When Mrs. Barkley heard the news of the wanderer's return, she hurried
to Dr. Lavendar's study. "Do you suppose we need go on with the
present?" she demanded, excitedly.
"Why not?" said Dr. Lavendar.
Mrs. Barkley looked conscious. "I only thought, perhaps--maybe--Mr.
Rives--"
"William Rives's presence in Old Chester won't improve draughts, will
it?" Dr. Lavendar said, crossly. And that was all she could get out of
him.
Meantime, Old Chester began to kill the fatted calf. Mr. Rives liked
fatted calves; and, furthermore, he had prudently arranged with Van
Horne at the Tavern for a cash credit for each meal at which he was not
present. "For why," he had said, reasonably enough, "should I pay for
what I don't get?" So he went cheerfully wherever he was bidden. Old
Chester approved of him as a guest, for, though talkative, he was
respectful in his demeanor, and he did not, so Old Chester said, "put
on airs." He was very stout, and he wore a black wig that curled all
around the back of his neck; his eyes were somewhat dull, but
occasionally they glanced out keenly over his fat cheeks. He had a
very small mouth and a slight, perpetual smile that gave his face a
rather kindly look, and his voice was mild and soft.
He had come back rich (his shabby clothes to the contrary); "and poor
Lydia is so poor," said Old Chester; "perhaps--" and then it paused and
smiled, and added that "it would be strange, after all these years,
_if_--"
When somebody said something like this to Dr. Lavendar he grew very
cross. "Preposterous!" he said. "I should feel it my duty to prevent
anything so dreadful."
And there were romantic hearts in Old Chester who were displeased with
him for this remark. Mrs. Drayton said it showed that he could not
understand love; "though he can't be blamed for that, as he never
married. Still," said Mrs. Drayton, "he ought to have married. I
don't want to make any accusations, _but I always look with suspicion
on an unmarried gentleman_." Mrs. Barkley did not go as far as that,
but she did say to herself that Dr. Lavendar was unromantic. "Dear
me!" she confided to Jane Jay--"if anything _should_ happen! Well, I'd
be glad to do anything I could to bring it about."
And Mrs. Barkley, who had not only the courage but the audacity of her
convictions, invited the parted lovers to tea, so they met for the
first time at her house. Mrs. Barkley was the last person one would
accuse of being romantic, and yet Dr. Lavendar saw fit to stop at her
door that morning and say, "Matches are dangerous playthings, ma'am!"
and Mrs. Barkley grew very red, and said that she couldn't imagine what
he meant.
However, the party went off well enough. Miss Jane Jay, who made a
conscious fourth, expected some quiverings and blushings; but that was
because she was young--comparatively. If she had been older she would
have known better. Age, with shamefaced relief, has learned the
solvent quality of Time. It is this quality which makes possible the
contemplation of certain embarrassing heavenly reunions--where
explanations of consolation must be made.... Thirty-one years of days,
days full of personal concerns and interests, had blurred and softened
and finally almost blotted out that one fierce day of angry parting;
those thirty-one years of days had made this man and woman able to meet
with a sort of calm, good-natured interest in each other. Miss
Lydia--her black frizette over one smiling eye, her hands encased in
white cotton gloves, a new ribbon at the throat of her very old
alpaca--called him "William," with the most commonplace friendliness.
He began with "Miss Sampson," but ended before supper was over with her
first name, and even, once, just as they were going home, with "Lydy,"
at which she did start and blink for an instant, and Jane Jay thought a
faint color came into her cheek. However, he did not offer to walk
home with her, but bowed politely at Mrs. Barkley's gate, and would
have betaken himself to the Tavern had not Mrs. Barkley, when he was
half-way across the street, called after him. There was a flutter of
uncertainty in her voice, for those words of Dr. Lavendar's (which she
did not understand) "stuck," she said to herself, "in her crop." Mr.
Rives came back and paused in the moonlight, looking up at Mrs. Barkley
standing in the doorway. "I should be pleased, sir," she said, "to
have a few words with you."
"Certainly, ma'am," said Mr. Rives, in his soft voice, and followed her
into the parlor.
"Sit down," said Mrs. Barkley.
William Rives sat down thoughtfully. A tall lamp on the heavy,
claw-footed table emitted a feeble light through its ground-glass
globe, and Mrs. Barkley stared at it a moment, as though for
inspiration; then she said, in a deep bass: "Mr. Rives, I thought you
might be interested in a certain little project. Some of us have
thought that we would collect--a--a small sum--"
Mr. Rives bowed; his smiling lips suddenly shut tight.
"Perhaps you have not heard that our old friend Lydia Sampson is in
reduced circumstances; and some of us thought that a small present of
money--
"Ah--" said Mr. Rives.
Mrs. Barkley felt the color come up into her face at that small, cold
sound. "Lydia is very poor," she blurted out.
"Really?" murmured Mr. Rives, with embarrassment; and fell to stroking
his beaver hat carefully. Then he added that he deeply regretted Mrs.
Barkley's information.
"I knew you would," she said, in a relieved voice. "Lydia is a dear
girl. So kind and so uncomplaining! And--and faithful in her
affections, William."
"Ah!" said Mr. Rives again; his smile never changed, but his eyes were
keen.
"Yes," Mrs. Barkley said, boldly. "Why, William--I don't know that I
ought to tell you, but do you remember a sketch of yourself that you
gave her in--in other days? William, she has kept it ever since. It
hangs in her parlor, (horrid, smoky room!) And she keeps a sprig of
fresh box stuck in the frame."
"Really?" said Mr. Rives; and his face grew a little redder.
"That's all," Mrs. Barkley said, abruptly. "Now go. I just thought
I'd mention it."
"Yes," said Mr. Rives; then added that it was a beautiful night, and
politely bowed himself out.
"But he didn't say anything about giving anything," Mrs. Barkley told
Dr. Lavendar the next day. And whatever romantic hopes she may have
had withered under the blighting touch of such indifference.