Margaret was surprised next morning at breakfast when a humorous
reference on her part to "Walter's funny little Yankee" met with no
response.
"But, Walter, he's a freak! Didn't you find him so, Harriet?"
"Oh, I don't know. Walter says he's a wonder in his knowledge of the
law."
"He has one of the keenest legal minds I've ever met," declared Walter,
"though of course----" He looked at Margaret uncertainly. "Well,
Margaret, after your eight years with a highbrow like your Uncle
Osmond, most other men must seem, by contrast, rather stupid to you.
Even _I_," he smiled whimsically, "must feel abashed before such a
standard as you've acquired. But really, one can't despise a man who
has reached the place in his profession that Leitzel has attained, even
if he is a bit--eh, peculiar."
It never occurred to Walter to recommend Leitzel by mentioning that he
was a millionaire, the man's prominence in his profession being, in
Eastman's eyes, the measure of his value.
"It's going to be rather rough on your husband, Margaret," Walter
teased her, "to have to play up to the intellectual taste of a wife
that's lived with Osmond Berkeley."
"But, Walter, other things may appeal to me: kindness and affection,
for instance. My life, you know," she said gravely, "has been pretty
devoid of that."
There was a moment's rather awkward silence at the table, which
Margaret herself quickly broke. "This Mr. Leitzel--there's something
positively uncanny in the way he seems to see straight through you to
your back hooks and eyes; and I'm quite sure if there was a small
safety pin anywhere about me last night where a hook and eye should
have been, he knew it and disapproved of it. I'm certain that details
like safety pins interest him; he has that sort of mind, if he is a
great lawyer."
"Not great," Walter corrected her. "I didn't say great. He's able and
skillful; but, I must admit, very limited in his scope, his field being
merely the legal technicalities involved in the management of a
corporation. However, he's a nice enough little fellow. Didn't you
find him so?"
"I'm afraid I found him rather absurd and tiresome."
"Take care, Margaret!" Harriet playfully warned her, "or else--oh!
won't you have to be explaining away and apologizing for the things you
are saying about that man. He's _smitten_ with you!"
Margaret's eyes rested upon Harriet for a moment, while her quick
intuition recognized just why her joking remarks about Mr. Leitzel had
met with no response in kind: her sister was actually seeing in this
queer little man a possible means of getting rid of her, and Walter was
abetting her!
She turned at once to the latter, swallowing the lump that had risen in
her throat. "Have you done anything, Walter, about securing me a loan
on our property?"
"I'm doing my best for you, Margaret."
"Thank you. Any chance of success?"
"I think so." He looked at her with a smile that was rather enigmatic,
and she saw that he was really evading her.
"You know, Margaret," spoke in Harriet, "I shouldn't consent for a
moment to have a mortgage put on my property."
"Tut, tut, Harriet," Walter checked his wife. "Leave it to me.
Perhaps a mortgage won't be necessary."
He rose hastily, made his adieus, and departed for his office.
"Margaret, dear," Harriet began as soon as they were alone, "I assure
you that to an unprejudiced observer, last night, the state of Mr.
Leitzel's mind was only too manifest! You'd have seen it yourself if
you weren't so inexperienced."
"What are the signs, Harriet? I confess I'd like to be able to
recognize them myself."
"You sat almost behind him and he nearly cracked his neck trying to
keep you in view. And when Walter drove him to the trolley line he
talked of you all the way: said he liked your 'colouring' and your
'motherly manner,' and your hair and your voice and your smile and your
walk! I'm not making it up--he's simply hard hit, Margaret."
"You'd like Mr. Leitzel for a brother-in-law, would you, Harriet?"
"I shouldn't see much of him, living 'way up in Pennsylvania."
Margaret, who had not yet given up craving wistfully her sister's
affection, turned her eyes to her plate and stirred her coffee to hide
the sensitive quiver of her lips.
"We'd see each other very seldom, certainly, if I lived in
Pennsylvania," she found voice to say after a moment. "I'll go up to
the baby, now, Harriet, and let Chloe come down."
When later that morning a delivery wagon left at Berkeley Hill two
boxes, one containing violets, the other orchids, and a boy on a
bicycle arrived with a five-pound box of Charleston's most famous
confectionery, all from Mr. Leitzel to Miss Berkeley, Margaret was
forced to take account of the situation.
Of course she could not know (fortunately for her admirer) that the
lavishness of his offerings had been carefully calculated to impress
upon her the fact which he suspected her relatives of concealing from
her--the all-persuasive fact that he was rich.
A telephone call inviting her to go automobiling with him that
afternoon was answered by Harriet, who at once accepted the invitation
for her without consulting her.
"I'm perfectly willing, dear, to give up Mattie St. Clair's auction
bridge this afternoon and chaperon you," Harriet graciously told her
after informing her of the engagement she had made for her. "Chloe
will have to keep the children."
Margaret made no reply. All these manifestations of Harriet's eager
anxiety to be rid of her stabbed her miserably. She went away to her
own room, just as soon as her regular domestic routine was
accomplished, and shut herself in to think it all out.
The fact that she had, because of the secluded life she had led,
reached the age of twenty-five without ever having had a lover, must
account for her feelings this morning toward Daniel Leitzel, her sense
of gratitude (under the soreness of her heart at her sister's attitude
to her) that any human being should like her and be kind, to the extent
of such munificence as this which filled her room with fragrance and
beauty. No wonder that for the time being she lost sight of the little
man's grotesqueness in her keen consciousness of his kindness, and of
the novelty of being admired--by a man. Yes, her momentary blindness
even saw him as a man. Not even the cards which came with his
offerings--the one in the candy box marked "Sweets to the Sweet," and
that with the flowers labelled,
_Thou shalt not lack_
_The flower that's like thy face_.--SHAKESPEARE.
gave her more than a faint, passing amusement.
"The flower that's like thy face'; he should have sent me a sunflower
or a tiger-lily," she ruefully told herself as she glanced at her dark
head in a mirror. But she recalled something she had once said to her
Uncle Osmond: "I'd be grateful even to a dog that liked me."
It was Harriet, not Margaret, who was shocked that afternoon at the
revelation of poor Daniel's "greenness" when he found that Mrs. Eastman
expected, as a matter of course, to chaperon her young sister.
Daniel interpreted this unheard-of proceeding as another proof of his
sharp surmise of the previous night--the penurious determination of the
Eastmans to keep Miss Berkeley unmarried. He resented accordingly the
interference with his own desires and the persecution of the young
lady. He would show this greedy sister of Miss Berkeley that he was
not the man to be balked by her scheming, and incidentally he would win
the admiration and gratitude of the girl herself by his clever foiling
of the designs of her relatives.
"I'm very good to you and my sister, Mr. Leitzel," Harriet assured him
as she and Margaret shook hands with him in the hall, both of them
wrapped up for riding. "I am giving up an auction bridge this
afternoon to go with you."
"To go with us? But--but you misunderstood my invitation, I invited
only Miss Berkeley," explained Daniel frankly.
"Oh, you have another chaperon then? If only you had told me so when
you 'phoned this morning I needn't have given up my bridge party."
"Told you what, Mrs. Eastman?"
"That you already had a chaperon."
"Had a--_what_?"
"Haven't you a chaperon, Mr. Leitzel?"
"'Chaperon?' But this isn't a boarding-school, Mrs. Eastman!"
Harriet turned away to hide her face, but Margaret laughed outright as
she asked him: "Don't they have chaperons in Pennsylvania, Mr. Leitzel,
to protect guileless and helpless maidens of twenty-five from any
breach of strict propriety while out alone with dashing youths like
you?"
"If my sister went out alone with you in Charleston, Mr. Leitzel,"
explained Harriet with dignity, "she would be criticised."
"But--but," stammered Daniel indignantly, "I'm a trustworthy man, Mrs.
Eastman! A _perfectly_ trustworthy gentleman!"
"My dear Mr. Leitzel, I know you are! It's only a custom among us
that--oh, come on, let us start! I'm sorry, Mr. Leitzel, but I'm
afraid you'll have to put up with me."
"Yes, do let us start; we don't want to miss a minute of this lovely
day!" said Margaret brightly, moving toward the door and drawing her
sister with her. "I very seldom get a chance to ride, and I love it.
You are so kind, Mr. Leitzel," she chatted as they went down the steps
to the waiting car, "to give me this pleasure, besides the beautiful
flowers and delicious candy!" And thus Daniel, though inwardly fuming,
and wondering at Miss Berkeley's amiable submission to such
unwarrantable meddling in her personal affairs, was forced to accept
with what grace he could command the doubt cast upon his
"trustworthiness."
As he assisted the two ladies into the automobile, Harriet of her own
accord took the front seat with the chauffeur; and Daniel, as he
realized how entirely isolated with Miss Berkeley this arrangement left
him, felt himself thoroughly puzzled by the whole incomprehensible
proceeding.
As on the previous evening Miss Berkeley's Southern cordiality of
manner was interpreted by Daniel during this drive to be a gushing
warmth of feeling for himself, which fanned the flame of his egotism no
less than that of his passion.
While the car moved swiftly through the picturesque roads outside of
Charleston he discoursed volubly; for Daniel's idea of an enjoyable
conversation was a prolonged, uninterrupted exposition, on his part, to
a silently absorbed listener, of his personal interests, achievements,
excellencies of character, and general worthiness. He knew no greater
joy in life than this sort of expansion before an admiring or envious
companion. He fairly revelled this afternoon in the steady, monotonous
stream of self-eulogy which flowed from his lips. It was meant to
impress profoundly the maiden at his side, and it did.
"People call me lucky, Miss Berkeley, but it isn't luck; it's deep
thinking. Nobody could be lucky that didn't use his judgment and keep
a sharp lookout for the main chance. To have the wit to see and seize
the main chance," he reiterated with an accent that made Margaret see
the words in large capitals, "that's the secret of success. Don't you
think so?"
"Yes, indeed--the point of importance being not to confuse one's
values--material success and spiritual defeat not always being
recognized, Mr. Leitzel, as twin sisters. We don't want to miss the
main chance to grow in grace and--dear me!" she pulled herself up. "It
sounds like Marcus Aurelius, doesn't it? Did you make _his_
acquaintance at Harvard?"
"Who?"
"The Roman Emerson."
"Oh, but Emerson was a New Englander, not a Roman," he kindly set her
right; "known as the Sage of Concord, Massachusetts," he informed her,
looking pleased with himself.
Harriet in the front seat could not resist turning her head to meet for
an instant Margaret's eye.
"I had to read a 'Life of Emerson' in my Sophomore year at Harvard,"
continued Daniel. "Do you know that his writings never yielded him
more than nine hundred dollars a year! Well educated as he was, he
never made good. A dead failure. Missed the main chance, you see.
Now I have always turned every circumstance and opportunity, no matter
how trifling, to my own advantage. Why, from the time I first began to
practise law, I refused to take any case that I didn't see I was surely
going to win; so, in no time at all, I got a reputation for winning
every case I took. See? I didn't _take_ a case I didn't feel sure of
winning. Good scheme, wasn't it? Well, that far-sighted policy reaped
for me, very early in my career, a big harvest; for when I was just
beginning to be known as the lawyer who never lost a case, there was,
one night, a shocking crime committed in New Munich: a young girl,
daughter of a carpenter, was supposed to have been foully and brutally
murdered by her lover, the son of a petty grocer on one of our side
streets. (My own residence is on Main Street, our principal resident
street, a very fashionable street; house cost me twenty-five
thousand!--one of the finest residences in the town--so considered by
all.) Well, the evidence against the lover was overwhelming (I
couldn't give you the details, Miss Berkeley, it would not be proper,
you being a young, unmarried lady), and early on the morning after the
murder the grocer came to see me on behalf of his son, begging me to
take the case. He gave me all the facts and I saw very soon that the
young man had _not_ committed the crime. But I saw, also, that it
would be very difficult to prove his innocence to a jury, and I knew
the sentiment in the town to be furiously against the young man,
especially among the women, so that I'd be apt to make myself very
unpopular if I took his case; and that even if I cleared him there
would be many who would continue to think him guilty and to think that
I had simply cheated the law by my cleverness; cheated _moral_ justice,
too, and left a foully murdered female go unavenged, all for the sake
of a fee. So I, of course, refused to take the case, though the
grocer, believing me to be the one lawyer who could clear his son (such
was my growing reputation), offered me a very large fee; he was ready
to mortgage his store and house if only I'd take the case and save his
son. The fee he offered certainly did make me hesitate; but you see, I
was never one to let present profit blind me to future advantage. Most
young men, less far-seeing and sharp, would have thought this a great
opportunity to make a hit by clearing a falsely accused and perfectly
innocent boy. But I saw much deeper into the situation, and so refused
the case."
"Oh!" Margaret cried. "_There_ you surely missed the 'main chance,'
unless you afterward saw your mistake in time to change your mind."
"No, indeed, I didn't change my mind! And to show you how right I was
in refusing the case, hear, now, of the immediate reward I reaped for
my careful thoughtfulness. Hardly had the father left my office when a
delegation of women of the U. B. Missionary Society (I am a member and
liberal supporter of the U. B. Church of New Munich, my brother Hiram
being an ordained U. B. minister) called at my office to _protest_
against my taking the case for the young man's defence, the delegation
including two very wealthy and prominent ladies. A false report had
gone forth that I had taken the case. The ladies pointed out to me
that I would be untrue to my Christian professions and unchivalrous to
womanhood if for gold I stood up in court and defended the brutal
murderer of an outraged, innocent female. 'Ladies,' I said to them,
'the case was offered to me, true; with a fee which some lawyers would
have considered sufficient to justify their accepting even such a case
as this. But, ladies, I refused to touch the case!' and, Miss
Berkeley," said Daniel feelingly, a little quiver in his voice, "I wish
you could have seen the look of admiration on the faces of those
ladies, especially on Miss Mamie Welchan's, one of the two unmarried
members of the Missionary Society, daughter of Dr. Welchans, our
leading physician. Well, I certainly had my reward! And that night
the New Munich _Evening Intelligencer_ came out with a long article
commending my fearless and self-sacrificing devotion to duty; and the
Missionary Society passed resolutions of gratitude to me in the name of
Womanhood, as did also the Y.W.C.A., the Epworth League, the Girls'
Friendly of the Episcopal Church (our most fashionable ladies are
members of that Girls' Friendly), also several of the Christian
Endeavour Societies of our town. You may imagine how glad I was I had
refused the case. Just suppose I had accepted it!" he said in
reminiscent horror of such a false step. "For, of course, I had not
foreseen such an ovation as this. While I had seen the bad effects of
accepting, I had not seen the good results of refusing it. Why, from
that very hour, Miss Berkeley, my success was assured! You see, people
believed, then, that I was conscientious, and they trusted me with
their business, and my practice grew so fast that--well, it was only a
few years before I rose to be the leading lawyer of New Munich, and a
few more when I secured the cinch I've got now."
"Was the young man hanged?" asked Margaret in a low voice, not looking
at him.
"Oh, _he_," returned Daniel, surprised and chagrined at her ignoring
the real point of his story, which certainly had nothing to do with the
fate of the young man; "they failed to convict him, though every one
believed him guilty. He had to leave New Munich."
"_Couldn't_ you have proved his innocence?"
"But, Miss Berkeley, don't you see I'd have ruined myself if I had
tried, and I _made_ myself by refusing that case; I have always
considered that episode the turning-point of my career, the pivot on
which my success turned uppermost; my brother Hiram, who is a
theologian, considered it Providential."
"'Providential' that a young girl should be brutally murdered and a
young man falsely accused so that you might--'succeed?'"
"I should say, rather, that by the ruling of Providence the chance was
given me to refuse the case and thereby win the enthusiastic approval
and endorsement of the best class of our community."
Margaret was silent.
"She isn't as bright as I had supposed she was," thought Daniel,
disappointed at her want of admiration of his yarn. "I wonder if she'd
bear me stupid children! If I thought so, I certainly wouldn't marry
her."
"Early in my career," he, however, resumed his monologue, "I took a
stand for temperance. I'm a total abstainer, Miss Berkeley, and I have
found that on the whole it has been to my advantage, for besides being
more economical, it has seemed more consistent with my Christian
professions. To be sure, when the liquor men of our precinct
practically offered to send me to Congress if I would uphold their
interests, I did regret that I had taken such a decided stand for
temperance that I couldn't becomingly diverge from it. I would have
liked well enough to go to Congress. Jennie and Sadie would have
liked, too, to have me a Congressman, and my brother Hiram thought if I
were in Congress I could maybe work him in as chaplain of the Senate.
He doesn't get a very big salary from his church at Millerstown, Pa.,
though he manages to live on it without touching his capital. But no!
I told the liquor men I would not go back on the principles for which I
had stood for so many years. You might think I was foolishly standing
in my own light, Miss Berkeley, but I ask you, how would it have looked
for a church member, a consistent, practical Christian, an upholder of
and contributor to the Woman's Temperance Union, to turn around and
stand for the liquor interests? How would it have _looked_? Why,"
exclaimed Daniel, "it would have looked pretty inconsistent, and I
wouldn't risk it. Anyway, see what I _saved_ in the past twenty years
by not standing for treats? 'Come and have a drink on me,' says a
grateful client, when I've won his case for him, and I always say, 'I
don't drink'; but if I did drink, to be sure I'd have to take my turn
at the treats, too, don't you see, and that kind of thing does go into
money. I've saved a good income by standing for temperance, besides
earning the approval of an excellent element in the community. But it
isn't always easy to say, 'I don't drink.' Some men take offence at
it, and some laugh at you. I'll never forget how embarrassed I was the
first time Congressman Ocksreider's daughter invited me to a
fashionable dinner at her home and they served wine. I didn't know how
they'd take it if I declined to drink, and I wanted to stand in with
them. I was, at that time, very much complimented at their inviting
me; they were the most prominent people in New Munich. And yet,
sitting opposite me at the table, was a prominent member of the U. B.
Church, who would certainly have a laugh on me if I took wine. _He_
wasn't temperance. Now wasn't that a fix for me? My, but I was
embarrassed! Well, Mrs. Congressman Ocksreider, a lady of very kind
feelings, came to my help; the minute she saw how mixed-up I was, she
told the waiter to pour grape juice into my glass. It's sickening
stuff, but I was willing to drink it rather than forswear my principles
right before my fellow church member. Yes, it takes moral courage,
Miss Berkeley, to stand by your principles as I have always stood by
mine. And now I see my further reward in sight, for look how things
are swinging my way: temperance, Governors, Congressmen, Presidents! I
may yet get to Congress on the local option issue. It looks that way."
He paused to get his breath. Margaret made no comment on his long
harangue, and Harriet did not turn her head. For a while they rode in
silence. But at last Margaret, feeling it incumbent upon her to talk
to her entertainer, roused herself from her rather unpleasant reverie.
"You spoke of two women, Mr. Leitzel--'Jennie and Sadie'--are they
relatives of yours?"
"My sisters who raised and educated me, who made me what I am!" he
replied in a tone of admiration for this remarkable feat his sisters
had wrought. "All I am I owe to them!"
"They are to be congratulated."
"Thank you, Miss Berkeley." Daniel bowed.
"You're welcome, Mr. Leitzel. Shall we go home now? I feel ill."
"Motor riding makes you ill?" inquired Daniel solicitously.
"Under some circumstances. To-day it does."
Daniel at once gave the order to the chauffeur to return to Berkeley
Hill.
Harriet, on the front seat, wondered, as she stared thoughtfully at the
long, straight road ahead of her, whether "the game was up."
"I'm afraid he's more of a dose than Margaret can swallow!" she thought
anxiously.
When they reached home, however, she invited Mr. Leitzel to stop and
dine with them. Margaret looked at her reproachfully as he eagerly
accepted the invitation. It was two long hours before dinner time.
"You will have to excuse me. I shall have to go upstairs and lie
down," Margaret hastily said as they entered the house; and before any
one could reply, she flew upstairs and shut herself in her own room.
Harriet, to her consternation, found herself with Mr. Leitzel on _her_
hands--and Walter not due at home for an hour and a half!
"I'll have the children brought down," she quickly decided. "That will
help me out."
Little did she dream that by this simple manoeuvre of introducing the
children into the comedy she was turning the tide of her sister's life
and settling her fate.