AN UNDERSTANDING
It was a pleasant summer evening when Hilton Dane leaned against a beech
trunk outside Thomas Chatterton's villa which stands upon a hillside
above the Solway shore. He was a tall, fair-haired man who looked older
than his age, twenty-five, with steady blue eyes, and usually a somewhat
masterful air; but just then his eyes were wistful, and his face, which
betokened an acquaintance with the tropical sun, expressed somewhat
tempered satisfaction. He had certainly cause for the latter feeling,
because, after toiling hard at railroad building in a foreign land, it
was comforting to know that he had earned the right to rest a while in
that peaceful retreat.
The sun still touched the velvet lawn, though the shadows lengthened
across it, and the larch wood behind the red-tiled building diffused
resinous odors. The grass sloped to a river which came down amber-tinted
from the stretch of heather growing black against the east, and, curving
round two meadows, flashed through the gloom of fir branches into a deep
pool. All this was pleasant to the wanderer newly returned from the
glare of the desolate pampa and the turmoil of dusty construction camps;
but Dane found the keenest pleasure in watching his companion.
Lilian Chatterton, niece of the childless owner of The Larches, was
worth inspection. She was a year or two younger than the man, and lay in
a low chair opposite him, her fingers busy with a ball of colored
thread, while the last of the sunlight sparkled in her hair. Dane
noticed how its bronze color flashed into lustrous gold, and decided
that the changing lights in the hazel eyes matched it wonderfully well.
Nevertheless, he had seen them burn with quick indignation, for the girl
possessed a spice of the Chatterton temper, which was never remarkably
equable. Presently he allowed several loops of thread to slip from the
skein he held, and she looked up with a trace of indignation.
"That is the second time! You cannot be tired already," she said.
Dane smiled a trifle grimly. He had toiled for twelve hours daily under
burning heat and then spent half the night poring over plans, not long
ago.
"I am not quite worn out; but is it not an unfair question, considering
my present employment? This skein is getting mixed, and I was wondering
if you would allow me to help you in straightening it."
Miss Chatterton glanced at him keenly before she shook her head. It was
not surprising that she had grown used to masculine homage, but none of
her other cavaliers had quite resembled this one. He was slower and more
solid, and, while he had a way of anticipating her wishes, he lacked
their versatility. Sometimes she wished, with a sense of irritation,
that she could dismiss him as summarily as she had done the rest, but
that could not be done without incurring Thomas Chatterton's
displeasure, which was no small thing to risk.
"No," she said decisively. "I believe you tangled it yourself. Don't you
think it would run more smoothly if you gave the thread more length?
Well, why don't you act upon the suggestion?"
"I was thinking," the man answered with a meditative air; and Miss
Chatterton laughed.
"It is a bad habit of yours. Of the famous mining pump, or the lawsuit,
presumably?"
There was something in the speaker's manner which qualified the smile in
her hazel eyes, and warned the man that his companion was merely bent on
discovering how far he was disposed to respect the wishes she had not
directly expressed. He, on his part, was wondering how he could best
intimate that certain fears she entertained were groundless. He laughed
softly, though a tinge of darker color crept into his tanned face as he
remembered the uncompromising frigidity with which she had at first
received him.
"I feel that I ought to say something civil," he said. "How could one
think of the things you mention in such surroundings?"
The girl was in a variable mood, and she smiled mischievously.
"That is not civil. It implies that I expected you to. Tell me instead
how the pump is progressing."
"The pump is not progressing," said the man. "In fact, it is standing
still; and, though the court upheld my patent, it will probably continue
to stand still for lack of capital. Capital is hard to acquire, you
know."
"But you were well paid, and promoted several times on your merits in
South America, were you not?" asked Miss Chatterton.
"I was lucky," Dane said quietly. "It was due to no merit of mine that
my superiors died off with yellow fever; but when the inventor desires
a fair share of the profit himself, it requires a good deal of money to
start off pumps and similar inventions successfully."
"You are growing avaricious," declared Miss Chatterton, and let her eyes
fall a little under the man's gaze.
"You are right," he said. "I would sell half my life to any one for the
few thousand pounds the invention would repay twenty-fold; and somehow I
shall get them."
The listener fancied that this was possible, for there was a stamp of
force and endurance upon the man; but she did not inquire why he was so
anxious for wealth. While she considered her answer, and he wondered how
he could best express what must be said, there was an interruption; for
it happened a few moments earlier that the owner of The Larches flung
down the balance-sheet he was perusing in a room which did not look out
upon the lawn.
"Those new directors are a pack of fools," he observed. "They are
throwing away all I so painfully built up. I'm going to catch a trout in
the moss pool; and, as I saw Maxwell's rascals putting up the fence
again, I'll demolish his iniquitous obstruction on my way. Helen, where
have these stupid people hidden my flybook again?"
Mrs. Chatterton smiled a little, and, reminding her husband that the
book was in his pocket, followed him to the door.
Thomas Chatterton and the father of Hilton Dane had set up a little wire
mill when both were struggling men, and, though Dane's rolling machinery
had started them on the way to prosperity, its inventor died too soon.
Chatterton was always considered an upright man; but, because Dane's
widow did not long survive her husband, nobody knew exactly whether his
success was due to his own energy or the dead man's invention.
Chatterton, however, recognized a moral debt, and would have discharged
it, but that Hilton Dane had inherited his mother's pride as well as his
father's skill. When the famous business was sold to a company, the
iron-master, purchasing a small estate in Scotland, aspired to play the
part of a country gentleman, in which he was not wholly successful. He
was at once too autocratic and too democratic; and the local magnates of
ancient descent resented his habit of doing exactly what pleased himself
in defiance of their most cherished traditions. He had accordingly
embroiled himself with Maxwell of Culmeny over what he contended was an
ancient right of way.
When he reached the door he turned and smiled significantly at his wife.
"They seem well contented, do they not?" he said.
Mrs. Chatterton understood him, though she did not smile as she glanced
at the two on the lawn. Lilian's white-robed figure was forced up
sharply in a manner that emphasized its comeliness by the somber
background of larches; and the last of the ruddy light deepened the
faint, warm tinge in her cheeks. Dane's face was in the shadow, as he
looked down upon the girl, but his form showing darkly against the light
was that of a vigorous, well-made man; and Mrs. Chatterton, knowing his
disposition, reflected that her niece might make a less desirable
choice. It was, however, she thought, unfortunate that her husband was
seldom addicted to leaving those he desired to benefit any choice at
all; and she considered that he had made his intentions respecting Dane
and his niece too plain, for Lilian had a tolerably strong will of her
own.
Chatterton moved forward, and the two turned sharply at the sight of the
stout, thick-necked, elderly gentleman, in vivid red leggings and slouch
hat adorned with gaudy flies.
"We had neither time nor taste for needle-work when I was young, Hilton,
but these are degenerate days," he said, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Do
you feel inclined to help me to catch a trout during the evening rise?"
Dane glanced appealingly toward his companion. He would have felt no
great inclination for being sent into the river to free the
iron-master's line, which usually formed part of the program on such
excursions, even if he had not a better reason for refusing.
"I am afraid the water is too clear, sir, for an indifferent angler; and
it might spoil this skein if I left it partly wound," he answered
lamely.
Lilian, however, possibly for Chatterton's benefit, ignored the appeal.
"So far you have only succeeded in entangling it," she said.
Dane had no choice left but to express the pleasure it would afford him
at least to carry his host's landing net; and he did it as well as
possible, though uneasily conscious that Chatterton was amused at him.
Then they waded together through long damp grass which soaked Dane's
thin shoes through, while Chatterton discoursed learnedly upon lines and
flies. He was as choleric and obstinate as he could be generous when the
impulse seized him, and he had ruled stubborn operatives so long that
the use of the strong hand had become habitual to him. Presently he
halted, fuming with indignation, before a hedge.
"That confounded Maxwell has built it up stronger than ever!" he
exploded. "Look at that, and see how he respects a public right of way!
Don't you consider it perfectly scandalous, Hilton?"
Dane saw an irate elderly gentleman, and a neatly mended gap in the
hedge; but being uncertain as to what answer would best soothe the
former, he wisely held his peace until he should furnish further
particulars. Chatterton, however, espying a stout stake in the grass,
commenced a spirited attack upon the hedge. So vigorous was it that his
face grew flushed and his hat fell off, while Dane looked on with
suspicious gravity, smothering a desire to laugh.
"If you really want that gap opened, I dare say I could assist you,
sir," he said.
Chatterton panted wrathfully.
"Do you suppose I am doing this for exercise? It's a public duty! I have
battered it down twice already, and defied Culmeny to sue me."
He plied the stake again until, glancing from a root, it smote him on
the ankle. Desisting then, he commented upon his neighbor's conduct
viciously while Dane proceeded to attack the obstruction with marked
success. Chatterton, when he noticed this, watched him admiringly; and
when Dane tore his hand on a strand of barbed wire, he positively beamed
on him.
"I'm sorry, Hilton; but, in one way, it's almost a pity you did not tear
it worse," he said. "Still, I dare say it will rankle sufficiently to
give us something to claim damages from Culmeny upon. Meantime, go home
and ask Lily to tie it up. Nobody could do it more neatly."
"I certainly hope it will not, sir," said Dane, with a trace of
irritation; though, being thankful for the excuse, he lost no time in
returning.
Meanwhile, Lilian Chatterton sat where he had left her, in a
contemplative frame of mind. She and Dane had been playmates in their
younger days, and the latter had afterward shown his admiration for her
in youthful fashion. That was before he went abroad; but her cheeks
tingled as she remembered how she had been made to feel, a few weeks
earlier, that it was Chatterton's desire that their youthful friendship
should speedily ripen into something further. Lilian was grateful to the
iron-master, who had denied her nothing, and brought her up as his
daughter; but she was also sensitive, and accordingly shrank from Dane,
wondering, with a sense of shame, what had been said to him, and whether
he, too, considered her own opinion as of no importance. The man's
conduct had, however, partly reassured her, for he made no advances; she
did not know that he had, during several years spent in strenuous
effort, carried her memory and a stolen photograph about with him.
Had she been a free agent she might have been inclined to approve of
Hilton Dane. She knew he was honest, resolute, and capable, while as
regards physique, nature had treated him well; but as it was, and
because there were no friends she could find an excuse for visiting, it
appeared essential that he should be made to recognize that there could
be no more than a mutual toleration between them. Miss Chatterton had
just arrived at this conclusion when the man came toward her across the
lawn. Again it struck her that the bronzed face beneath the straw hat
was that of an honest man, and that the blue eyes had a kindly gleam in
them; but she brushed such thoughts aside impatiently.
"What has brought you back so soon?" she asked.
"The need of assistance," Dane answered with a laugh, and the girl's
mood changed swiftly as she glanced at his injured hand. Her eyes grew
sympathetic.
"Will you wait a few moments until I find some arnica?" she said.
Dane would have waited a long time in return for such a glance, and,
when the girl rejoined him, he felt that the pain was a very small price
to pay for the pleasure of letting his torn hand rest in her little cool
palm. When it had been bound up with a dainty handkerchief, Lilian
smiled prettily.
"I think," she said playfully, "with due care you should now recover."
"Do you know that I feel tempted to go back and tear the other?"
returned the man.
Lilian regarded him with some uneasiness.
"Such speeches do not become you," she said. "No doubt there are idle
men who consider that they prove irresistible to most of us; but
you--you are different."
"Yes," Dane assented somewhat grimly. "I suppose my lot is to drag the
measuring chain and do the hard work more famous men get paid for; but a
little variety is refreshing--and there were times when you did not seem
to find any levity on my part wholly irksome."
The girl's color rose a little, and there was a sparkle in her eyes. She
understood that this was a challenge, but she did not guess that it had
been thrown down for her sake out of kindliness. Unfortunately, she
recalled several incidents connected with the days to which her
companion referred, and she recollected that he had an unpleasantly good
memory.
"We were only boy and girl then," she said. "One forgets such nonsense
as one grows older. Still, I am almost glad you mentioned it,
because--can't you see the uselessness of remembering?"
Dane, though he did not say so, saw most clearly the impossibility of
ever being able to forget; but he was considerate, and had sense enough
to see what he would lose by taking advantage of the position. He had
noticed how, until his conduct reassured her, she held aloof from him.
"What could an unfortunate man answer?" he asked with a mirthless smile.
"Do you expect me to admit that I am pleased to consider it is so?"
Lilian looked down at the grass to hide the anger in her face.
"Please don't--I am not wholly foolish," she said; and added abruptly,
"I have almost decided on going to London for a course of art study
shortly."
Dane leaned forward a little, and forced her to look up at him.
"That is, you are going away to avoid me," he said. "Have you considered
that this might not only render circumstances unpleasant for you, but be
unnecessary?"
Lilian looked at him steadily, for she was not lacking in courage.
"I am my own mistress; and they are distinctly unpleasant already."
Every word of the answer cost Dane an effort, but he determined to
finish his task.
"I can realize that they must be so," he said. "I am not clever at
expressing myself, and what I have to say is difficult to me, but I
cannot allow you to be driven away. We are both master of our own
inclinations, are we not?--and you have my word that, if you can trust
me, it really isn't necessary."
There was no doubt about the relief in Lilian's face; and though it hurt
the man to see it, he held out his hand.
"We shall be good friends once more; and that implies a good deal, does
it not?" he said. "Promise so much, and I will engage that you have no
further perplexity."
Lilian felt very grateful.
"I think I can promise that, now that we understand," she replied.
"Then it is a compact," said Dane, hiding his own regret manfully. "As a
change, you might tell me why your uncle finds such satisfaction in
destroying his neighbor's fences. He even said it was a pity I did not
tear my hand more seriously."
Lilian was glad to change the subject.
"He fancied that Maxwell of Culmeny closed the gap to annoy him," she
explained. "Unfortunately, when tearing down the first barrier, he hurt
his foot, which naturally made him more determined to maintain ancient
privileges. In one way, the feud is amusing; in another, vexatious;
because we are lonely here, and the Misses Maxwell cannot well call upon
us. Their brother Carsluith has lately returned from Africa, and would
have made you a pleasant companion."
"Carsluith Maxwell?" said Dane. "It is curious that I was of some
service to a friend of his, named Hyslop, in South America. The poor
fellow struck our camp pulled down by sickness and apparently in want of
money, and we were able to find him employment."
"Did you not mention that the contractors would not replace the
assistants who died of fever?" asked Lilian. "Did they endorse your
action?"
"I can't say they did," was the answer. "They were not required to."
"Oh! Then who paid Hyslop's salary?"
"It was arranged," Dane answered ambiguously. "You see, he was a
countryman; and the poor fellow died soon afterward, anyway. I think I
shall walk over to Culmeny."
Lilian asked no further questions. She felt that any one in trouble
could trust the man beside her. She smiled as she said:
"I am afraid that would not be judicious. Your host would consider it an
act of treachery."
They went back to the house together; and in the meantime, Thomas
Chatterton, who was not a skilful angler, whipped several pools
unsuccessfully, hooking nothing but weeds, and once, by accident, a
water hen. Thus it happened that he had not returned when darkness fell,
and Mrs. Chatterton despatched Dane in search of him. The moon was
rising when the latter came down a path through the fir wood and stopped
beside a deep, black pool. A streak of silver light crept up to the
roots of an alder beside a ruined wall, and he paused to watch the
wrinkled current flash athwart it. The odors of the firs and the
stillness of the night were soothing: the sacrifice he had lately made
had been a heavy one. Dane had not abandoned his hopes, but knew that he
might have to wait long for their consummation, if they were ever
realized.
Presently there was a sound of footsteps, and Dane guessed that the
approaching shape was Chatterton by the red glow of his cigar. The
iron-master stopped beside the alder, and it seemed that something which
caused a ripple near its roots caught his eyes. Dane suspected that some
poacher had set a night line.
Now, the wall marked the boundary between Chatterton's riparian rights
and those of Culmeny; and it was out of idle curiosity that Dane watched
his host instead of hailing him as, first looking about him, he
descended the bank and hauled in the line. An exclamation of disgust
followed as a writhing eel was flung out upon the grass; but there were
nobler fish attached, and presently Chatterton stood up holding a
splendid trout. Dane remembered that his father had sworn by
Chatterton's commercial integrity, but he was not wholly astonished when
the man slipped the fish, and a second one which followed it, into his
creel. Then, surmising that the angler would not have desired a witness,
he turned back softly and met him in the wood, flattering himself that
he had arranged the meeting neatly.
"Had you any luck, sir?" he asked.
"The water was low, but here is something to convince the mockers,"
Chatterton answered, holding up a handsome trout; and Dane expressed
admiration but no astonishment, which might not have been complimentary.
They walked home together, and Lilian met them in the hall. She
surveyed the trout suspiciously, then laughed as she said:
"You look hot and muddy, and almost guilty. Are you quite sure you have
not been poaching?"
Miss Chatterton was a shrewd young lady, and for a moment the
iron-master, who had quelled several strikes unaided, looked positively
uneasy.
"Young women were taught that flippancy did not become them when I was
young," he rebuked.
Late that night the two men sat talking together.
"You have told me little about your affairs, Hilton," Chatterton said;
"but I presume you will stay at home and put your pump on the market
instead of accepting the foreign commission. There should be a good
demand for it among the deep mine owners."
"I'm afraid not, sir," was the answer. "The patent lawsuit proved
expensive, and to start an article of that kind successfully requires a
good deal of money. I shall therefore go abroad to earn a little more as
soon as the firm sends me."
"And risk your life for a thousand pounds," said Chatterton severely.
"Don't you know that there are men with money who would be willing to
finance you?"
"All I have met demanded three-fourths of the possible profits in
return; and this is my invention."
"It is a valuable one," declared Chatterton with unusual diffidence.
"But can't you think of anybody who would lend you the money out of
good-will at a very moderate interest?"
Dane looked at the speaker steadily before he answered.
"I think I could; and I'm grateful; but unfortunately I can't bring
myself to borrow money from such people. It would be abusing their
kindness; and I might lose it for them."
Chatterton frowned.
"You are like your father--and as confoundedly hard to do a favor to,"
he said.
He retired shortly after this; and Dane went out into the moonlight, and
leaned over the rails of a footbridge, watching the river slide past. He
found a faint solace in the sounds and scents which filled the shadows,
and knew that though he had taken the one course possible, if he was to
retain his own self-respect and Lilian's esteem, there would be no sleep
for him that night.