"I REALLY OUGHT TO HAVE BEEN AN ACTRESS."
Carolyn called imperatively to her brother to come back. Immediately
after her call, Mrs. Ffolliott appeared on the piazza.
"Caro," she said, remonstrantly, "what have you been saying to
Leander?"
"I've been calling him a little cad."
"My dear! How could you? Now he'll be somewhere kicking and
screaming, and probably doing himself an injury. How could you be so
thoughtless?"
The girl made no reply; but Prudence ventured to suggest that if
Leander was screaming at the present moment, he would be heard
plainly in the part of the world where his mother and sister were
standing.
Mrs. Ffolliott twisted her hands together. "Leander is so sensitive,"
she said, pathetically.
By this time, Carolyn had started forward to find her brother. But
she paused, at her cousin's exclamation:
"Why, here's Devil now. And why has he a cord tied to his leg?"
The black speck that had sailed up over the savins gently descended
and alighted in front of Prudence. It was a glossy black crow, that
now immediately pulled up one foot, cocked its head on one side, and
gazed knowingly at the girl, as she extended a finger towards it.
It looked at the finger, and drew back a little, as if it had said,
"No, you don't!"
Prudence laughed. She was glad to laugh. She wanted to stretch up
her arms in her relief. She had hardly known how great had been the
tension upon her in these few moments with her cousin.
"You'd better tell Leander you're sorry," called Mrs. Ffolliott to
her daughter; "and I wish you'd be a trifle more careful--"
Here she was interrupted by a whoop from somewhere,--reenter Leander
at a full run.
"I say!" he yelled, "Devil's gnawed his cord. I was punishin' him. I
say, sis, have you been 'n' done anything to him? Oh, there he is!
He's got to catch it for this!"
The boy threw himself forward with his hands out to seize the cord
that extended from the crow's leg over the wall and off to the top of
the nearest tree. But, as the tips of his fingers touched the string,
Devil gave a hoarse caw, and sailed off towards the water.
Leander shrieked out, "Oh, darn that Devil!" hit his toe on a bat he
had left on the lawn, and fell forward with great force on his nose,
which immediately began to bleed profusely.
Then there was running to and fro by the three women, and a demanding
of lint, and alum, and this thing and that, by Mrs. Ffolliott. She
looked with terror at the stream of blood that poured from that small
nose.
As Carolyn had often said, her mother was frightened when Leander was
well, fearing he might be ill, and when he was ill, being sure he was
going to die.
As soon as Leander could speak, he demanded cobwebs. He said that
cobwebs were to be stuffed into his nose, and he should immediately
die if this remedy were not applied.
"Does he think we have our pockets full of cobwebs?" asked Prudence,
in so light a tone that the boy, as he half lay in his mother's arms,
kicked one leg violently in resentment, and said indistinctly that
he wished Prue's nose bled worse 'n his.
"Thank you," sweetly responded Prue; "then we could bleed and die
together, and there'd be no more worry about us."
This the boy also resented as savoring of mockery, and he kicked
again. Mrs. Ffolliott was actually weeping by this time, lest her
son should do himself an injury. She begged Prudence to be careful;
she asked her not to speak again, for she might inadvertently say
something that dear Leander might not like.
Upon this Prudence turned and walked away, but, at the end of the
piazza, she paused to inform the group assembled that she was going
to the barn, for she was positive she had once seen cobwebs in the
roof of the hay-loft.
She did go to the stable, and climbed into the mow, but by the time
she had reached the door by which hay was put in, she forgot all
about Leander and his nasal hemorrhage. The door was open, and there
was the sea but some rods away, with no intervening wall in front.
The building stood on a bit of rising ground, and the girl looked
on a short stretch of glittering sandy beach. She sat down on the
threshold, her feet hanging out.
After she had gazed intently for a few moments, she exclaimed aloud:
"It's just the place for a soliloquy. Enter the heroine in a white
cycling suit, having come for cobwebs. Why, yes, it was cobwebs I
came for. But I'm not a cat, and I can't go up into the peak there
after them. No doubt Leander will presently stop bleeding, and, if he
doesn't, there are already more than enough boys in the world."
She glanced up into the roof, a half smile on her face. Then she
resumed her gaze at the sea, swinging her feet outside the door as
she did so.
"I always did think soliloquies were great fun," she said, aloud,
"particularly if it's the heroine who is doing the talking. Now, I
suppose I'm the heroine at Savin Hill; if I'm not, I mean to be,
somehow. It's always best to be the heroine if it's possible. A
second fiddle has its uses, but it's pleasanter to be first fiddle.
I should just like to ask what you expect of a girl who has been a
Carlsbad nurse for months,--expect of her when she gets out, I mean.
You expect some kind of a fling, don't you? Very well; all right; I
don't think you'll be disappointed. Just wait until the folks begin
to come here, and until I begin to wear my new frocks. Of course
Rodney Lawrence can't be counted now. He's out of the running. He is
going to marry Carolyn Ffolliott, and be adored all the rest of his
life. At forty he'll be a fat, self-satisfied wretch.
"I hope there isn't anybody near enough to hear me."
She looked about the big chamber, which now had very little hay in
it. She inhaled the air, which was odorous with the ocean smell and
the fragrance of a thicket of wild roses which grew among the rocks
in front of the barn and slightly to the left. Nowhere do wild roses
grow more rankly, more beautifully, than on the New England coast;
the keen salt wind seems to stimulate them to a greater loveliness.
She leaned back again upon the side frame of the door, and resumed
her gaze at the sea. She had discontinued her monologue.
A sail came floating along around the point of rocks that guarded the
northern side of the cove. It was a small craft, a tiny, sky-blue
yacht, in which sat one man holding the tiller as he leaned back in
a half-reclining position, his eyes scanning the shore, but scanning
it lazily, and not as though he expected to see anything familiar.
The wind was light and puffy, and sometimes the boat seemed as if it
would stop, swinging slowly over the waveless water.
"I could manage a boat like that well enough," Prudence said to
herself, "and it would be great fun, too.
"I heed not if
My rippling skiff
Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff;
With dreamful eyes
My spirit lies
Under the walls of Paradise."
Having repeated the lines, she suddenly leaned forward and said,
"Ah!" with a quick, keen interest.
The man in the boat was looking at her; he took off his cap and waved
it.
He seemed to be a very tall, athletic person, wearing white trousers,
a blue sack coat, and a white cap. He had thick, light hair very
closely cut, long, light Dundreary whiskers, a smooth chin that
was so markedly retreating that it apparently required courage to
refrain from allowing it to be covered with a beard, prominent blue
eyes, short upper lip, and extremely white teeth. This newcomer was
sufficiently near the shore to permit all these items of personal
appearance to be noted.
"May I land, Miss Ffolliott?" he called out.
"I don't know why not. But I'm not the owner of the beach here," she
answered.
In response the man laughed. The next moment he had half reefed the
single sail. He took the oars, and brought the boat crunching on the
sand; he flung out the anchor, and then leaped after it, pressing it
down with his foot. Then he stood up and looked at the door of the
barn, where Prudence still sat in the same position. She had watched
his movements, a half smile on her face, her eyes narrowed to two
glittering lines.
"This is jolly good luck, isn't it?" he asked. Then he hastily added,
"For me, I mean. When did you come?"
"This morning," she answered.
"Oh, I say, now," he continued, "isn't this jolly, though? Are you
going to stay long?"
"All summer, if I feel like it."
"I say, now, are you really?"
"Not really, but apparently, you know. Really I shall be somewhere
else."
The man laughed delightedly.
"May I come up there in that hay-loft? It is a hay-loft, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is a hay-loft; but it isn't mine, any more than the beach is
mine."
"Then I shall come."
He ran up the steps two at a time. Miss Ffolliott shook hands
with him without changing her position, save to reach forth a hand
negligently. He sat down at the other side of the doorway. He looked
out at the sea.
"Jolly kind of a prospect, isn't it?"
"Yes, if one likes salt water. How came you over here?"
"Came in the _Cephalonia_."
"When?"
"Two weeks ago."
"You look very well. Did the mud baths cure you?"
"I suppose so; anyway, something cured me. I'm as fit as a man need
be."
"Why don't you say 'as right as a trivet?'"
"Didn't think of a trivet. Isn't it jolly to see you, though?"
"Thank you."
The two gave one full glance at each other, then Prudence laughed.
"Why do you laugh?" he asked, in an aggrieved tone.
"I don't know unless it's because your conversation sounds so
familiar."
"Well, laugh if you feel like it: I know conversation isn't my strong
point."
"I know it isn't."
"I say, you're not very polite."
"And you're not very polite to tell me I'm not polite," she retorted.
The man laughed again, and began, "I say, now--" when Prudence
interrupted him.
"Don't tell me it's jolly to see me."
"No, I won't; but it is--"
"There, you are at it again!"
"Oh, I beg your pardon."
The newcomer threw his head back and laughed once more. His companion
did not join him. She gazed at him with apparent seriousness. When he
had ceased laughing, Prudence inquired:
"Did Lady Maxwell come over with you?"
Lord Maxwell's face grew more grave.
"Yes; we took the trip for her health. The doctors said a sea voyage
would tone her up, so we came over here. And now they've sent her to
the Sulphur Springs. I've just taken her there. Her mother's with
her, you know, and her maid, and her mother's maid, and somehow it
seemed as if I'd better take a run round over the States, you know."
"Is Lady Maxwell's health improved?"
"I can't exactly tell. Some days she seems better, and then she'll be
all down; malaria, you know."
"No, I didn't know."
"Yes; had Roman fever once, so her mother says. Wasn't treated right.
I say, is this what they call Massachusetts Bay?"
Lord Maxwell swept out his arm towards the water.
"Yes, that's what they call it."
The gentleman expatiated again upon the beauties of his surroundings;
he assured his companion that she must have no end of a jolly time,
and then asked, with some abruptness, "Any men here?"
"One now; but a prospect of more."
There was a brief silence after this question and answer. Then Lord
Maxwell exclaimed, "I say--"
Prudence looked at him, a smile lurking about her lips and in her
eyes.
"You're always laughing at me, Miss Ffolliott," he said, but his
manner showed that the fact did not make him miserable.
"What were you going to say?" she inquired.
"Only that it isn't a bad hotel over yonder where I'm stopping, and
if you'd let me come here and call now and then, I'd stay there a
week or two. Is this your Aunt Ffolliott's place that you told me
about,--that you called one of your homes?"
"Yes."
"Would she permit me to call?"
"Certainly. Any friend of mine would be welcome," with a little air
of _hauteur_ and distance.
"Oh, thanks. And now I suppose I must go."
He rose and looked down at her, as if he were hoping she would tell
him not to go so soon. But she said nothing.
"I suppose you wheel?" glancing at her dress.
"Yes, of course."
"I might have known you would; so do I. Perhaps you'll let me take a
spin with you?"
"Perhaps."
"And you like sailing as well as ever?"
"Yes."
"Then I hope you'll go out in this bit of a boat of mine; she's a
real fine one; and I like something I can manage all myself, so I got
a small one. You'll try her?"
"Perhaps."
"You don't seem very eager."
"Don't I?"
"No. And we're old friends, aren't we?"
He asked the question with a wistful frankness. Before she could
answer it, he went on in some haste:
"I never knew whether to believe you really when you told me you
forgave me. You said you understood precisely how I was situated, and
that you didn't blame me, for you might have done the same thing. Do
you remember?"
"Oh, yes, I remember all about everything. And I do forgive you."
"I'm so glad! And we are friends?"
"Yes, we are friends."
Prudence had risen to her feet now. Her eyes were raised to the face
above her, and the man met a softly brilliant look that recalled the
past vividly to him and made him think that he could not do better,
since he must kill time some way, than to stay over at that seaside
hotel, though he had been thinking a half-hour ago that he might as
well move on. He was also telling himself that Prudence Ffolliott was
more sensible than most girls; she understood how a "fellow might be
obliged to do some things when he wanted to do other things;" this
was the way Lord Maxwell put the case in his own mind. And she wasn't
going to lay anything up.
He looked at her gratefully. What a fetching kind of a face she had!
He didn't know whether there was a really pretty feature in it, but
that didn't matter. It had been a devilish set of circumstances that
had obliged him to break off with her; yes, a devilish set. He had
done it as honorably as he could; but he had never liked to think of
his behavior at that time. It was such an immense relief to know that
she didn't bear malice.
"Well," he said, abruptly, "I'll go now. Good-by."
He held out his hand, and Prudence put her fingers in it for the
briefest space of time.
He ran down the stable stairs and down the slope of beach.
As he lifted his anchor to fling it into his boat, a crow flew down
between him and the anchor, cawing as it flew.
He started back with an exclamation.
"It's only Devil," called out the girl from the door, laughing gaily
as she spoke.
"That's just what I thought it was," was the response.
Lord Maxwell gazed an instant after the bird, which flew up to where
Prudence stood and perched on the threshold beside her, curving its
black neck and looking down at the man.
Maxwell pushed out and spread his sail. At the bottom of all his
thoughts concerning this meeting was a feeling of pique that, after
all, Miss Ffolliott cared so little for his failure to marry her. But
he ought to be glad of that. Did he want her sighing and dying for
him?
He glanced up at the sail, which almost flapped, so light was the
wind. He had stopped thinking of Prudence, and was now thinking of
the woman he had married. His thoughts did not often linger upon
that subject. He didn't know of any earthly reason why they should.
But just now he remembered with exceeding distinctness that Miss
Arabella Arkwright had a thick waist and thick fingers; that she had
at first shown a very annoying inclination to call him "my lord,"
but, thank fortune, he had made her drop that; and he was quite sure
that she no longer referred to him as "his lordship;" he was glad of
that also. And she had greatly toned down in regard to her dress.
There was no fault to find with her money, however. She had no end of
it,--literally no end, Lord Maxwell was grateful to know. Even the
payment of his debts had not appreciably lessened the amount.
It had been extremely jolly for the first six months for this
nobleman to be aware that he had no creditors, and to have no fear
that he should overdraw on his banker. But it was sadly true that
even the novelty of having money enough for every whim began to be
what he called "an old story." He could get used to that, but he
couldn't quite get used to the fact that Arabella Arkwright was his
wife. He knew she was not to blame for his having had to break with
a woman he fancied, and who could amuse him, but he often caught
himself feeling as if she were to blame. At such moments Lord Maxwell
fiercely reproved himself for a low-bred wretch. He was "not much for
intellect," as he often said, but he thought he wanted to have the
feelings of a gentleman, and to act like one.
Prudence Ffolliott resumed her seat in the door of the hay-mow. Devil
remained beside her. The cord which Leander had tied to its leg still
dangled from it. Occasionally the bird pecked at the string, but he
had not yet succeeded in detaching it.
Now as he sat he would turn a bright eye towards his companion,
looking as if he knew unutterable things about her, but would never
tell them, never, never.
She extended her hand and touched the top of the bird's head with the
tip of her finger.
"You and I know strange things, don't we, Devil?" she asked.
Devil turned his head this way and that. He hopped a few inches
nearer.
"Do you care for Rodney Lawrence, Devil? Oh, you don't? Because he
saved your life when you were just out of the shell; and he tamed
you; and all you are you owe to him. You don't care if you do? All
right. That's like a human being; that's ingratitude. And you stole
his ring from him, did you? and hid it in the wall, and it wasn't
found until he didn't care for it any more. No, he doesn't care now."
Prudence rose, and walked about over the hay-strewn floor. Her cheeks
had grown red. Her eyes had sparks in them. Suddenly she put her
hands together, then flung them out with a dramatic gesture. Then she
smiled.
"I really ought to have been an actress," she said, looking at the
crow, and speaking as if addressing it.