"FLUFF WILL SUIT HIM BEST."
Frances spent a very unhappy night. She could not doubt Philip's
affection for her, but she knew very little about men, and was just then
incapable of grasping its depth. Like many another woman, she overlooked
the fact that in absolutely sacrificing herself she also sacrificed the
faithful heart of the man who had clung to her memory for ten long
years.
Frances was too humble to suppose it possible that any man could be in
serious trouble because he could not win her.
"I know what will happen," she said to herself, as she turned from side
to side of her hot, unrestful pillow. "I know exactly how things will
be. The man to whom my father owes the money will accept the interest
from me. Yes, of course, that is as it should be. That is what I ought
to wish for and pray for. In about a week from now I shall go to live at
Arden, and the next few years of my life will be taken up soothing Mrs.
Carnegie's nerves. It is not a brilliant prospect, but I ought to be
thankful if in that way I can add to my poor father's life. Of course,
as soon as I hear from Mr. Spens, I must tell Philip I can have nothing
to say to him. I must give Philip up. I must pretend that I don't love
him. Perhaps he will be disappointed for awhile; but of course he will
get over it. He'll get another wife by and by; perhaps he'll choose
Fluff. Fluff is just the girl to soothe a man and make him happy. She is
so bright, and round, and sweet, she has no hard angles anywhere, and
she is so very pretty. I saw Philip looking at her with great admiration
to-night. Then she is young, too. In every way she is more suited to
him than I am. Oh, it won't be at all difficult for Philip to transfer
his affections to Fluff! Dear little girl, she will make him happy. They
will both be happy, and I must hide the pain in my heart somehow. I do
believe, I do honestly believe, that Fluff is more suited to Philip than
I am; for now and then, even if I had the happiest lot, I must have my
sad days. I am naturally grave, and sometimes I have a sense of
oppression. Philip would not have liked me when I was not gay. Some days
I must feel grave and old, and no man would like that. No doubt
everything would be for the best; at least, for Philip, and yet how
much--how much I love him!"
Frances buried her head in the bed-clothes, and sobbed, long and sadly.
After this fit of crying she fell asleep.
It was early morning, and the summer light was filling the room when she
woke. She felt calmer now, and she resolutely determined to turn her
thoughts in practical directions. There was every probability that the
proposal she had made to Mr. Spens would be accepted, and if that were
so she had much to do during the coming week.
She rose at her usual early hour, and, going down-stairs, occupied
herself first in the house, and then with Watkins in the garden. She
rather dreaded Philip's appearance, but if he were up early he did not
come out, and when Frances met him at breakfast his face wore a tired,
rather bored expression. He took little or no notice of her, but he
devoted himself to Fluff, laughing at her gay witty sallies, and trying
to draw her out.
After breakfast Frances had a long conversation with her father. She
then told him what she meant to do in order that he might continue to
live at the Firs. She told her story in a very simple, ungarnished
manner, but she said a few words in a tone which rather puzzled the
squire at the end.
"I will now tell you," she said, "that when Philip wrote to me asking me
to be his wife I was very, very glad. For all the long years of his
absence I had loved him, and when I thought he was dead I was
heart-broken. I meant to marry him after he wrote me that letter, but I
would not say so at once, for I knew that I had grown much older, and I
thought it quite possible that when he saw me he might cease to love me.
That is not the case; last night he let me see into his heart, and he
loves me very, very deeply. Still, if your creditor consents to the
arrangement I have proposed, I can not marry Philip--I shall then
absolutely and forever refuse him. But I do this for you, father, for my
heart is Philip's. I wish you to understand, therefore, that I could not
give up more for you than I am doing. It would be a comfort for me if,
in return, you would give me a little affection."
Frances stood tall and straight and pale by her father's side. She now
looked full into his face. There were no tears in her eyes, but there
was the passion of a great cry in the voice which she tried to render
calm.
The squire was agitated in spite of himself; he was glad Fluff was not
present. He had an uneasy consciousness of certain words Fluff had said
to him yesterday.
"You are a good girl, Frances," he said, rising to his feet and laying
his trembling old hand on her arm. "I love you after my fashion,
child--I am not a man of many words. By and by, when you are old
yourself, Frances, you won't regret having done something to keep your
old father for a short time longer out of his grave. After all, even
with your utmost endeavor, I am not likely to trouble any one long. When
I am dead and gone, you can marry Philip Arnold, Frances."
"No father."
Frances's tone was quiet and commonplace now.
"Sit down, please; don't excite yourself. I am not a woman to keep any
man waiting for me. I trust, long before you are dead, father, Philip
will be happy with another wife."
"What! Fluff, eh?" said the old man. "What a capital idea! You will
forgive my saying that she will suit him really much better than you,
Frances. Ah, there they go down the elm-walk together. She certainly is
a fascinating little thing. It will comfort you, Frances, to know that
you do Philip no injury by rejecting him; for he really gets a much more
suitable wife in that pretty young girl--you are decidedly _passee_, my
love."
Frances bit her lips hard.
"On the whole, then, you are pleased with what I have done," she said,
in a constrained voice.
"Very much pleased, my dear. You have acted well, and really with
uncommon sense for a woman. There is only one drawback that I can see
to your scheme. While you are enjoying the luxuries and comforts of
Arden, who is to take care of me at the Firs?"
"I have thought of that," said Frances. "I acknowledge there is a slight
difficulty; but I think matters can be arranged. First of all, father,
please disabuse yourself of the idea that I shall be in a state of
comfort and luxury. I shall be more or less a close prisoner; I shall be
in servitude. Make of that what you please."
"Yes, yes, my love--a luxurious house, carriages, and horses--an
affectionate and most devoted friend in Lucilla Carnegie--the daintiest
living, the most exquisitely furnished rooms. Yes, yes, I'm not
complaining. I'm only glad your lot has fallen in such pleasant places,
Frances. Still, I repeat, what is to become of me?"
"I thought Mrs. Cooper, our old housekeeper, would come back and manage
matters for you, father. She is very skillful and nice, and she knows
your ways. Watkins quite understands the garden, and I myself, I am
sure, will be allowed to come over once a fortnight or so. There is one
thing--you must be very, very careful of your money, and Watkins must
try to sell all the fruit and vegetables he can. Fluff, of course, can
not stay here. My next thought is to arrange a home for her, but even if
I have to leave next week, she need not hurry away at once. Now, father,
if you will excuse me, I will go out to Watkins, for I have a great deal
to say to him."