There were those, notably among the Jabberwocks, who felt that in
availing herself of the age-old solution of handing her burdens over to
a man to bear, Joan had rather hauled down her colors. Perhaps she felt
so herself, after the first glow of relief was over.
But if she needed solace, she got it in the radiant, incredulous,
blissful attitude of Archibald. He could not believe the marvelous thing
that had happened to him. A dozen times a day he was obliged to glance
at the ring he had given her (a solitaire inevitably, small but of good
water) to make sure that he was not dreaming.
He began at once, following the example of the birds about him, to
prepare for the coming event; "twigging" as Joan called it to herself,
amusedly. He was as mysterious about it, and quite as obvious, as any
robin darting about with a straw in its beak. He called her to the
telephone frequently to ask such questions as how many drawers a
"chiffoneer" ought to have; and when she asked him why he wanted to
know, the reply was a joyous, "Never you mind!"
He listened with the stealth of a Sherlock Holmes for any expressions of
preference on her part, putting them secretly down in a note-book; and
Joan grew afraid to mention any object, no matter how unlikely, for fear
it would become part of the procession of packages which Ellen reported
as filing daily past her door to the room upstairs.
"A rocking-chair come this morning," Ellen would report. "Golden oak,
all carved! Yesterday it was one them new-fangled electric-lamps with
brass chain hanging down like fringe. Real tasty. The day before it was
a statute."
"Heavens, Nellen--Not a statue!"
"Sure! A nigger woman brandishin' a spear. I poked a hole in the
wrappin's to get a good look at it."
(Joan had once unguardedly envied the Carmichaels their rare old
bronzes.)
She was touched but alarmed, and decided that she would better hasten
the wedding if only to put a stop to this indiscriminate twigging.
Others were almost as pleased with the engagement as Archibald; her
father, for one, who had not expected quite so early a release from
parental responsibility. Joan, while a creditable child, had proven a
rather difficult one, especially since his marriage.
"Not that it is quite such an--er--ambitious arrangement as I could have
wished, Dollykins,"--(a ducal alliance would have been more in accord
with Darcy inclinations). "But young Blair is an excellent fellow, an
excellent fellow. And after all, in this world virtue is the thing that
counts!" He appeared to indicate that in the next world things might be
arranged more satisfactorily.
Ellen was as proud of this unexpected _denouement_ as if it were an egg
of her own hatching.
"I didn't believe you had the gumption!" she said unflatteringly. "I
thought you was too highminded to know a real man when you seen
him.--And now, praise the day! you'll be needin' your mamma's furniture
back again."
"Oh, but, Nellen darling, what will you do without it?"
"Me?" The old woman's face fell. "Why, I kind o' thought you'd be takin'
me along with the furniture. Unless I'm too stiff and plain to be makin'
you a fancy servant like you're used to nowadays!"--she tossed her head
angrily.
Joan hugged her. "I'd rather have you than all the fancy servants in the
world, and you know it. But I thought you preferred being an independent
modiste in lodgings. And then--you see, dear, I'm not quite sure whether
Archie can afford a servant."
She had not so far been able to bring him down from the clouds long
enough to discuss ways and means.
"Sho! He can afford _me_ all right. I'll save him money--And you don't
suppose he's going to let you spoil them white hands of yourn with
housework and cookin'? Not if I know Mr. Archie!..."
The Misses Darcy were almost tearful with gratification, and received
Archie with the sort of romantic respect younger girls accord to heroes
of the matinee.
"What did I prophesy?" cried Miss Virginia. "Only one season out, and
already--! Such a beautiful name too,--'Mrs. Archibald Blair.' Not a
Kentucky or Virginia one, of course. However, there _are_ other States,
Maryland, or South Carolina, or even Massachusetts. Where did you say
he was from, precious girl?"
"Louisville."
The sisters exchanged startled glances. "Louisville? But that's
impossible. We do not know his people!"
"He hasn't any people."
It was Miss Euphemia who recovered herself first. "So much the better,"
she murmured. "I mean--Not that one would wish them to have died, of
course! But really, you know, in-laws--"
"And so often I think a self-made man--" Miss Iphigenia took up the
parable. "So many of our Southern families seem to run largely to girls
nowadays. What I mean is, a little good red blood--"
"Sister!" murmured two shocked voices. Everybody blushed.
"I'm afraid Archie isn't even a self-made man, yet," smiled Joan,
mentally struggling to fill in the gaps. "I shall have to help make
him."
"Ah, yes! A woman's touch, as dear papa used to say--"
Joan reflected that the late Mr. Darcy must have known a good deal about
the power of a woman's touch....
Her friend Emily's congratulations were something on the same order,
though more frankly expressed. There was a wholesome attitude of
frankness always between the two girls.
"I think it's dear of you, Joan," she exclaimed, "and so brave!"
"Just why 'brave'?"
Emily answered, despite embarrassment, "Why, to marry a man without
antecedents, without position, and without money, seems to me very
brave. I know I should never have the courage to do it, even if I cared
for him. In fact, I should be mighty careful not to care for him!--But
then I've never had your spirit of independence."
"Perhaps because you've more to lose," said Joan quietly. "If either of
us is brave, I think it's poor Archie."
She often thought of her lover so; tenderly, even lovingly, but as "Poor
Archie!..."
Effie May was the only one of Joan's immediate environment who seemed to
look with any doubts upon a situation she herself had largely brought to
pass.
"Look here, girlie," she said once abruptly. "You don't love that boy.
At least you ain't in love with him--and there's a difference. Why do
you do it, anyhow?"
Joan, taken by surprise, was not immediately ready with her reply.
"Is it because you want to get away from me?" asked the other.
Still Joan was not ready to answer, and Effie May sighed. "You needn't
have gone so far as that," she said, "I'd have fixed it for you
somehow--I'm not going to forget what you've done for me, Joan. Not
telling, treating me just as if--it was all right. You're a bigger woman
than you know you are," she added, gravely. "I'll make it up to you some
day, see if I don't."
Joan gave her a quick, straight look. "If you mean money, Effie May, and
I think you do, we'd better come to an understanding at once. I'm
keeping my counsel about--about your affairs; I'm helping you commit a
fraud, you know--entirely on my father's account. For myself--that's
another matter. I appreciate your kindness, I know you have meant to do
your best, but--"
"But you're done with me?" finished the other.
"Yes. I shall only see so much of you hereafter as is necessary to keep
Father from suspecting anything. As for your money,"--the girl's voice
shook--"neither I nor my husband will ever touch a cent of it under any
circumstances. Do you understand? We do not forget how it was--earned."
The other sighed again. "Well, dearie, don't forget that it _was_
earned, good and plenty!--And I've done you one good turn already," she
remarked _sotto voce_, as the girl turned away to greet her fiance.