-table scale."
"You've only to look out that everything is in good taste," said Anthony
quietly, "and that you can't help doing. My wife will thank you, and the
new home will be sweet to her because of you. It surely will to me."