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
had been made 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 to her mother, which would leave
her next to Guy, where he could see every movement she made. Would he
think her awkward, or would he, as he 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 on the sideboard, which looked
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
really goblets, 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 run off the track, and Guy would not
probably arrive until late in the night, if indeed he did till morning.
Greatly disappointed, the doctor after dinner took his leave, telling
the girls they better not sit up. Consequently, at a late hour they both
retired, sleeping so soundly as not to hear 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’s 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 one else did, she should accept that other
one, 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 was good, 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 on the morning of her 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 has visited us 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 see 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 as 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.”
“May 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
white 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.
Doctor 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 you mean, what I am to do!”
Maddy gasped her face 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 duties as governess are over, sit in your own room, or the
school-room, or walk in the back yard, just as the higher servants
do—such as Mrs. Noah and the seamstress, 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, 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, and her cheeks burned
at the degradation, and 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, and accidentally wandering that way,
stumbled 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
the stranger 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 as he lifted her from the grass and led her
to a rustic seat at no great distance from them.
“Now, tell me why you are crying so?” he said, brushing from her apron
the spot of dirt which had settled upon it. “Are you homesick?” he
continued, and then Maddy burst out crying harder than before.
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 sit with them and eat with them till she told me so. 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 suppose 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 her:
“_I_ am Mr. Guy.”
“YOU, YOU! Oh, I can’t bear it! I shall die!” and Maddy sprang up as
quickly as if feeling an electric shock.
But Guy’s arm was interposed to stop her, and 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 did
once; 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 going
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.
“Perhaps you have forgotten that you were once a school teacher
yourself,” he said, “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’ 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 round; 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—jealousy! I jealous of that child?” and Agnes’s 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 sometime for his wife. I hope he does;
I mean to help it on; I’ll tell him to marry 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
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 that 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 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, as Mrs. Remington had a headache.
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 to 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 the young girl.
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 on
the following morning, just after breakfast was over, she summoned
courage to ask Mr. Guy if she might talk with him. 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 like Dr. Holbrook. He was
haughtier in his manner, 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. Remington, 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 wish 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 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 her 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 seen it
in all its bearings and triumphal result.
“I am much obliged for your liking me,” he said, a little mischievously.
“You surely have not much reason to do so when you recall the incidents
of our first interview. Maddy—Miss Clyde, I mean—I have come to the
conclusion that I knew less than you did, and I beg your pardon for
annoying you so terribly.”
Then Guy explained to her briefly 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 believe he would
have felt it his duty to die also. He was greatly interested in you;
more indeed than in 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 was anxious for me to get well. He was very kind, and I
like him very much.”
Mentally chiding himself for trying to find in Maddy’s head an idea
which evidently never was there, Guy began to speak of her proposition
to 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 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 as
you asked me about that day; 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 staid 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 can 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 a little,
except that she 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 advantage and was as old, she would be what the English call
cleverer. There was no disparagement to Lucy in his thoughts, only a
compliment to Maddy, who was waiting for him to answer her question; he
had offered his services; she had accepted; and with the mental comment,
“I dread Doc’s chaff the most so I’ll explain to him that I am educating
her for the future Mrs. 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 spoke?”
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 them, 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 went
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 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 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, for Guy approached 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 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 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 so 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 your 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 splendid woman, but she needs education, of
course, and I am going to give it to her. You ought to thank me, instead
of looking so like a thunder-cloud,” 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 staid 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.
Guy felt himself very good, very generous, very condescending, and very
forgiving, the earlier 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?” the latter asked. “She liked Maddy
Clyde herself, but it wasn’t for him to demean himself by turning her
schoolmaster. Folks would talk awfully, and she couldn’t blame ’em;
besides, what would Lucy Atherstone 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 and ask 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, 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, and 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.