GUY AT HOME.
Saturday came at last, a balmy September day, when all nature seemed
conspiring to welcome the travelers for whom so extensive preparations
were making at Aikenside. They were expected at about six in the
afternoon, and just before that hour the doctor rode up to be in
readiness to meet them. In the dining-room the table was set as Maddy
had never seen it set before, making, with its silver, its china, and
cut-glass, a glittering display. There was Guy’s seat as carver, with
Agnes at the urn, while Maddy felt sure that the two plates between
Agnes and Guy were intended for Jessie and herself, the doctor
occupying the other side. Jessie would sit next her mother, which would
leave her near to Guy, where he could see every movement she made.
Would he think her awkward, or would he, as she hoped, be so much
absorbed with the doctor as not to notice her? Suppose she should drop
her fork, or upset one of those queer-looking goblets, more like bowls
than anything else? It would be terrible, and Maddy’s cheeks tingled at
the very thought of such a catastrophe. Were they goblets really, those
funny colored things, and if they were not, what were they? Summoning
all her courage, she asked the doctor, her prime counselor, and learned
that they were the finger-glasses, of which she had read, but which she
had never seen before.
“Oh, must I use them?” she asked, in so evident distress that the
doctor could not forbear a laugh as he told her it was not of the
slightest consequence whether she used them or not, advising her to
watch Mrs. Agnes, who was _au fait_ in all such matters.
Six o’clock came, but no travelers. Then an hour went by, and there
came a telegram that the cars had broken down and would not probably
arrive until late in the night, if indeed they did till morning.
Greatly disappointed, the doctor, after dinner, took his leave, telling
the girls they had better not sit up. Consequently, at a late hour they
both retired, sleeping so soundly as not to near the noise outside the
house; the banging of doors, the setting down of trunks, the tramp of
feet, Mrs. Noah’s words of welcome, one pleasant voice which responded,
and another more impatient one which sounded as if its owner were tired
and cross.
Agnes and Guy had come. As a whole, Agnes’ season at Saratoga had been
rather disagreeable. Guy, it is true had been exceedingly kind. She had
been flattered by brainless fops. She had heard herself called “that
beautiful Mrs. Remington,” and “that charming young widow,” but no
serious attentions had been paid, no millionaire had asked to be her
second husband. If there had, she would have said yes, for Agnes was
not averse to changing her state of widowhood. She liked the doctor,
but if he did not propose, and some other body did, she should accept
that other body, of course. This was her intention when she left
Aikenside, and when she came back, it was with the determination to
raise the siege at once, and compel the doctor to surrender. She knew
he was not wealthy as she could wish, but his family were the
Holbrooks, and as she positively liked him, she was prepared to waive
the matter of money. In this state of mind it is not surprising that
the morning of the return home she should listen with a troubled mind
to Jessie’s rather exaggerated account of the number of times the
doctor had been there, and the nice things he had said to her and
Maddy.
“He had visited them ever so much, staying ever so long. I know Maddy
likes him; I do, anyway,” Jessie said, never dreaming of the passion
she was exciting, jealousy of Maddy, hatred of Maddy, and a desire to
be revenged on a girl whom Dr. Holbrook visited “ever so much.”
What was she that he should care for her? A mere nothing—a child, whom
Guy had taken up. Pity there was a Lucy Atherstone in the way of his
making her mistress of Aikenside. It would be a pretty romance, Guy
Remington and Grandpa Markham’s grandchild. Agnes was nervous and
tired, and this helped to increase her anger toward the innocent girl.
She would take immediate measures, she thought, to put the upstart
down, and the sight of Flora laying the cloth for breakfast suggested
to her the first step in teaching Maddy her place.
“Flora,” she said, “I notice you are arranging the table for four. Have
we company?”
“Why, no, ma’am; there’s Mr. Guy, yourself, Miss Jessie, and Miss
Clyde,” was Flora’s reply, while Agnes continued haughtily: “Remove
Miss Clyde’s plate. No one allows their governess to eat with them.”
“But, ma’am,” and Flora hesitated, “she’s very pretty, and ladylike,
and young; she has always eaten with Miss Jessie and Dr. Holbrook when
he was here. He treats her as if she was good as anybody.”
In her eagerness to serve Maddy and save her from insult, Flora was
growing bold, but she only hurt the cause by mentioning the doctor.
Agnes was determined now, and she replied:
“It was quite right when we were gone, but it is different now, and Mr.
Remington, I am sure, will not suffer it.”
“Might I ask him?” Flora persisted, her hand still on the plate.
“No,” Agnes would attend to that, and also see Miss Clyde. All Flora
had to do was to remove the plate, which she finally did, muttering to
herself: “Such airs! but I know Mr. Guy won’t stand it.”
Meantime Maddy had put on her prettiest delaine, tied her little dainty
black silk apron, Mrs. Noah’s gift, and with the feeling that she was
looking unusually well, started for the parlor to meet her employer,
Mrs. Agnes. Jessie had gone in quest of her brother, and thus Agnes was
alone when Maddy Clyde first presented herself before her. She had not
expected to find Maddy so pretty, and for a moment the hot blood
crimsoned her cheek, while her heart throbbed wildly beneath the rich
morning dress. Dr. Holbrook had cause for being attracted by that
fresh, bright face, she thought, and so she steeled herself against the
better impulses of her nature, impulses which pleaded that for the sake
of the past she should be kind to Maddy Clyde.
“Ah, good-morning. You are Jessie’s governess, I presume,” she said,
bowing distantly, and pretending not to notice the hand which Maddy
involuntarily extended toward her. “Jessie speaks well of you, and I am
very glad you suit her. You have had a pleasant time, I trust?”
Her voice was so cold and her manner so distant that Maddy’s eyes for
an instant filled with tears, but she answered civilly that she had
been very happy, and everybody was very kind. It was harder work to put
down Maddy Clyde than Agnes had expected, and after a little further
conversation there ensued a silence, which neither was inclined to
break. At last, summoning all her courage, Agnes began:
“Excuse me, Miss Clyde, but your own good sense, of which I am sure you
have an abundance, must tell you that now Mr. Remington and myself are
at home, your intercourse with our family must be rather limited—that
is—ahem—that is, neither Mr. Remington nor myself are accustomed to
having our governess very much with us. I suppose you have had the
range of the parlors, sitting there when you liked, and all this was
perfectly proper. Mind, I am finding no fault with you. It is all quite
right,” she continued, as she saw the strange look of terror and
surprise visible on Maddy’s face. “The past is right, but in future it
will be a little different, I am willing to accord to a governess all
the privileges possible. They are human as well as myself, but society
makes a difference. Don’t you know it does?”
“Yes—no—I don’t know. Oh, pray tell me what I am to do!” Maddy gasped,
her face as white as ashes, and her eyes wearing as yet only a scared,
uncertain look.
With little, graceful tosses of the head, which set in motion every one
of the brown curls, Mrs. Agnes replied:
“You are not, of course, to go to Mr. Remington. It is my matter, and
does not concern him. What I wish is this: You are to come to the
parlor only when invited, and are not to intrude upon us at any time,
particularly when company is here, such as—well, such as Dr. Holbrook,
if you please. As you cannot be with Jessie all the while, you will,
when your labors as governess are over, sit in your own room, or the
schoolroom, or walk in the back yard, just as the higher servants
do—such as Mrs. Noah and the sewing girl, Sarah. Occasionally we shall
have you in to dine with us, but usually you will take your meals with
Mrs. Noah and Sarah. By following these directions you will, I think,
give entire satisfaction.”
When Mrs. Agnes had finished this, Maddy began to understand her
position, and into her white face the hot blood poured indignantly.
Wholly inexperienced, she had never dreamed that a governess was not
worthy to sit at the same table with her employer, that she must never
enter the parlors unbidden, or intrude herself in any way. No wonder
that her cheeks burned at the degradation, or that, for an instant, she
felt like defying the proud woman to her face. But the angry words
trembling on her tongue were repressed as she remembered her
grandfather’s teachings; and with a bow as haughty as any Mrs. Agnes
could have made, and a look on her face which could not easily be
forgotten, she left the room, and in a kind of stunned bewilderment
sought the garden, where she could, unseen, give way to her feelings.
Once alone, the torrent burst forth, and burying her face in the soft
grass, she wept bitterly, never hearing the step coming near, and not
at first heeding the voice which asked what was the matter. Guy
Remington, too, had come out into the garden, accidentally wandering
that way, and so stumbling upon the little figure crying in the grass.
He knew it was Maddy, and greatly surprised to find her thus, asked
what was the matter. Then, as she did not hear him, he laid his hand
gently upon her shoulder, compelling her to look up. In all her
imaginings of Guy, she had never associated him with the man who had so
puzzled and confused her, and now she did not for a time suspect the
truth. She only thought him a guest at Aikenside; some one come with
Guy, and her degradation seemed greater than before. She was not
surprised when he called her by name; of course he remembered her, just
as she did him; but she did wonder a little what Mrs. Agnes would say,
could she know how kindly he spoke to her, lifting her from the grass
and leading her to a rustic seat at no great distance from them.
“Now, tell me why you are crying so?” he said, brushing from her silk
apron the spot of dirt which had settled upon it. “Are you homesick?”
he continued, and then Maddy burst out again.
She forgot that he was a stranger, forgot everything except that he
sympathized with her.
“Oh, sir,” she sobbed, “I was so happy here till they came home, Mrs.
Remington and Mr. Guy. I never thought it was a disgrace to be a
governess; never heard it was so considered, or that I was not good
enough to eat with them till she told me this. Oh, dear, dear!” and
choked with tears Maddy stopped a moment to take breath.
She did not look up at the young man beside her, and it was well she
did not, for the dark expression of his face would have frightened her.
Half guessing the truth, and impatient to hear more, he said to her:
“Go on,” so sternly, that she started, and replied:
“I know you are angry with me and I ought not to have told you.”
“I am not angry—not at you at least—go on,” was Guy’s reply, and Maddy
continued:
“She told me that now they had come home it would be different, that
only when invited must I come to the parlor, or anywhere, but must stay
in the servants’ part, and eat with Mrs. Noah and Sarah. I’d just as
soon do that. I am no better than they, only, only—the way she told me
made me feel so mean, as if I was not anybody, when I am,” and here
Maddy’s pride began to rise. “I’m just as good as she, if grandpa is
poor, and I won’t stay here to be treated like a nigger by her and Mr.
Guy. I liked him so much too, because he was kind to grandpa and to me
when I was sick. Yes, I did like him so much.”
“And how is it now?” Guy asked, wondering who in the world she thought
he was. “How is it now?”
“I s’pose it’s wicked to feel such things on Sunday, but, somehow, what
she said keeps making me so bad that I know I hate her, and I guess I
hate Mr. Guy!”
This was Maddy’s answer, spoken deliberately, while she looked up at
the young man, who, with a comical expression about his mouth, answered
back:
“I am Mr. Guy.” “You, you! Oh, I can’t bear it! I will die!” and Maddy
sprang up as quickly as if feeling an electric shock.
But Guy’s arm was interposed to stop her, and Guy’s arm held her back,
while he asked where she was going.
“Anywhere, out of sight where you can never see me again,” Maddy sobbed
vehemently. “It is bad enough to have you think me a fool, as you must;
but now, oh what do you think of me?”
“Nothing bad, I assure you,” Guy said, still holding her wrist to keep
her there. “I supposed you knew who I was, but as you did not, I
forgive you for hating me so cordially. If you thought I sanctioned
what Mrs. Remington has said to you, you had cause to dislike me, but
Miss Clyde, I do not, and this is the first intimation I have had that
you were to be treated other than as a lady. I am master of Aikenside,
not Mrs. Agnes, who shall be made to understand it.”
“Oh, please don’t quarrel about me. Let me go home, and then all will
be well,” Maddy cried, feeling, at that moment, more averse to leaving
Aikenside than she could have thought it possible.
“We shall not quarrel, but I shall have my way; meanwhile go to your
room and stay there until told that I have sent for you.”
They went to the house together, but separated in the hall; Maddy
repairing to her room, while Guy sought Mrs. Agnes. The moment she saw
his face she knew a storm was coming, but was not prepared for the
biting sarcasm and bitter reproaches heaped upon her by one who, when
roused, was a perfect hurricane.
Maybe she had forgotten what she was when his father married her, he
said, but he had not, and he remembered well the wonder expressed by
many that his father should stoop to marry a poor school teacher. “Yes,
that’s what you were, madam, much as you despise Maddy Clyde for being
a governess; you were one once yourself, and before that time mercy
knows what you were—a hired girl, perhaps—your present airs would seem
to warrant as much!”
Guy was in a sad passion by this time, and failed to note the effect
his last words had on Agnes, who turned livid with rage and terror; but
smothering down her wrath, she said beseechingly:
“Pray, Guy, do not be so angry; I know I am foolish about some things,
and proud people who ‘come up’ as you say always are, I guess; I know
that marrying your father made me what I am, but everybody does not
know it, and it is not necessary they should. I don’t remember exactly
what I did say to this Clyde girl, but I thought it would be pleasanter
for you, pleasanter for us all, not to have her always around; it seems
she has presided at the table when Dr. Holbrook was here to tea, and
even you can’t think that quite right.”
“I don’t know why,” and at mention of Dr. Holbrook Guy’s temper burst
out again. “Agnes, you can’t deceive me; I know the secret of your
abominable treatment of Maddy Clyde is jealousy.”
“Guy—jealous, I jealous of that child;” and Agnes’ voice was expressive
of the utmost consternation.
“Yes, jealous of that child; you think that because the doctor has been
kind to her, perhaps he wants her some time for his wife. I hope he
does; I mean to help it on; I’ll tell him to have her, and if he don’t
I’ll almost marry her myself!” and Guy paced up and down the parlor,
chafing and foaming like a young lion.
Agnes was conquered, and quite as much bewildered as Maddy had been;
she heard only in part how Maddy Clyde was henceforth to be treated.
“Yes, yes,” she gasped at last, as Guy talked on, “stop now, for
mercy’s sake, and I’ll do anything, only not this morning, my head
aches so I cannot go to the breakfast table; I must be excused,” and
holding her temples, which were throbbing with pain, induced by strong
excitement, Agnes hurried to her own room and threw herself upon the
bed, angry, mortified and subdued.
The breakfast bell had rung twice while Guy was holding that interview
with Agnes, and at last Mrs. Noah came up herself to learn the cause of
the delay; standing in the hall she heard a part of what was
transpiring in the parlor. Mrs. Noah was proud and jealous of her
master’s dignity, and once or twice the thought had crossed her mind
that perhaps when he came home Maddy would be treated more as some
governesses were treated by their employers, but to have Agnes take the
matter up was quite a different thing, and Mrs. Noah smiled with grim
satisfaction, as she heard Guy issuing orders as to how Miss Clyde
should be treated. Standing back to let Agnes pass, she waited a
moment, and then, as if she had just come up, presented herself before
Guy, asking if he were ready for breakfast.
“Yes, call Miss Clyde; tell her I sent for her,” was Guy’s answer, and
forthwith Mrs. Noah repaired to Maddy’s room, finding her still sobbing
bitterly.
“I cannot go down,” she said; “my face is all stains, and it’s so
dreadful, happening on Sunday, too. What would grandpa say?”
“You can wash off the stains. Come,” Mrs. Noah said, pouring water into
the bowl, and bidding Maddy hurry, “as Mr. Guy was waiting breakfast
for her.”
“But I am not to eat with them,” Maddy began, when Mrs. Noah stopped
her by explaining how Guy ruled that house, and Agnes had been
completely routed.
This did not quiet Maddy particularly, and her heart beat painfully as
she descended to the parlor, where Guy was still walking up and down.
“Come, Miss Clyde, Jessie is nearly famished,” he said pleasantly, as
Maddy appeared, and without the slightest reference to what had passed
he drew Maddy’s arm within his own, and giving a hand to Jessie, who
had just come in, he went to the breakfast room, where Maddy was told
to preside.
Guy watched her closely without seeming to do so, mentally deciding
that she was neither vulgar nor awkward. On the contrary, he thought
her very pretty, and very graceful for one so unaccustomed to society.
Nothing was said of Agnes, who kept her room the entire day, and did
not join the family until evening, when Guy sat upon the piazza with
Jessie in his lap, while Maddy was not very far away. At first there
was much constraint between Agnes and Maddy, but with Guy to manage, it
soon wore away, and Agnes felt herself exceedingly amiable when she
reflected how gracious she had been to her rival.
But Maddy could not so soon forget. All through the day the conviction
had been settling upon her that she could not stay at Aikenside, and so
on the following morning, just after breakfast was over, she summoned
courage to ask Mr. Guy if she might talk with film. Leading the way to
his library, he bade her sit down, while he took the chair opposite,
and then waited for her to commence.
Maddy was afraid of Guy. He did not seem quite like Dr. Holbrook. He
was haughtier in his appearance, while his rather elaborate style of
dress and polished manners gave him, in her estimation, a kind of
superiority over all the men she had ever met. Besides that, she
remembered how his dark eyes had flashed when she told him what she did
the previous day, and also that she had said to his face that she hated
him. She could not bear to leave a bad impression on his mind, so the
first words she said to him were:
“Mr. Remington, I can’t stay here after all that has happened. It would
not be pleasant for me or Mrs. Agnes, so I am going home, but I want
you to forget what I said about hating you yesterday. I did not then
know who you were. I don’t hate you. I like you, and I want you to like
me.”
She did not look at him, for her eyelids were cast down, and her lashes
were wet with the tears she could scarcely keep from shedding. Guy had
never known much about girls of Maddy’s age, and there was something
extremely fascinating in the artless simplicity of this half child,
half woman, sitting there before him, and asking him so demurely to
like her. She was very pretty, he thought, and with proper culture
would make a beautiful woman. Then, as he remembered his avowed
intention of urging the doctor to make her his wife some day, the idea
flashed upon him that it would be very generous, very magnanimous in
him to educate that young girl expressly for the doctor, and though he
hardly seemed to wait at all ere replying to Maddy, he had in the brief
interval formed a skeleton plan, and saw it in all its bearings and
triumphal result.
“I am much obliged for your liking me,” he said, a very little
mischievously. “You surely have not much reason so to do when you
recall the incidents of our first interview. Maddy—Miss Clyde—I have
come to the conclusion that I knew less than you did, and I beg your
pardon for annoying you so terribly.”
Then briefly Guy explained to her how it all had happened, blaming
himself far more than he did the doctor, who, he said, had repented
bitterly. “Had you died, Miss Clyde, when you were so sick, I half
believe he would have felt it his duty to die also. He likes you very
much; more indeed than any patient I ever knew him to have,” and Guy’s
eyes glanced curiously at Maddy to witness the effect his words might
have upon her. But Maddy merely answered:
“Yes, I think he does like me, and I know I like him.”
Mentally chastising himself for trying to find in Maddy’s head an idea
which evidently never was there, he began to speak of her proposition
of leave, saying he should not suffer it, Jessie needed her and she
must stay. She was not to mind the disagreeable things Mrs. Remington
had said. She was tired and nervous, and so gave way to some very
preposterous notions, which she had picked up somewhere. She would
treat Maddy better hereafter, and she must stay. It was pleasanter for
Jessie to have a companion so near her own age. Then, as he saw signs
of yielding in Maddy’s face, he continued:
“How would you like to turn scholar for a short time each day, I being
your teacher? Time often hangs heavily upon my hands, and I fancy the
novelty of the thing would suit me. I have books. I will appoint your
lessons and the hour for recitation.”
Guy’s face was scarlet by the time he finished speaking, for suddenly
he remembered to have heard or read of a similar instance which
resulted in the marriage of the teacher and pupil; besides that it
would subject him to so much remark, when it was known that he, the
fashionable and fastidious Guy, was teaching a pretty, attractive girl
like Maddy Clyde, and he sincerely hoped she would decline. But Maddy
had no such intention. Always in earnest herself, she supposed every
one else meant what they said, and without ever suspecting the peculiar
position in which such a proceeding would place both herself and Guy,
her heart leaped up at the idea of knowing what was in the books she
had never dared hope she might study. With her beautiful eyes full of
tears, which shone like diamonds, as she lifted them to Guy’s face, she
said:
“Oh, I thank you so much. You could not make me happier, and I’ll try
so hard to learn. They don’t teach such things at the district school;
and when there was a high school in Honedale I could not go, for it was
three dollars a quarter, and grandpa had no three dollars for me. Uncle
Joseph needed help, and so I stayed at home. It’s dreadful to be poor,
but, perhaps, I shall some time be competent to teach in a seminary,
and won’t that be grand? When may I begin?”
Guy had never met with so much frankness and simplicity in any one,
unless it were in Lucy Atherstone, of whom Maddy reminded him somewhat,
except that the latter was more practical, more—he hardly knew
what—only there was a difference, and a thought crossed his mind that
if Maddy had had all Lucy’s advantages, and was as old, she would be
what the world calls smarter. There was no disparagement to Lucy in his
thoughts, only a compliment to Maddy, who was waiting for him to answer
her question. There was no retracting now; he had offered his services;
she had accepted; and with a mental comment: “I dread Doc’s fun the
most, so I’ll explain to him how I am educating her for the future Mrs.
Dr. Holbrook,” he replied:
“As soon as I am rested from my journey, or sooner, if you like; and
now tell me, please, who is this Uncle Joseph of whom you speak?”
He remembered what the doctor had said of a crazy uncle, but wishing to
hear Maddy’s version of it, put to her the question he did.
“Uncle Joseph is grandma’s youngest brother,” Maddy answered, “and he
has been in the lunatic asylum for years. As long as his little
property lasted, his bills were paid, but now they keep him from
charity, only grandpa helps all he can, and buys some little nice
things which he wants so badly, and sometimes cries for, they say. I
picked berries all last summer, and sold to buy him a thin coat and
pants. We should have more to spend than we do, if it were not for
Uncle Joseph,” and Maddy’s face wore a thoughtful expression as she
recalled all the shifts and turns she’d seen made at home that the poor
maniac might be more comfortable.
“What made him crazy?” Guy asked, and after a moment’s hesitancy Maddy
replied: “I don’t believe grandma would mind my telling you, though she
don’t talk about it much. I only knew it a little while ago. He was
disappointed once. He loved a girl very much, and she made him think
that she loved him. She was many years younger than Uncle Joseph—about
my age at first, and when she grew up she said she was sick of him,
because he was so much older. He wouldn’t have felt so badly, if she
had not gone straight off and married a rich man who was a great deal
older even than Uncle Joseph; that was the hardest part, and he grew
crazy at once. It has been so long that he never can be helped, and
sometimes grandma talks of bringing him home, as he is perfectly
harmless. I suppose it’s wicked, but I most hope she won’t, for it
would be terrible to live with a crazy man,” and a chill crept over
Maddy, as if there had fallen upon her a foreshadowing of what might
yet be. “Mr. Remington,” she continued suddenly, “if you teach me, I
can’t, of course, expect three dollars a week. It would not be right.”
“Perfectly right,” he answered. “Your services to Jessie will be worth
just as much as ever, so give yourself no trouble on that score.”
He was the best man that ever lived, Maddy thought, and so she told the
doctor that afternoon when, as he rode up to Aikenside, she met him out
on the lawn before he reached the house.
It did strike the doctor a little comically that one of Guy’s habits
should offer to turn school teacher, but Maddy was so glad, that he was
glad too, and doubly glad that across the sea there was a Lucy
Atherstone. How he wished that she was there now as Mrs. Guy, and he
must tell Guy so that very day. Seated in Guy’s library, the
opportunity soon occurred, Guy approaching the subject himself by
saying:
“Guess, Hal, what crazy project I have just embarked in.”
“I know without guessing; Maddy told me,” and the doctor’s eyebrows
were elevated just a little as he crossed his feet upon the window sill
and moved his chair so as to have a better view of Maddy and Jessie
romping in the grass.
“And so you don’t approve?” was Guy’s next remark, to which the doctor
replied:
“Why, yes; it’s a grand thing for her, providing you know enough to
teach her; but, Guy, this is a confounded gossiping neighborhood, and
folks will talk, I’m afraid.”
“Talk about what!” and Guy bridled up as his independent spirit began
to rise, “What harm is there in my doing a generous act to a poor girl
like Maddy Clyde? Isn’t she graceful as a kitten, though?” and Guy
nodded toward the spot where she was playing.
It annoyed the doctor to have Guy praise Maddy, but he would not show
it, and answered calmly:
“It’s all right in you, but just because the poor girl is Maddy Clyde,
folks will talk. She is too handsome, Guy, for Madam Grundy to let
alone. If Lucy were only here, it would be different. Why, in the name
of wonder, are you two not married, if you are ever going to be?”
“Jealous, as I live!” and Guy’s hand came down playfully on the
doctor’s shoulder. “I did not suppose you had got as far as that. You
are afraid of the effect it may have on me teaching a sweet-faced
little girl how to conjugate amo; and to cover up your own interest,
you bring Lucy forward as an argument. Eh, Hal, have I not probed the
secret?”
The doctor was in no mood for joking, and only smiled gloomily, while
Guy continued:
“Honestly, doctor, I am doing it for you. I imagine you fancy her, as
well you may. She’ll make a splend’d woman, but she needs educating, of
course, and I am going to do it. You ought to thank me, instead of
looking so like a thundercloud,” and Guy laughed merrily.
The doctor was ashamed of his mood, and could not tell what spirit
prompted him to answer:
“I am obliged to you, Guy; but as far as I am concerned, you may spare
yourself the trouble. If my wife needs educating, I can do it myself.”
Guy was puzzled. Could it be that, after all, he was deceived, and the
doctor did not care for Maddy? It might be, and he hastened to change
the conversation to another topic than Maddy Clyde. The doctor stayed
to dinner, and as Guy watched him closely, he made up his mind that he
did care for Maddy Clyde, and this confirmed him in his plan of
educating her for him.
Magnanimous Guy! He felt himself very good, very generous, very
condescending, and very forgiving, the early portion of the afternoon;
but later in the day he began to view Guy Remington in the light of a
martyr, said martyrdom consisting in the scornful toss of the head with
which Agnes had listened to his plan, and the open opposition of Mrs.
Noah.
“Was he beside himself, or what?” this worthy asked. “She liked Maddy
Clyde, to be sure, but it wasn’t for him to demean himself by turning
her school master. Folks would talk awfully, and she couldn’t blame
’em; besides, what would Lucy say to his bein’ alone in a room with a
girl as pretty as Maddy? It was a duty he owed her at any rate to tell
her all about it, and if she said ’twas right, why, go it.”
This was the drift of Mrs. Noah’s remarks, and as Guy depended much on
her judgment, he decided to write to Lucy to see if she had the
slightest objections to his teaching Maddy Clyde. Accordingly he wrote
that very night, telling her frankly all he knew concerning Maddy
Clyde, and narrating the circumstances under which he first had met
her, being careful also to repeat what he knew would have weight with
an English girl like Lucy, to wit, that though poor, Maddy’s father and
grandfather Clyde had been gentlemen, the one a clergyman, the other a
sea captain. Then he told of her desire for learning, and his plan to
teach her himself, of what the doctor and Mrs. Noah said about it, and
his final determination to consult her. Then he described Maddy
herself, feeling a strange thrill as he told how pure, how innocent,
how artless and beautiful she was, and asked if Lucy feared aught from
his association with her.
“If you do,” he wrote, “you have but to say so, and though I am
committed, I will extricate myself in some way rather than wound you in
the slightest degree.”
It would be some time ere an answer to this letter could be received,
and until such time Guy could not honorably hear Maddy’s lessons as he
had agreed to do. But Maddy was not suspicious, and accepting his
trivial excuse, waited patiently, while he, too, waited for the letter,
wondering what it would contain.