MAKE YOUR TERMS
Graydon's uppermost thought now was to make his peace with Madge. He
dismissed all his former theories about her as absurd, and felt that,
whether he understood her or not, she had become a splendid woman, of
whose friendship he might well be proud, and accept it on any terms
that pleased her. He also was sure that Miss Wildmere's prejudices
would be banished at once and forever by Madge's heroism, believing
that the girl's hostile feeling was due only to the natural jealousy
of social rivals. "If Stella does not regard Madge's action with
generous enthusiasm, I shall think the worse of her," was his
masculine conclusion.
The wily girl was not so obtuse as to be unaware of this, and when
he came down she said all he could wish in praise of Madge, but
took pains to enlarge upon his own courage. At this he pooh-poohed
emphatically. "What was that duck-pond of a lake to a man!" he said.
"Madge herself has become an expert ocean-swimmer, I am told. She
wasn't afraid of the water. It was her skill in finding the child
beneath it, and in resuscitation afterward, that chiefly commands my
admiration."
"Oh, dear!" cried the girl, "what can I do to command your
admiration?"
"You know well, Miss Wildmere, that you command much more."
She blushed, smiled, and looked around a little apprehensively.
"Don't be alarmed," he added; "I have such confidence in you that I
will bide your time."
"Thank you, Graydon," she whispered, and hastened away, leaving him
supremely happy. It was the first time she had called him "Graydon."
Seeing Dr. Sommers emerging from the hotel, he hastened after him,
bent on procuring a peace-offering for Madge--the finest horse that
could be had in the region.
"I know of one a few miles from here," said the doctor. "He's a
splendid animal, but a high and mighty stepper. I don't believe that
even she could manage him."
"I'll break him in for her, never fear. Of course I won't let her take
any risks."
"Well, leave it to me, then. I can manage it. He's awfully headstrong,
though. I give you fair warning."
"Take me to see him as soon as you can; the horse, I mean, or, rather,
both man and horse."
"To-morrow morning, then. I have patients out that way."
At supper and during the evening Madge and her exploit were the themes
of conversation. Some tried to give Graydon a part of the credit, but
he laughed so contemptuously at the idea that he was let alone. Henry
Muir did not say much, but looked a great deal, and with Graydon
listened attentively as his wife explained how it was that Madge had
proved equal to the emergency.
"Why don't more people follow her example?" said the practical man,
"and learn how to do something definite? As she explains the rescue,
there was nothing remarkable in it. If she could swim and dive in the
ocean for sport, she would not be much afraid to do the same in that
so-called lake, to save life. As to her action on shore, the knowledge
she used is given in books and manuals. What's more, she had seen it
done. But most people are so pointless and shiftless that they
never know just what to do in an emergency, no matter what their
opportunities for information may have been."
"Now you hit me," Graydon remarked, ruefully, "Left to myself I should
have finished the young one, for I was about to run to the hotel with
her, a course that I now see would have been as fatal as idiotic."
"Madge says," Mrs. Muir continued, "that they used to bathe a great
deal, and that Mr. Wayland explained just what should be done in all
the possible emergencies of their outdoor life at Santa Barbara."
"Wayland in a level-headed man. If he is bookish, he's not a dreamer
with his head in the clouds. Madge was in good hands with them, and
proves it every day."
"I think she shows the influence of Mrs. Wayland even more than that
of her husband. Fanny is a very accomplished woman, and saw a great
deal of society in her younger days."
"Confound it all! Why didn't you tell me that Madge had been living
with two paragons?" said Graydon.
"Oh, you have been so occupied with another paragon that there has
not been much chance to tell you anything," was Mrs. Muir's consoling
reply.
"Madge has not been made what she is by paragons," Mr. Muir remarked,
dryly. "She made herself. They only helped her, and couldn't have
helped a silly woman."
"It's time you were jealous, Mary," said Graydon, laughing.
"Mary isn't a silly woman. I should hope that no Muir would marry
one."
"I see no prospect of it," was the rather cold reply.
"I fear I see a worse prospect," was his brother's thought. "Of what
use are his eyes or senses after what he has seen to-day?"
Mrs. Muir had explained to some lady friends about Madge, and the
information was passing into general circulation--the ladies rapidly
coming to the conclusion that the young girl's action was not so
remarkable after all, which was true enough. The men, however,
retained their enthusiastic admiration, although it must be admitted
that its inspiration was due largely to Madge's beauty.
"Of course women have done braver things," said one man, with sporting
tendencies, "but it was the neat, gamy way in which she did it that
took my eye. Her method was as complete and rounded out as herself.
Jove! as she bent over that child she was a nymph that would turn the
head of a Greek."
"She has evidently turned the head of a Cyprian," laughed one of his
friends.
"Come, that's putting it too strong," said the man, with a frown.
"I'll affect no airs, though. I'm not a saint, as you all know, but
the aspect of that girl, in her self-forgetful effort, might well make
me wish I were one. She is as good and pure-hearted as the child she
saved. If there had been a flaw in the white marble of her nature she
would have been self-conscious. An angel from heaven couldn't have
been more absorbed in the one impulse to save."
Graydon had approached the group unobserved, and heard these words.
He walked away, smiling, with the thought, "My sentiments, clearly
expressed."
The night was warm, and he saw Miss Wildmere and Arnault going out
for a stroll. Following a half-defined inclination, he bent his steps
toward the lake. The moon was mirrored in its glassy surface, the
place silent and deserted. With slight effort of fancy he called up
the scene again. He saw in the moonlight the fairy form of the
child, and what even others had regarded as the embodiment of human
loveliness and truth bending over it.
"And she was the little ghost that once haunted me," he thought, "and
seemed all eyes and affection. How those eyes used to welcome and turn
to me, as if in some subtle way she drew from me the power to exist at
all. I wish I could follow the processes of her change from the hour
of our parting, and see how I passed from what I was to her to what
I am now. She does not seem to forget or ignore the past. She is not
conventional, and never was; hence, friendship may not mean what it
does to so many of her sex and age--a little moony sentiment blended
with calculation as to a fellow's usefulness. If we could enjoy
something of the good-comradeship that obtains between man and
man, she is the one woman of the world with whom I should covet the
relation. Stella, in herself, is all that I could ask for a wife,
but I don't like her family much better than Henry does. Confound the
father! Why should he so mix his daughter up in his speculation that
she dare not dismiss Arnault at once and follow her heart? If I were
not a good-natured man I wouldn't submit to it. As it is, since I am
sure of the girl, I suppose I should give _paterfamilias_ a chance to
turn himself. She has appealed to me as delicately, yet as openly,
as she can, and has given me to understand by everything except
plain words that she is mine. Probably that is all she can do without
bringing black ruin upon them all. Well, I suppose I should imitate
her self-sacrificing spirit; but I hate this jumbling of Wall Street
with affairs of the heart. It angers me that she must play with that
fellow for financial reasons, and that he, conscious of power, may use
language which she would not dare to resent. I can't imagine Madge
in such a position. Yet, who knows? As the French say, 'It is the
unexpected that happens,' and this has proved true enough in my
experience. I'll go and see how Madge is now, and be as penitent as
she requires. I don't mind being tyrannized over a little by such a
girl;" and he returned.
As he approached Mrs. Muir's door he heard the sound of voices and
laughter, and plainly those of his brother and Madge. In response
to his knock Mrs. Muir opened the door a little way, and he caught a
glimpse of Henry.
"Well?" said Mrs. Muir.
"It's not well at all," he began, in an aggrieved tone. "Here's a
family party, and I'm shut out in outer darkness. What have I done to
be banished from Rome?"
"'What's banished but set free?'" trilled out Madge. "Oh, Graydon, I'm
not fit to be seen!"
"How can I know that unless I see you?"
"Nonsense, Madge!" expostulated her sister, "you look charming. Why
put on airs? As he says, it's a family party. Let him join in our
fun;" and, without waiting for further objections, she brought him in
and gave him a chair.
"Now this warms an exile's heart," he began. "If you had shut the
door on me I should have asked Henry to send me back to Europe. Mary's
right, Madge; you do look charming."
And so she did, blushing and laughing in her dainty wrapper, with her
long hair falling over her shoulders and fastened by a ribbon.
"How comes it that you are in such a deserted and disconsolate
condition?" cried Mary.
"I am not in such a condition. Since crossing your threshold I have
become contentment itself. Indeed, I regard myself as the most favored
man in the house, for I, first of all, am able to lay my homage at
Madge's feet."
"Let me warn you from the start that it will prove a stumbling-block
in both our paths," said the girl. "Did you not receive my message?
But, then, it's stupid to think you will ever consider me."
"I have been considering you a great deal more than you think,
especially since you metaphorically boxed my ears this morning, and
took away my breath generally this afternoon."
"You seem to have plenty left."
"Oh, I'm recovering. Reason is trying to scramble back on her throne.
I've been out to the lake alone in the moonlight, and have had the
whole scene over again, to assure myself that it was real."
"What! You have not been in the water?"
"No; I was content to moon it out on the shore; but it seemed to me
that I saw you as clearly there as here."
"Little wonder! I must have been the most extraordinary looking
creature that ever prowled in these wilds."
"You were; only lookers-on did all the devouring. I wouldn't dare tell
you the compliments I have heard."
"You had better not, if your reason is even within sight of her
throne. When the danger was all over I caught a mental glimpse of
myself, and fell over as if shot;" and a slow, deep crimson stole into
her face.
"Madge," said Graydon, gravely and almost rebukingly, "do you think
there was a man present who did not reverence you? I was proud even of
your acquaintance."
Her face softened under his words, but she did not look at him. "We
were partners in misery," she said, laughing softly; "I have a vague
remembrance that you were as great a guy as I was."
"I shall be glad to be a guy with you in any circumstances you can
imagine, if you will let me make my peace, and will forgive my general
stupidity. Be reasonable also, as well as merciful. If it took you
over two years to make such changes, you should give me a few days to
rub my eyes and get them focused on the result."
Madge was now laughing heartily. "I don't believe a man could ever eat
the whole of a humble pie," she said. "He ever insists that the donor,
especially if she be a woman, should have a piece also."
"There, now," cried Graydon, ruefully; "give me all of it, and make
your terms."
"Solomon himself couldn't have advised you better," said Madge, while
Henry leaned back in his chair and laughed as if immensely amused,
while Mary improved the occasion by remarking, "When will men ever
learn that that is the way to get the best terms possible from a
woman?"
"Indeed!" said Graydon. "How you enlighten me! Well, Madge, I'm the
more eager now to learn your terms."
She felt that it was a critical moment--that there was, under their
badinage, a substratum of truth and feeling--and that she had now a
chance to establish relations that would favor her hope, if it had
a right to exist at all, and render future companionship free from
surmise on the part of her family.
"Come, Graydon," she said, "we have jested long enough, and there is
no occasion for misunderstanding. I have not forgotten the past any
more than you have, nor all your unstinted kindness for years. As Mary
says, this is a family party. I'm not your sister, and embarrassment
always accompanies an unnatural relation. The common-sense thing to do
is to recognize the relation that does exist. As I intimated at first,
I see no reason why we should not be the best of friends, and then,
imitating the stiff-necked Hebrews, do what seemeth good in our eyes."
"And these are your terms, Madge?"
"As far as I have any, yes. I don't insist on anything, but warn you
that I shall follow my eyes, and consult a very wilful little will of
my own."
"Will your wilful will permit you to accept of a horse that I am
going after in the morning? Dr. Sommers told me about him, and I had
proposed to make him a peace-offering."
Madge clapped her hands with the delight of a child.
"Oh, Graydon, that's splendid of you! I've been sighing, 'My kingdom
for a horse,' ever since I came here. But he's no peace-offering. I
forgave you when I saw your headlong plunge into the lake. You went
into it like a man, while I flopped in so awkwardly that all said I
had fallen overboard."
"Shake hands, then."
She sprang up and joined hands with him in frank and cordial grasp,
saying, "It's all right now, and Mary and Henry will understand us as
well as we do ourselves."
"One condition: you will let me ride with you?"
"When you are disengaged, yes," was her arch reply, "and I'll prove
that on horseback I can be as good a comrade as a man."
"Well, if something I've dreamt of is true I never saw such acting,"
thought Henry Muir. Then he said, quietly, "Madge, how did you find
the child so surely and quickly?"
"That accounts for my awkwardness somewhat," she replied, laughing.
("How happy she looks!" he thought.) "I never took my eyes from the
spot where I had last seen the child sink, and I had to do everything
as if my head was in a vise. Don't let us talk about it any more."
"No, nor about anything else," said Mary, rising. "I'm proving a fine
nurse, and am likely to be lectured by the doctor to-morrow. You men
must walk. Here is Madge flushed, feverish, and excited about a horse.
Brain-fever will be the next symptom."
An hour later Madge was sleeping quietly, but the happy flush and
smile had not left her face. She felt that she had at last scored one
point. Oh, that she could have more time!
"Jupiter!" muttered Graydon, as he descended the stairs, "her talk
makes a fellow's blood tingle."
Miss Wildmere had just entered with Arnault, and Graydon asked, "Are
you not going to give me one dance this evening?"
"Yes, two, if you wish," she replied, sweetly.
He took her at her word, and was as devoted as ever. He had no thought
of being anything else. Arnault secured the last word, however,
and Graydon made no effort to prevent this. He had accepted the
disagreeable situation, and proposed, although with increasing
reluctance and discontent, to let the girl have a clear field and
manage the affair as she thought wise under the circumstances. He was
too proud to have maintained a jostling and open pursuit with Arnault
in any event, and now, believing that he understood the lady better,
felt that there was no occasion for it He had indicated to her just
where he stood, and just where she could ever find him. When her
diplomacy with Arnault should cease to be essential to her father's
safety, the final words could be spoken.
He acted on this policy so quietly that she was somewhat troubled, and
feared that Madge might be taking too large a place in his thoughts.
Therefore, when Arnault ventured to make a somewhat humorous reference
to the young girl's appearance, her spite found utterance. "I never
saw such a looking creature in my life. She had the appearance of a
crazy woman, with her hair dishevelled, and her wet, muddy clothes
sticking to her as if glued. She ought at least to have slipped away
when the doctor came. But instead of that she fainted--all put on, I
believe, to attract attention."
"She perhaps felt that she must put on something," chuckled Arnault.
"The two Muirs looked as if she were too precious and sacred for
mortal gaze."
"Well," concluded Miss Wildmere, "I like to see a lady who never
forgets herself;" and she was an example of the type.
"I like to see one lady, whom, having seen, no one can forget," was
his gallant reply.