Sir Archy and Farebrother remained three weeks at Corbin Hall, and in
that time a great many things happened.
There was constant intercourse between the two places, Corbin Hall and
Shrewsbury, which were only four miles apart. Neither of the young
men made anything of walking over to Shrewsbury for a little turn,
nor did the Chessinghams and Miss Maywood consider the walk to Corbin
Hall anything but a stroll. Not so Letty, who was no great walker, but
a famous rider. Nor did Mr. Romaine, who had a very stylish trap and
a well set-up iron-gray riding nag that speedily learned his way to
Corbin Hall. Mr. Romaine got to coming over with surprising frequency,
much to Miss Maywood’s disgust. The Colonel took all of Mr. Romaine’s
visits to himself, nor was Mr. Romaine ever able to convince him that
Letty was his objective point. As for Letty, she was a little amused
and a little annoyed and a little frightened at the attentions of her
elderly admirer. She did not know in the least how to treat him--and he
had so much acuteness and finesse, and subtlety of all sorts, that he
had the distinct advantage of her in spite of her native mother wit.
All her skill was in managing young men--a youngish old man was a type
she had never come across before--as, indeed, Mr. Romaine was, strictly
speaking, _sui generis_. He was never persistent--he paid short and
very entertaining visits. He made no bones of letting Miss Jemima see
that he regarded her as at least thirty years older than himself. Men
hug the fond delusion that they never grow old--women live in dread of
it--and men are the wiser.
Ethel Maywood, though, was cruelly disappointed. She thought Mr.
Romaine was in love with Letty, and in spite of that vehement protest
Letty had made at their very first meeting, she did not for one instant
believe that Letty would refuse so much money. For Ethel’s part, she
sincerely respected and admired Mr. Romaine; she had got used to his
peculiarities, and had fully made up her mind to be a good wife to him
if Fate should be so kind as to give her a chance. And now, it was too
exasperating that Letty, whom she firmly believed could have either
Farebrother or Sir Archy, should rob her of her one opportunity. It
turned out though that Miss Maywood was mistaken, and Letty did not by
any means enjoy the monopoly with which she was credited.
Chessingham, in consequence of the liberal salary paid him by Mr.
Romaine, had agreed to remain with him by the year--and, of course, Mr.
Romaine had nothing to do with Chessingham’s womankind, who elected to
stay, to which Mr. Romaine very willingly agreed. Still, the chance of
Miss Maywood being some day Mrs. Romaine was not without its effect
upon both the young doctor and his pretty wife. But shortly after their
arrival at Shrewsbury, they all became convinced that this hope was
vain.
One stormy November day, when they had been in Virginia about a
fortnight, Mr. Romaine shut himself up in the library as he usually
did, and there he remained nearly all day, writing busily. It was too
disagreeable for him to go over to Corbin Hall, which he had done
with uncommon frequency. In fact, every time he went out to drive or
ride he either said or hinted that he was going over there--but he
did not always go. Mr. Romaine, who could pay like a prince for other
people, and who treated the Chessinghams magnificently as regards
money, delighted in sticking pins in the people he benefited--and it
must be acknowledged that much of his attention to Letty Corbin came
from a malicious pleasure he took in teasing Miss Maywood. After these
announcements as to where he was going, Mr. Romaine would go off,
generally on horseback, his back looking very young and trim, while his
face looked white and old and bloodless; but as often as not he turned
his horse’s head away from Corbin Hall as soon as he was out of sight
of his own windows. He would grin sardonically at the injured air Ethel
would wear upon these occasions.
But on this day he saw no one, and went nowhere. About five o’clock,
when dusk had fallen, a message came. Mr. Romaine desired his
compliments to Miss Maywood and Mr. Chessingham, and would they come to
the library.
The message surprised them both--nevertheless they went with alacrity.
Mr. Romaine was walking up and down the luxurious room with a
peculiarly cheerful smile, and his black eyes glowing. A single large
sheet of paper, closely written, lay on the library table.
“Thank you for coming,” he said, in his sweetest tones to Ethel. “I
will detain you but a moment. I have been engaged in what is generally
a lugubrious performance--making my will. It is now done, and I desire
you and Chessingham to witness it.”
It gave a slight shock to both of them. Chessingham had always found
Mr. Romaine firmly wedded to the idea that, although he was full of
diseases, he would never die. He made plans extending onward for
twenty, thirty, and even forty years, and although he was decidedly
a valetudinarian, he indicated the utmost contempt for his alleged
ailments when it came to a serious question. Miss Maywood felt that
all her hopes were dashed to the ground. A man who is thinking about
getting married does not make his will before that event. She paled a
little, but being a philosophic girl, and not being in love with Mr.
Romaine, she maintained her composure fairly well. “I wish to read it
to you,” said he, and then, placing a chair for Ethel, and toying with
his _pince-nez_, he continued, with a smile:
“It may astonish you--wills generally do surprise people. But, after
all, mine will be found not so extraordinary. I make a few bequests,
and then I--make--Miss--Letty--Corbin--my--residuary--legatee.”
Mr. Romaine said this very slowly, so as not to miss its dramatic
effect. He achieved all he wanted. Ethel flushed violently, and fell
back in her chair. Chessingham half rose and sat down again. None
of this was lost on Mr. Romaine, who could not wholly conceal his
enjoyment of it. He began, in his clear, well-modulated voice, to read
the will. It was just as he said. He gave a thousand dollars here, and
a thousand dollars there, he left Chessingham five hundred dollars to
buy a memento, and then Letty Corbin was to have the rest.
“And now,” said he, gracefully handing a pen to Miss Maywood, “will you
kindly attest it?”
In the midst of Chessingham’s natural disappointment and disgust,
he could scarcely refrain from laughing. The whole thing was so
characteristic of Mr. Romaine. Ethel felt like flinging the pen in his
face, but she was obliged to sign her name, biting her lips as she did
so, with vexation. Chessingham’s signature followed. Then both of them
went out, leaving Mr. Romaine apparently in a very jovial humor.
As soon as they reached their own sitting-room, where Mrs. Chessingham
was waiting, devoured with curiosity, Ethel dissolved into tears of
anger and disappointment.
“He has made a fool of me,” she sobbed, to Chessingham’s attempted
consolation.
“Who is it that Mr. Romaine can’t make a fool of, when he tries?” asked
Chessingham, grimly.
“I think,” said Mrs. Chessingham, who had much sound sense, “Mr.
Romaine acts the fool himself. He has a plenty of money, fairly good
health in spite of his imagination to the contrary, and a great deal
to make him happy. Instead of that, he is about as dissatisfied an old
creature as I ever knew.”
“Right,” answered Chessingham, “and, Ethel, I am not at all sure that
you haven’t made a lucky miss.”
“That may be,” said Ethel, drying her eyes, “but all the same,
everybody expected him to offer himself to me. When we left England it
was considered, you remember, by all the people we knew, that it was as
good as an engagement. And now--to have to go back--” here Ethel could
say no more.
“And Letty Corbin--who, I believe, really dislikes him,” said Mrs.
Chessingham.
“Don’t be too sure about Letty,” remarked Chessingham. “It’s just as
likely as not that he will make another will to-morrow. All this may
be simply to enliven the dulness of the country, and to give Ethel
warning that she is wasting her time. You notice, he exacted no promise
of us--he probably wants us to tell this at Corbin Hall. _I_ sha’n’t
oblige him, for one.”
“Nor I,” added Ethel. “And one thing is certain, I shall go back to
England. I am missing all my winter visits by staying here, and I may
not be able to make a good arrangement for the season in town--so I
think I shall go.”
Both Chessingham and his wife thought this a judicious thing. Ethel was
twenty-seven and had no time to lose, and she was clearly wasting it
buried in the country--or rather in the wilderness, as she considered
it. And, besides, the Chessinghams were fully convinced that Mr.
Romaine would not stay long at Shrewsbury. It was a mere freak in the
beginning, and they already detected signs of boredom in him.
Within a few days Chessingham mentioned to him casually that Miss
Maywood would return to England at the first convenient opportunity.
Mr. Romaine received the news with a sardonic grin and many expressions
of civil regret.
“My dear Miss Maywood,” he said, the next time he ran across her,
“you cannot imagine what a gap your absence will make to me. However,
since your decision is made, all I can do will be to provide as far as
possible for your comfort during your journey back to England. I will
even let Chessingham off to take you to New York, and every day, while
you are at sea, I will arrange that you shall have some reminder of
those that you have left behind in Virginia.”
“Thank you,” stiffly responded the practical Ethel, who thought that
Mr. Romaine had behaved like a brute.
The news of her impending departure was conveyed to Letty one afternoon
when the two girls were sitting comfortably over Letty’s bed-room
fire--for although there was still no love lost between them, they
found no difficulty in maintaining a feminine _entente cordiale_. Letty
was surprised and said so.
“Of course,” said Ethel, who could not banish her injuries from her
mind, “it will be embarrassing to go back. Some malicious people will
say that Mr. Romaine has jilted me--but there is not a word of truth in
it.”
“Certainly not,” cried Letty, energetically. “Who on earth would
believe that you would marry that old--pachyderm?” Letty hunted around
in her mind for an epithet to suit Mr. Romaine, but could think of
nothing better than the one she used.
“I’m afraid plenty of people will believe it,” answered Ethel, with a
faint smile--and then the womanish incapacity to keep a secret that
is not bound by a promise made her tell Letty the very thing she had
declared she would not tell her.
“It sounds rather ungrateful of you to talk that way, for Mr. Romaine
intends conferring a very great benefit--the greatest benefit--on you.”
“What do you mean?” asked the surprised Letty.
“Only this. A week or two ago he called Reggie and me into the library
one afternoon, and there lay his will on the library table--and he
asked us to act as witnesses and read us the will--and you are--”
Ethel paused a moment. Letty was leaning forward deeply interested.
“Did he leave me money for a pair of pearl bracelets?” she cried.
“No. He made you his residuary legatee, after giving away a few
thousand dollars to other people,” answered Ethel.
Letty was quick of wit, and took in at once what Ethel meant. Mr.
Romaine had left her his fortune.
She grew a little pale and lay back in her chair. Her first feelings
were full of contradictions, as her emotions always were where Mr.
Romaine was concerned. Money was a delightful thing--she had found that
out--but Mr. Romaine’s money! And sometimes she hated Mr. Romaine, and
laughed at him behind his back--and now she would have to be very
attentive to him, and to let him see that she felt her obligations to
him. While this was passing through her mind in a chaotic way, she
suddenly remembered to ask:
“Did Mr. Romaine authorize you to tell me this?”
“Not exactly,” said Ethel. “But he said nothing about keeping it
secret, and Reggie says he is convinced Mr. Romaine wishes us to
mention it--for he is a very secretive man usually, and never omits any
precaution when he wishes a thing kept quiet.”
Letty remained strangely still and silent. She was staggered by what
Ethel told her, and thoroughly puzzled--and she had a vague feeling
that Mr. Romaine had taken an unwarrantable liberty with her.
“I think,” said Ethel, “that he wants to marry you, and he imagines
this will incline you to him.”
“In that case,” replied Letty, rising with dignity, “Mr. Romaine makes
a very great mistake. Nothing on earth would induce me to marry him.”
Ethel did not stay long after this, and Letty was left alone.
Sir Archy and Farebrother had not yet returned from their day’s sport.
Letty knew that her grandfather would be likely to be sitting alone in
the library, and the impulse to tell him this strange and not wholly
pleasing thing took hold of her. She ran down-stairs rapidly, opened
the door, and there, in the dusky afternoon, dozing before the fire,
was the Colonel, with a volume of Goldsmith open upon his knee.
Letty went up to him and touched him gently.
“Grandpapa,” she said.
“I was not asleep, my dear,” answered the Colonel, very promptly,
without waiting for the accusation.
“If you were,” said Letty, with nervous audacity, “what I’m about to
tell you will wake you up.”
She hesitated for a moment, in order to convey the news in a guarded
and appropriate manner--and then, suddenly burst out with--
“Grandpapa--Mr. Romaine has made his will and left me nearly all his
money.”
The Colonel fairly jumped from his chair. He thought Letty had lost her
mind.
“He has, indeed,” she continued, in a half-stifled, half-laughing
voice. “He read his will to Ethel Maywood and Mr. Chessingham, and got
them to sign it as witnesses.”
The Colonel could do nothing but gasp for a few moments. Then he lapsed
into an amazed silence--his shaggy brows drawn together, and his
deep-set eyes fixed on Letty’s agitated face.
“And there is something else Ethel Maywood said,” kept on Letty, with
her face growing scarlet, “something that made me very angry with Mr.
Romaine, and I don’t like him, anyhow,” she said.
“Go on,” commanded the Colonel, in a tragic basso.
“She thinks--that--that--Mr. Romaine wants to m-m-marry me--and he
fancies this will win me over,” said Letty, faintly.
“The old ass!” bawled the Colonel, for once roused out of his placid
dignity. “Excuse me, my love, but this is simply too preposterous! When
you first spoke, I assure you, I was alarmed--I was actually alarmed--I
thought you did not know what you were saying. But, on reflection,
knowing, as I do, Romaine’s perverse and peculiar character, I can
wholly believe what you tell me.”
The Colonel paused a moment, and then the same idea that occurred to
Chessingham came to him.
“And the making of a will doesn’t mean the enjoyment of the property,
my love. Romaine may have a passion for making wills--some rich men
have--and this may be one of a dozen he may make.”
Letty said nothing. Money was the greatest good fortune in the eyes
of the world--but the scheme devised for her eventual enrichment had
serious drawbacks. Mr. Romaine might live for twenty years--even
Mr. Chessingham himself did not know precisely what were the old
gentleman’s real maladies, and what were his imaginary ones--and that
would mean twenty years of subservience on her part toward a man for
whom she now felt a positive repulsion. She caught herself wishing that
Mr. Romaine would die soon--and was frightened and ashamed of herself.
And now Mr. Romaine’s relatives would hate her!
“All of the Romaine people will hate me,” she said, with pale lips,
to the Colonel--they were both standing up now before the fire, and
although the ruddy blaze made the room quite light, it was dark
outside.
“Yes,” answered the Colonel, gloomily, “and they may claim undue
influence on your part, and then there may be a lawsuit and the devil
to pay generally. Excuse my language, my dear.”
The Colonel was completely shaken out of his usual composure, and
expressed himself in what he was wont to call--“the vulgar--the
excessively vulgar tongue.” “I foresee a peck of trouble ahead,” he
continued.
“One thing is certain,” said Letty, raising her eyes, “I feel that I
hate Mr. Romaine--and with that feeling, I ought not in any event to
take his money. And if, as you say, he is merely amusing himself at my
expense, and trying to annoy his family, and--and--Ethel Maywood and
the Chessinghams, I hate him worse than ever.”
“If such is your feeling, you undoubtedly should protest against
Romaine’s action.”
Then there was a commotion in the hall. Farebrother and Sir Archy and
Tom Battercake had got home, and there was a rattle of guns on the
rack, and Tom Battercake was guffawing over the contents of the game
bags.
Both Letty and the Colonel had plenty of self-possession, and no one
during the evening would have suspected that anything out of the common
had occurred. But Letty went to bed early and lay awake half the night,
while her dislike for Mr. Romaine grew like Jonah’s gourd.
Next morning, as soon as the coast was clear, the Colonel sent for
Letty into the library.
“I want to say to you, my love,” he began at once, “that I believe
this thing that Romaine has done is not done in good faith. He is the
sort of man to leave his property to perpetuate his name in a library
or something of that kind. And, moreover, if he should even be in
good faith, his relations are not the people to let so much money go
to a comparative stranger without a struggle. They have been looking
to him now, for two generations, to set them on their feet, and they
will be infuriated with you. And they will have just cause--for, after
reflection, I am convinced that grave injustice will be done if this
money comes to you. Then, your personal dislike--”
“Personal dislike! say personal hatred; for I assure you I have felt
something more than mere dislike ever since I heard of this. Queer,
isn’t it?”
“Not at all,” replied the Colonel, with the ghost of a smile. “Your
amiable sex is subject to aberrations of that description. However, I
think, on the whole, that nothing but trouble will result if this plan
of Romaine’s is carried out--and I would be glad to see it prevented.”
The Colonel had no more idea of the practical value of money than a
baby. Nor had Letty much more--and besides, she had youth and beauty
and _esprit_, and so had managed to get on very well so far without a
fortune. The Colonel’s views decided her.
“Then, grandpapa, the best thing to do seems to me to be the most
direct and straightforward thing. Write to Mr. Romaine and tell him
frankly what we have heard, and say that I prefer not to incur the
obligation he would lay upon me.”
“Precisely what I desired you to say,” replied the Colonel, highly
gratified.
It required both of them to compose the letter to Mr. Romaine, but at
last it was finished, copied off in the Colonel’s best clerk-like hand
with a quill pen, and sealed with his large and flamboyant seal. This
was the letter: