The next morning, about eight o'clock, the only covered carriage of
which Gracias could boast drove up to the door of East Angels. From it
descended (it really was a descent, for the carriage had three folding
steps) Evert Winthrop, then Garda, then Mrs. Carew, to meet, gathered in
the lower hall near the open door, Dr. Kirby and his mother, the Rev.
Middleton Moore, Madam Ruiz, Madam Giron, and, in the background, Pablo
and Raquel. Margaret was not there, nor Celestine; but Looth's head
peeped over the old carved railing at the top of the stairway, and
outside, gathered at the corner of the house, were Telano, Aunt
Dinah-Jim, Maum Jube, and Cyndy, furtively looking on. Dr. Kirby's face
was dark. Mr. Moore, who always preferred that everything should be as
usual, was doing his best (in opposition to the Doctor) to keep it usual
now; of course they had been anxious; but Garda was found, he did not
see why they should continue to be distressed. Little Mrs. Kirby, in her
neat brown bonnet with little brown silk cape, looked apprehensive.
Madam Giron (with some hastily donned black lace drapery over her head)
and Madam Ruiz appeared much more reserved than was usual with them.
The arriving Betty alone was radiant; but she shone for all. She half
fell out of the carriage in her haste, and almost brought Evert
Winthrop, who was assisting her, to the ground. Garda, while waiting a
moment for these two to disentangle themselves, glanced at the assembled
group within, and, smiling at their marshalled array, waved a gay little
salutation to the Doctor, who was advancing to meet them. But the Doctor
was in no mood for such light greetings; in majestic silence he came
forth, representing the others, representing Gracias-a-Dios,
representing himself.
Winthrop detested scenes, he was much annoyed that these people had (as
he said to himself) thought it necessary to make one. But he saw that he
could not prevent it, they had made up their minds to take it in that
way; if he did not speak, the Doctor would, and it was better to speak
first and speak lightly, and by ignoring their solemnity, break it up,
than be put through a catechism on his own account.
"Ah, Doctor," he said, "good-morning; we have had an accident, as you
see, and are rather late. But it isn't of as much consequence as it
might have been, because Garda has given me the right to take care of
her; she has promised to be my wife."
It was out--the great news! Betty Carew fell to kissing everybody in her
excitement, and saying, tearfully, "Isn't it--_isn't it_ beautiful?"
Old Mrs. Kirby walked back, and meekly sat down on the bottom stair; she
was pleased, but she was also extremely tired, in the reaction she was
becoming conscious of it; though deeply interested, her principal hope
now was that somebody would think of breakfast. Madam Giron (generously
unmindful of her missing horse) and Madam Ruiz came forward together to
offer their congratulations; at heart they were much astonished, for
they both thought Winthrop far too old for Garda; they tried not to show
their surprise, and said some very sweet things. But Mr. Moore was the
most startled person present, Winthrop's speech had seemed to him the
most unusual thing he had ever heard. He walked up and down several
times, as if he did not quite know what to do. Then he tried to present
a better appearance in the presence of all these friends, and stood
still, rubbing his hands and saying every now and then, in a
conciliating tone (apparently as much to himself as to any one else),
"Why yes, of course. Why yes."
These little flurries of words, movement, and embraces had gone on
simultaneously; and Winthrop had all the time been trying to lead the
way towards the stairs. Dr. Kirby had not spoken a syllable, either in
answer to Winthrop's first speech, or Betty's tearful "_Isn't_ it
beautiful?" or Mr. Moore's "Why yes." But now he found his voice, and
drawing Garda--who had kept on laughing to herself softly--away from the
women who were surrounding her, "Come up-stairs, Garda," he said; "this
open hall is no place for a serious conversation."
It occurred to Winthrop that he might have thought of this before.
Meanwhile the large heavy Looth had gone on a thunderous run through the
whole length of the upper hall, on her way to a back staircase, in order
to get down first and tell the news to Telano, Aunt Dinah, and the
others. For Pablo and Raquel held themselves aloof from the new servants
(though kindly allowing them to do the work of the household), and it
gave Looth joy to forestall them. Pablo and Raquel were of the old
_regime_, they held their heads high because they were not receiving
wages, but "b'longed to de place;" they had small opinion of "free
niggahs" still, and were distinctly of the belief that "man's payshin"
was an invention of the Yankees, which would soon come to an end. "_Den_
we'll see squirmin'--ki!"
When the friends were re-assembled in the drawing-room up-stairs, Dr.
Kirby said, with gravity, "Let some one inform Mrs. Harold."
Winthrop repressed a movement of impatience; the little Doctor with his
magisterial air, the tall, lank clergyman trying to conciliate his own
surprise, Mrs. Carew with her ejaculations and handkerchief, the two
Spanish ladies, who, as it was a sentimental occasion, stood
romantically holding each other's hands, even poor tired little Mrs.
Kirby, folded up quiet and small as a mouse in her chair--they all
seemed to him tedious, unnecessary. Then his glance reached Garda, who
was looking at him over the low bulwark of the Doctor's shoulder. His
face softened, and he smiled back at her, evidently they must let these
good people have their way.
But Garda was less patient. "I shall go myself to find Margaret," she
said; and slipped from the room before the Doctor could stop her.
"I don't think she will come back immediately," said Winthrop, smiling a
little with recovered good-humor at the solemn face the Doctor turned
towards him. "If these friends will kindly excuse me, I should like to
go to my room for a while, as I have been up all night; perhaps you will
come with me?" he added to the Doctor;--"for a moment or two."
It was not at all the Doctor's idea, this easy "moment or two," of the
formal interview which should take place between the suitor and the
guardian. But neither had it been at all to his taste--Winthrop's first
remark that they were "rather late." Rather late--he should think so,
indeed! About fifteen hours. However, his genuine fondness for Garda
induced him to waive ceremony, and he prepared to follow the northerner
who, with a courteous bow to the others, was turning to leave the room.
But they would not let him go so, they must all shake hands with him
again. Madam Ruiz and Madam Giron turned their lovely eyes upon him, and
said some more enchanting things; Betty, taking his hand in both of
hers, gave him her blessing. Mr. Moore's clasp was more limp; he was a
very sincere man, and did not know yet whether he was pleased or not. He
did not think Penelope would know. When Winthrop and Dr. Kirby had left
the room, he took leave of the ladies, mounted his pony, and started on
his return to Gracias; perhaps, after all, Penelope _would_ know. Madam
Ruiz and Madam Giron went next, not aware that the tidings they carried
would bring another access of that terrific rage to Manuel when he
should hear it (in Key West), and a heavy conviction that the world's
last days were certainly near to poor stiff Torres. Betty Carew was to
remain; to her, when they were alone together, Mrs. Kirby, waiting for
Reginald, confided her need for breaking her fast.
"And _I'm_ famished too," said Betty, wiping her eyes decisively for the
last time, and putting away her handkerchief; "only one doesn't remember
it now, of course, at such a time as _this_." (But Mrs. Kirby thought
she did remember.) "We had a little something before we started, at my
house--where dear Evert in the _sweetest_ way brought Garda, as soon as
they reached Gracias; but it was only a little, and I'll go directly out
now myself and speak to Aunt Dinah, as Mrs. Harold and Garda are
talking, I reckon--yes, _indeed_, they've got something to talk about,
haven't they? and _what_ a comfort this will be to Mrs. Harold, coming
so _soon_ after her taking charge of the dear, dear child, and making
her more than ever one of the family, of course; and Katrina too, what a
comfort it will be to her to have her dear nephew so _delightfully_
married! But there, I'll go out and speak to Aunt Dinah; 'twon't be
long, Mistress Kirby; 'twon't be long."
Mrs. Kirby hoped it would not be; she sat very still in her low chair,
it seemed to help her more if she sat still. She was seventy-five years
old, and a very delicate little woman; her last meal had been taken at
five o'clock of the afternoon, or, as she would have said, of the
evening, before. She had been up all night, having started with her son
for East Angels soon after Telano had appeared at their door late in the
evening, saying that Garda had not come home, and Mrs. Harold wished to
know if she were with them; Reginald, though in his mental perceptions
so keen, was very blind at night as regarded actual vision; in
consequence they had missed their way, and after long meandering
wanderings over the level country in various directions through the soft
darkness, behind their old horse June on a slow walk (her white back was
the only thing they could either of them see), they had found themselves
at dawn far away from East Angels, so that they had only been able to
arrive there half an hour before Garda herself appeared. They had found
several of their friends already assembled, and had learned from them
that word had been sent down from Gracias that Garda had reached Mrs.
Carew's house in safety, with Evert Winthrop; and that all three would
soon be at East Angels.
This news had occasioned much relief. Also some conjecture. But Reginald
Kirby did not conjecture when they told him the tale, he maintained an
ominous silence. Too ominous, Mr. Moore thought: let ominousness be kept
for one's attitude towards crime. The truth was that Mr. Moore, much as
he admired Dr. Reginald (and he admired him sincerely), thought that he
had just one little fault: he was disposed at times to be somewhat
theatrical. So he spoke in his most amiable way of Garda's adventure
being "idyllic," and turning to the Doctor, added, pleasantly, "Why so
saturnine?" And then again (as it seemed to him a good phrase), "Why so
saturnine?" And then a third time, and more playfully, as though it were
a poetical quotation, "Why?--tell me why?"--which was indeed imitated
from one of Penelope's songs, "Where, tell me where,"--referring to a
Highland laddie.
The Doctor glared at him. Then he took him by the button and led him
apart from the others. "Sir," he said, frowning, "you can take what
stand you like in this matter, _you_ are a clergyman, and a certain
_oatmealish_ view of things becomes your cloth; but I, sir, am a man of
the world, and must act accordingly!" And leaving the parson to digest
that, he returned to his post at the door.
When Betty came back from her interview with Aunt Dinah she brought with
her a piece of hot corn-bread; "I thought you might like a taste of it,"
she said. Mrs. Kirby was very glad to get it; she sat breaking off small
fragments and eating them carefully--Mrs. Rutherford would have said
that she nibbled. "Yes, the _sweetest_ thing!" continued Betty, seating
herself broadly in an arm-chair, and searching again for her
handkerchief. "Let me see--you and the Doctor started down here about
midnight, didn't you? Well, of course we didn't feel like going to bed,
of course, not knowing _where_ our poor dear child might be, and so I
went over and sat with Penelope Moore; and Mr. Moore _very_ often went
down to the gate, and indeed a good deal of the time he stayed out on
the plaza; Telano's coming up from here had let everybody know what had
happened, and many others sat up besides ourselves, and some of the
servants got together with torches and went out on the barren to look,
only Mr. Moore wouldn't organize a _regular_ search, because he supposed
that was being done here under the Doctor's directions, he never dreamed
you hadn't got here at all! At length, when it was nearly three, Mr.
Moore came in and said that he thought we had better go to bed and get
what sleep we _could_; that we should only be _perfectly_ useless and
exhausted the next day if we sat up all night" (here little Mrs. Kirby
heaved a noiseless sigh); "and so I went home, and _did_ go to bed, but
more to occupy the time than anything else, for of course it was simply
_impossible_ to sleep, anxious as I was. But I must have dropped off,
after all, I reckon, because it was just dawn when Cynthy came up to
tell me that Mr. Moore was down-stairs; I _rushed_ down, and he said
that Marcos Finish, the livery-stable man, had been to the rectory to
say that Bartolo Johnson had come to his house a short time before,
knocked him up, and told him that the northern gentleman and Garda were
ten miles out on the barren, and that he had been sent in to bring out a
carriage for them. He confessed--Bartolo--that he ought to have been
there _hours_ before, as the gentleman had sent him in on his own horse
not much past eight in the evening. But, on the way, he had to pass the
cabin of one of his _friends_, he said--a nice friend, that wild,
drinking Joe Tasteen!--and Joe stopped him, and he intended to stay only
a moment, of course, which soon became many minutes as the foolish boy
lay on the floor in a drunken sleep, while two of Joe's hangers-on,
though not actually Joe himself, I believe, made off with the horse. Of
course it was a regular plot, and I'm afraid Mr. Winthrop will never
see _that_ horse again! When Bartolo _did_ at last wake up, he came in
to Gracias as fast as he could scamper, and went straight to Marcos's
place and told all about it--the only redeeming feature in _his_ part of
the affair--and Marcos got out his carriage, and sent one of his best
men as driver, with Bartolo as guide, and then he went over to your
house to tell the Doctor, and not finding him, came on to the rectory,
and Mr. Moore told him that he did wrong not to come to him _before_
sending the carriage (but Marcos said Bartolo wouldn't wait), because he
himself would have gone out in it after Garda, of course. This was the
first _we_ knew, in Gracias, of Mr. Winthrop's being with the dear
child, and it _did_ seem so fortunate that if they were to be lost at
all, they should happen to be lost _together_. Mr. Moore thought, and so
did Marcos Finish, that they would drive directly here, without stopping
in Gracias, and so he rode down at once; and I was coming down myself,
later, only they did that _sweet_ thing, they stopped after all, and
came to _me_. There they were in the drawing-room when I hurried down,
Garda laughing, oh, _so_ pretty, the dear! As soon as I knew, I took her
in my arms and gave her a true _mother's_ blessing. Oh, Mistress Kirby,
how such days as this take us back to our _own_ spring-time, to the
first buddings and blossomings of our _own_ dear days of love! I am
sure--I am sure," continued Betty, overcome again, and lifting the
handkerchief, "that we _cannot_ but remember!"
Mrs. Kirby remembered; but not with her lachrymal glands; it was not
everybody who was endowed with such copious wells there, suitable for
every occasion, as Betty had been endowed with. She nodded her head
slowly, and looked at the floor; she had finished the corn-bread, and
now sat holding the remaining crumbs carefully in the palm of her hand,
while, in a secondary current of thought (the first was occupied with
Garda and her story), she wished that Betty had brought a plate. "Do
what I can," she said to herself, "some of them _will_ get on the
carpet."
Garda, escaping from the Doctor, had gone to Margaret's room; she had
not much hope of finding her; her not having been present to greet them
seemed to indicate that she was with Mrs. Rutherford, and "with Mrs.
Rutherford" was a hopeless bar for Garda. But Margaret was there.
Garda ran up to her and kissed her. "The only thing I cared about,
Margaret, was you--whether _you_ were anxious."
"How could I help being anxious?" Margaret answered. "It was the
greatest relief when we heard that you had reached Gracias." She was
seated, and did not rise; but she took the girl's hand and looked at
her.
Garda sat down on a footstool, and rested her elbows on Margaret's knee.
"You are so pale," she said.
"I am afraid we are all rather pale, we haven't been to bed; we were
very anxious about you, and then Aunt Katrina has had one of her bad
nights."
But Garda never had much to say about Aunt Katrina. She looked at
Margaret with an unusually serious expression in her dark eyes; "I have
something to tell you, Margaret. You know how wrong you have thought me
in liking Lucian as I did; what do you say, then, to my liking somebody
who is very different--Mr. Winthrop? What do you say to my marrying him?
Not now; when I am two or three years older. He has always been so kind
to me, and I like people who are kind. Of course you are ever so much
surprised; but perhaps not more so than I am myself. I hope you won't
dislike it; one of the pleasantest things about it to me is that it will
keep me near you."
Margaret did not say whether she was surprised or not. But she took the
girl in her arms, and held her close.
"How much you care about it!--I believe you care more than I do," said
Garda, putting her head down on Margaret's shoulder contentedly.
"No," answered Margaret, "that is impossible, isn't it? It is only that
those who are older always realize such things more."
"Well, I don't want to realize anything more just at present," said
Garda. She left her friend, and standing long enough to lift her rounded
arms above her head in a long stretch, she threw herself down on a low
couch. "_Oh_, I'm so sleepy! And I'm hungry too. I wish you would let me
have my coffee in here, Margaret; then I could talk to you and tell you
all about it. Don't you want to hear all about it?"
Margaret had risen to ring for Telano. "Of course," she said, as she
crossed the room.
"Let me see," began Garda, in a reviewing tone. "I went to sleep. Then I
woke up; and after a while I got frightened." She put her hands under
her head and closed her eyes. Presently she began to laugh. "That's all
there is to tell; yes, really. I got frightened--the barren was so dark
and so large behind me."
She said no more. As she had once remarked of herself, she was not a
narrator.
Margaret did not question her; she was clearing one of the tables for
the coffee.
After a while Garda, still with her eyes closed, spoke again:
"Margaret."
"Well?"
"You will have to tell me all the things I mustn't say and do."
"You will know them without my telling."
"Never in the world."
A few minutes more of silence, and then Garda's voice a second time:
"Margaret."
"Well?"
"Tell me you are pleased, or I won't go on with it."
"Oh, Garda, that's not the tone--"
"Yes, it is. The very one! Don't be afraid, we like each other, he likes
me in his way, and that will do; that is, it will do if you will tell me
how to please him."
"You must ask him that."
"Oh, _he'll_ tell; his principal occupation for a long time is going to
be the discovery of my faults." But as she looked up at Margaret,
re-awakened and laughing, it did not seem to the latter woman that he
would be able to find many.
In any case, he had not set about it yet. As he went through the hall
towards his room, accompanied by the Doctor, "I take it that it's hardly
necessary, Doctor," he said, "to formally ask your consent."
The Doctor waited until they had reached the room, and the door was
closed behind them. "I think it _is_ necessary, Mr. Winthrop," he
answered, gravely.
"Very well, then. I ask it," said the younger man. And his voice, as he
spoke, had a pleasant sound.
The Doctor had liked Evert Winthrop. There were two or three things
which he should have preferred to see changed; still, faults and all, he
had liked him. And he liked his present demand (though by no means the
manner of it); the Northerner was taking the proper course, he had taken
it promptly. Nevertheless the idea was impossible, perfectly impossible,
that Garda, the child whom they all loved, the daughter of Edgar Thorne
and all the Dueros, could be carried off by this stranger without any
trouble to himself, at an hour's notice! And that he, Reginald Kirby,
should be asked to give his consent to it in that light way! Give his
consent? Never!
The Doctor's feelings were conflicting. And growing more so. He looked
at Winthrop, and thought of twenty things; at one instant he felt a
strong desire to knock him down; the next, he was grateful. He said to
himself, almost with tears, that at least it should not be so easy,
there should be obstacles, and plenty, of them; if there was no one else
to raise them, he, Reginald Kirby, would raise them. He found it
difficult to know what he really did think with any clearness.
But Winthrop was waiting, he must say something. "Edgarda is very
young," he began, in rather a choked voice.
"I know it. I should, of course, wait until she was older--at least
eighteen."
"Two years," said the Doctor, mechanically.
"Yes, two years."
"And in the mean time?"
"In the mean time we should, I hope, go on much as we are going now; she
is in Mrs. Harold's charge, you know."
The southerner thought that this also was spoken much too lightly.
"Would your intention be to--to educate her further?" he asked, bringing
out the question with an effort. It seemed to him that he never could
consent to that, to have their child carried off, while still so young
and impressible, and subjected to the radical modern processes that
passed as education for girls at the high-pressure North.
"No," Winthrop answered, divining the Doctor's thought, and smiling over
it, "I have no intentions of that kind, how could I have? If Garda
should choose to study for a while, that would be her own affair, and
Mrs. Harold's. She will be entirely free."
"Do you mean that you will exercise no authority?"
"None whatever."
"Then you do not consider it an engagement?" said the Doctor, drawing
himself up belligerently.
"As much of an engagement as this: she has said that she would be my
wife at the end of two years, if, at the end of two years, she should
find herself in the same mind."
"For God's sake, sir, don't smile, don't take it in that way! At what
are you laughing? It cannot be at Garda, it must be therefore at myself;
I am not aware in what respect I am a subject for mirth." The Doctor was
suffocating.
"You don't do me justice," said Winthrop, this time seriously enough. "I
ask you, and with all formality, since you prefer formality, for your
permission, as guardian, to make Edgarda Thorne my wife, if, at the end
of two years, she should still be willing."
"And if she shouldn't be? She is a child, sir--a child."
"That is what I am providing for; if she shouldn't be, I should not hold
her for one moment."
"And in the mean time do you hold yourself?" The Doctor was still fiery.
"I hold myself completely."
"Do I understand, then, that you consider yourself engaged to her, but
that she is not to be engaged to you?"
"That is what it will amount to. And it should be so, on account of the
difference in our ages."
There was a silence. Then, "It is an honorable position for you to
take," said Kirby.
He had forced himself to say it. For, now that he was sure of this man
(he had really in his heart been sure of him all along, but now that he
had it in so many words), and his anxieties of one sort were set at
rest, he could allow himself the pleasure of freely hating him, at least
for a few moments. It was not a violent hate, but it was deep--the
jealous dislike, the surprised pain, which a father who loves his young
daughter has to surmount before he can realize that she is willing to
trust herself to another man, even the man she loves; what does she know
of love? is his thought--his fair little child.
Winthrop did not appear to be especially impressed by the Doctor's
favorable opinion of him--of him and his position. He went on to define
the latter further. "I think it would be more agreeable for us all now,
Garda herself included, if she could be made independent, even if only
in a small way, as regards money. I had not intended, as you know, to
buy all the outlying land of East Angels; but now I will do so; it is
just as well to have it all. The money will be in your charge, of
course; but perhaps you will allow me to see to the investment of it, as
I have good opportunities for that sort of thing? I think it is probable
that we can secure for her, between us, a tolerable little income."
"As you please," said the Doctor. Then he tried to be more just. "Very
proper," he said.
This was the only allusion between them to the fact that the suitor was
a rich man. And Winthrop, often as Kirby's unnecessary (as he thought)
ceremonies had wearied him, forgave it all now in the satisfaction it
was to him to be considered purely for himself--himself alone without
his wealth; yes, even by an unknown little doctor down in
Gracias-a-Dios. He felt quite a flush of pleasure over this as he
realized that the interview was coming to an end without one word more
on this subject, apparently not one thought. He shook hands with the
Doctor warmly; and he felt that all these people would talk and care far
more about what he was personally than about what he possessed. It was
very refreshing.
The Doctor allowed his hand to be shaken; but his feeling of dislike was
still enjoying its season of free play. He looked at the younger man and
felt that he detested him, he had a separate (though momentary)
detestation for his gray eyes, for his white teeth, his thick hair, his
erect bearing, he wanted to strike down his well-shaped hands. This
stranger (stranger, indeed; a few months ago they had never heard of
him) was to have Garda, carry her off, and make what he chose of her;
for that was what it would come to. He, as guardian, might raise as many
obstacles as he pleased; but if the child herself consented, what would
they amount to? And the child had consented--this stranger! A mist rose
in his eyes. He turned quickly towards the door.
"I am afraid you have had no breakfast," said Winthrop, courteously, as
he followed him.
The Doctor had not thought of this, he seized it as an excuse. "I will
go and ask for something now," he said, and, with a brief bow, he left
the room. In the hall outside, in a dark corner, he was obliged to stop
and wipe his eyes. Poor Doctor! Poor fathers all the world over! They
have to, as the phrase is, get over it.
Before Gracias had been formally apprised of Garda's engagement, Mr. and
Mrs. Moore came down to East Angels to see Margaret; they came, indeed,
the morning after Winthrop's interview with Dr. Kirby, and explained
that they should have come on the previous afternoon if they had been
able to secure old Cato and his boat. It was no small thing for Mrs.
Moore to make such a journey; and Margaret expressed her
acknowledgments.
"It is, in fact, an especial matter that has brought me down to-day,"
answered Penelope. "_Would_ you allow Middleton to go out and look at
the roses? It is a long time since he has had an opportunity of seeing
them." When Middleton had departed, his wife, who was established in an
easy-chair with her own rubber cushion, disguised in worsted-work,
behind her, went on as follows: "I have come, Mrs. Harold, about this
reported engagement between our little Garda and your cousin Mr.
Winthrop" (Winthrop and Margaret had ceased to disclaim this
relationship which Gracias had made up its mind to establish between
them). "When Middleton returned from here yesterday, he told me what Mr.
Winthrop had said--when they first reached here, you know--and we talked
it over. Middleton was pleased, of course" (Penelope _had_ known,
then)--"I mean with the general idea; as he has the highest esteem for
your cousin. But while we were still talking about it--for anything that
so nearly touches Garda touches us too--we thought of something, which,
I confess, troubled us. Edgarda is lovely, but Edgarda is a child, or
nearly so; what is more, we remember that your cousin has always treated
her as one. Now a man doesn't care for a child, Mrs. Harold, in the way
he cares for a wife, and Middleton and I are both firmly of the opinion
that only a love that is inevitable, overwhelming" (Penelope emphasized
these adjectives with her black-gloved forefinger), "should be the
foundation of a marriage. Look at us; _we_ are examples of this. I
couldn't have lived without Middleton; Middleton couldn't have lived
without me--I mean after we had become aware of the state of our
feelings towards each other. And we both think this should be the test:
can he _live_ without her?--can she _live_ without him? If they can,
either of them, they had better not marry. Of course, as to what may
happen _afterwards_" (Penelope had suddenly remembered to whom she was
talking), "that is another matter; things may occur; we may not be
responsible for differences. But, as a _beginning_, this overmastering
love is, we are convinced, the only real foundation. Now, does your
cousin care for Garda in this way? That is what we ask. And if he does
not, is there any reason that could have influenced him in making such
an engagement? At this point of our conversation, Middleton repeated to
me a remark of Dr. Kirby's--which I will not particularize further than
to say that it contained the _Kirbyly_ coined word--_oatmealish_. But it
was that very epithet that made us think that he had the--the _worldly_
idea that what had happened would cause remark in Gracias, unless it
could be said, by authority, that the two persons concerned were
formally engaged to each other. Now, Mrs. Harold, that is a complete
mistake. You and your cousin, all of you, in fact, are strangers, you do
not know either Gracias-a-Dios, or Reginald Kirby, as we do. Gracias
will _not_ remark; Gracias has no such habits; and Reginald Kirby's
views must not be taken in such a serious matter as this. Much as we
like Reginald Kirby, indisputable as is his talent--and we consider him,
all Gracias considers him, one of the most brilliant men of the time--he
is in some of his judgments--I regret to say it--but he _is_ light! When
he speaks on certain subjects, one might almost think that he was" (here
Penelope lowered her voice) "_French!_ And so Middleton and I have come
down to-day to say that your cousin must not be in the least influenced
by anything he may have suggested. Gracias will _not_ comment;
Middleton, speaking (through me) as rector of the parish, assures you of
this; and he knows our people. I hope you will not think us forward;
but we could not possibly stand by and see Garda so terribly
sacrificed--married to a man who does not love her in the only _true_
way. And all on account of a misconception!"
"I don't think Evert was influenced by anything Dr. Kirby said,"
Margaret answered.
"Or would say?"
"Or would say."
"You think, then, that the idea of possible comment in Gracias had
nothing to do with it?"
"I don't know anything about that, Mrs. Moore. But I do think that Evert
has long been interested in Garda."
"Oh, interested. We are all interested."
"I mean he has cared for her."
Mrs. Moore shook her head, and folded her hands decisively. "That is not
enough," she answered. "The question is--does he _love_ her?" And she
drew in her small lips so tightly that there was scarcely any mouth
visible; only a puckered line.
"You'll have to ask him that," said Margaret, rising. "I am going to get
you a glass of wine."
"Now that is the only unkind thing I have ever heard you say, Mrs.
Harold. Of course we cannot ask him; his position forces him to say yes,
and we should know no more than we did before. But _could_ you sit by--I
ask you as a woman--and see Garda sacrificed?"
"It wouldn't be such a sacrifice--marrying Evert Winthrop," said Mrs.
Harold, in a tone which was almost sharp.
"It makes no difference _who_ it is, if he doesn't love her," responded
Penelope, solemnly; and she believed with all her heart in what she
said. She looked at Margaret; but Margaret's back was towards her. She
rose, and with her weak step crossed the room to where Margaret was
standing, taking some cake from Mrs. Thorne's shining old mahogany
sideboard.
This champion of love, as she made her little transit, was seen to be
attired in a gown of figured green delaine, the plain untrimmed skirt,
which was gathered at the waist, touching the floor. The upper part of
this garment had the appearance of being worn over a night-dress. But
this was because Penelope believed in all persons presenting themselves
"exactly as Nature made them." She therefore presented herself in that
way; and it was seen that Nature had made her with much shoulder-blade
and elbow, a perfectly flat chest, over which the green gown was tightly
drawn, to expand below, however (with plenty of room to show the
pattern), over one of those large, loose, flat waists concerning which
the possessors, for unexplained reasons, always cherish evident pride.
In the way of collar, Penelope had a broad white ruffle, which, however,
in spite of broadness, was loose enough in front (though fastened with a
large shell-cameo breastpin) to betray, when she turned, two
collar-bones and an inch of neck below. An edge of black lace, upon
which bugles had been sewed, adorned her sleeves; she wore a black silk
bonnet with a purple flower, and black kid gloves with one button. Her
black shawl, with a stella border, lay on a chair.
"Dear Mrs. Harold," she said, when she reached the sideboard, "we are
thinking only of Garda. Do content us if you can,--relieve our anxiety;
we have the most complete confidence in you."
"There's no reason why you should have it."
But the southern woman took her hands. "Something has vexed you, of
course I don't know what; we should be very fond of you, Margaret, if
you would let us; perhaps some day you will let us. But this, meanwhile,
is another matter, _this_ is about Garda."
"Yes, it's another matter," answered Margaret. She drew her hands away,
but her voice took on its old sweetness again. "Don't feel in the least
troubled, Mrs. Moore; there's no cause for it. If you want my opinion,
here it is: I think he loves her; I think he has loved her, though
possibly without knowing it, for some time."
And, ringing for Telano, she gave her orders about the wine, and sent
for Mr. Moore--in case he had completed his inspection of the roses.