As soon as the funeral was over came the reading of the will. On the
outside was the request, written in Mr. Romaine’s own hand, that it be
read by Chessingham, whom he appointed his executor in case he died in
America--for in his own country there was scarcely a person with whom
Mr. Romaine was upon terms of any close association. The request was
also made that Colonel Corbin and Miss Letty Corbin be present when the
will was read, and any one else that Chessingham desired.
On the day following the one when Mr. Romaine had been laid in the
old burying-ground beside his fathers, Chessingham wrote a note to
Colonel and Miss Corbin, inviting their presence upon a certain day
at Shrewsbury, and although Mr. Romaine had not mentioned any of
his numerous tribes of nephews and nieces, Chessingham scrupulously
invited them all. Farebrother, who found it very pleasant lingering at
Corbin Hall as Letty’s lover, of course did not accompany the Corbins
to Shrewsbury. Like Letty, he would have been pleased to have money
“honestly come by,” so to speak; but the idea of having it under the
circumstances from Mr. Romaine appeared to him as undesirable as it did
to her.
“And I tell you now,” said Letty, firmly, to Farebrother, as he stood
on the old porch in the wintry sunshine waiting for Dad Davy (who
superseded Tom Battercake on important occasions like this) with the
ramshackly carriage; “I tell you now, I don’t want that money, and I
shall at once consult a lawyer to see if it can’t be turned over to the
people it rightfully belongs to. It would make me wretched to know of
those poor people--I know how poor they are and out at elbows--actually
in want, while I should have what was their grandfather’s and their
uncle’s.”
“All right,” answered Farebrother, “and I would prefer that you should
have the whole thing settled before we are married, so you can act as
a perfectly free agent. As for me, if I can have you,” etc., etc.,
etc.--which may be interpreted in the language of lovers.
Arrived at Shrewsbury, it was seen that every relative of Mr. Romaine
had accepted Chessingham’s invitation and was on hand. Letty had to
run the gantlet of their hostile eyes as she entered the library, for
the great affair had already leaked out. The room looked strangely
suggestive of Mr. Romaine. Letty could scarcely persuade herself that
at any moment his slight figure and sparkling black eyes would not
appear.
Mrs. Chessingham and Ethel were in the room by special request of
Colonel Corbin, who thought it a mark of respect. When they were all
assembled, Chessingham, who had worn a very peculiar look, began to
speak in the midst of a solemn silence.
“As you are perhaps aware, our late friend, Mr. Romaine, desired me
to act as his executor in case he died in this country--a contingency
which he seemed to think likely when he came here, less than a year
ago. In pursuance of my duties, I have examined his papers, which are
very few, and find everything concerning him to have been in perfect
order for many years past, so that if he had died at any moment there
would have been no difficulty in settling his affairs. But I soon
discovered a very important fact--which is,”--here he spoke with
deliberate emphasis,--“that instead of Mr. Romaine possessing a large
fortune, as the world has always supposed, he had invested everything
he had in--annuities--which gave him a very large income--but he left
but little behind him.”
A kind of groan went round among the poor relations. Letty, who
understood quickly what was meant, felt dazed; she did not know whether
she was glad or sorry.
Chessingham exhibited some papers, showing, in Mr. Romaine’s writing,
the amounts of various annuities, which aggregated a magnificent
income. Then came a list of his actual property, which consisted
chiefly of the Shrewsbury place and the Virginia lands, but which
were heavily mortgaged. His personal property was remarkably small;
Mr. Romaine had always boasted his freedom from impedimenta. And then
began the reading of the will. It was the same brief document that
Chessingham and Miss Maywood had witnessed. Some of the nieces and
nephews got a few thousand dollars. Chessingham got his _douceur_,
Miss Maywood got the diamonds in a codicil witnessed by Bridge and
Dodson, and Letty was left “residuary legatee” by a person who had
nothing to give. When she walked out of the Shrewsbury house she was
not any richer than when she went in it. But before that Colonel
Corbin had risen and in a very dignified and forcible manner read the
correspondence that had passed between Mr. Romaine and himself and
Letty, which showed conclusively that they were in no way parties to
Mr. Romaine’s scheme, but rather victims of it. Then Chessingham,
replying to a formal question of the Colonel’s, admitted that there
would be in all probability not enough property to pay the legacies in
full, and the Colonel and Letty retired, having no further interest in
Mr. Romaine’s affairs.
When they got home Farebrother ran down the steps to meet them.
“I sha’n’t get a penny, and I’m glad of it,” cried out Letty, from the
carriage, before Farebrother could open the door.
“Wait until you have struggled along in New York on four or five
thousand a year before you say that,” answered Farebrother in a gay
whisper which quite escaped the Colonel, who knew, however, how the
land lay.
Farebrother stayed two weeks altogether at Corbin Hall on that visit;
and before he left Sir Archibald Corbin arrived.
The status of affairs looked decidedly unpleasant to Sir Archy. After
he had been there a day or two, he went for a walk with Letty in the
woods--the very path they had taken that autumn evening two months
before--and Sir Archy presently demanded to know if she was engaged to
Farebrother.
“What a very singular inquiry,” replied Letty, haughtily. “Surely you
can’t expect me to answer it.”
“I would scarcely expect you to hesitate about denying it if it were
not true--and if it were true, and you kept it a secret, it would be a
very grave reflection on you, which I should be loath to entertain,”
responded Sir Archy, with equal haughtiness.
“A reflection on me to be engaged to Mr. Farebrother,” cried Letty,
whirling around on him.
“I meant, of course, secretly,” answered Sir Archy, stiffly.
“Do you mean to say that I would be guilty of the shocking indelicacy
of proclaiming my engagement to the world--if I _were_ engaged to Mr.
Farebrother--as if I had just landed a big fish?”
“Our ideas of delicacy differ widely. There seems to me an indelicacy
in a secret engagement.”
Sir Archy was very angry--but Letty was simply boiling with rage. Both
were right from their respective points of view, but neither had the
slightest understanding of the other.
After that there was no further staying at Corbin Hall for Sir Archy.
He escorted Letty to the door, and then tramped off to Shrewsbury and
sent for his luggage.
The Chessinghams remained at the Romaine place for the present,
awaiting their speedy return to England.
Letty went into the house, nearly crying with rage. Farebrother, who
was to leave the next day, met her and received the account, red-hot,
of Sir Archy’s rude remarks, with shouts of laughter which very much
offended Letty.
“I don’t see anything to laugh at,” she said, with pretty sullenness.
“I see everything to laugh at,” answered Farebrother, going off again.
He did not further explain the joke to Letty, who never quite fully
comprehended it.
Sir Archy, stalking along toward Shrewsbury, smarting under his
disappointment--for he really admired Letty, and had fully meant to
offer her the chance of becoming Lady Corbin--yet felt a sort of
secret relief. Letty was the soul of bright purity, but as Sir Archy
philosophically argued, no matter how right people’s characters may be,
if their ideas are radically wrong, it sooner or later affects their
characters.
“And that fatal want of prudence,” reasoned this English-minded
gentleman, “this recklessness concerning her relations with men, is a
most grave consideration. She appears totally unable to take a serious
view of anything in the relations of young men and women. Life seems to
be to her one long flirtation. And she may, of course, be expected to
keep this up after she is married. On the whole, although a fascinating
creature, I should call it a dangerous experiment to marry her.”
So thought Sir Archy concerning Letty, who was of a type that is apt to
develop into the most cloying domesticity.
Then his thoughts wandered to Ethel Maywood. He was too sincere and
too earnest a man to cast his heart immediately at Ethel’s feet--but
something in his glance that very night made Ethel and the Chessinghams
think that perhaps, in the end, Miss Maywood’s name might be Lady
Corbin.
The first step toward this followed some days after. Sir Archy had
continued to stay at Shrewsbury, much to Colonel Corbin’s chagrin. He
had divined that there had been a falling out of some sort between
Letty and Sir Archy--but he was quite unable to get at the particulars.
Each professed a willingness to make up, and upon Sir Archy’s paying a
formal visit at Corbin Hall, Letty came down to see him and they were
stiffly polite. But their misunderstanding seemed, as it was, deep
rooted. Letty felt a profound displeasure with a man who could, even by
implication, accuse her of indelicacy--and Sir Archy had grave doubts
upon the score of Letty’s knowledge of good form, to put it mildly.
It was on this subject that he grew confidential with Ethel, and made
the longest speech of his life.
“You see,” he said, “at first I found those American young ladies who
imitate English girls rather a bore, as most of us do. When we go in
for an English girl, we like the real thing--sweet, genuine, and
wholesome. But at least the ideas of these pseudo-English girls are
correct. They are not flirts”--Sir Archy classed flirts as the feminine
form of barnburners and horse thieves--“and there’s nothing clandestine
in their way of arranging marriages. They are quite candid and correct
in that matter. They receive the attentions of men properly, and when
an engagement is made, it is duly and promptly announced. But my
cousin, Miss Corbin, has the most extraordinary notions on the subject
of the proprieties. She goes according to the rule of contrary. She
thinks it no harm to make eyes at every man she sees, without caring
a button about any one of them--and an engagement is a thing to be
concealed as if it were something to be ashamed of. I confess it
puzzles me.”
“And it puzzles me, too,” replied Ethel. “Of course I know how
sincerely high minded Miss Corbin is, but, like you, I can’t reconcile
myself to her peculiar notions. Do you remember the evening we went to
the theater in New York and she wore that astonishing white gown?”
“Yes--and uncommonly pretty she looked. But it was bad form--decidedly
bad form--and she never seemed to suspect it. My cousin is charming,
but unusual and unaccountable.”
Which Miss Maywood felt a profound satisfaction in hearing.
It was a month or two before the Chessinghams sailed. Although Mr.
Romaine’s affairs were so well arranged, the sale of the landed
property could not take place at once, and Chessingham concluded to
return to England, and come back in a year’s time to settle up the
small estate. The more he looked into it, the more convinced he was
that Mr. Romaine’s residuary legatee would get nothing, and that Mr.
Romaine knew it; and his object was merely that contrary impulse and
the natural perversity and desire to disconcert people which always
gave him acute delight.
Colonel Corbin and Letty were sincerely sorry to part from the
Chessinghams, but Letty bore the coming privation of Miss Maywood’s
society with the utmost fortitude. When they went over to say good-by
on an early spring afternoon, Letty noticed a peculiarly joyous
look on Ethel’s fair face. In a little while she proposed a walk in
the old-fashioned garden. The two girls strolled together down the
box-edged walk, and passed under the quaint old arbors, heavy with
the yellow jessamine, just beginning then to show the faintly budding
leaves. There was something melancholy in the scene. The place had been
deserted for so long--and it was now for sale, with the prospect of
soon passing into other hands. The graveyard, with its high brick wall,
was just below the garden, and, although she could not see it, Letty
was conscious of a new white tombstone there with Mr. Romaine’s name
and “aged 58” engraved upon it--which last had caused Colonel Corbin
much dissatisfaction. But Chessingham preferred to carry out what he
knew to be Mr. Romaine’s wishes in the matter, and believed that his
ghost would have walked had his real age been proclaimed upon his
monument.
As soon as the two girls were well in the garden, Ethel began, with a
glowing face:
“I have had great happiness lately.”
“Have you?” asked Letty, sympathetically. “What is it?”
“I am engaged to Sir Archibald Corbin,” said Ethel, looking into
Letty’s face with a bright smile. Letty was so shocked by Miss
Maywood’s candor that she stood quite still, and said “Oh!” in a
grieved voice, which Miss Maywood took to mean regret at having lost
the prize.
“As everybody knows you are engaged to Mr. Farebrother,” continued
Ethel, still smiling, and twisting off a twig of syringa that was at
hand, “you can’t grudge me my good fortune.”
Grudge her her good fortune! And “everybody” knowing she was engaged
to Farebrother, when she had not breathed a word of it outside her
own family, albeit she had half her trousseau finished! Letty was so
scandalized by Miss Maywood’s brazen assurance, as she regarded it,
that she could only say, coldly:
“I do not understand how ‘everybody’ can know that I am engaged to Mr.
Farebrother. Certainly I have never mentioned it, and I am sure that he
hasn’t.”
“That’s only your odd Southern way,” answered Ethel, disapprovingly.
Curiosity got the better of Letty’s disgust, and she asked, “How long
have you and my cousin been engaged?”
“Only to-day,” calmly replied Ethel. “Reggie brought the letter from
the postoffice this morning, and I answered it at once. I also wrote
to England, in order to catch the next steamer. Sir Archy is in New
York, and won’t get my letter for two days perhaps. Reggie and Gladys
and I have talked over the engagement a little this afternoon. I
shall be married very quietly in the country--we have an uncle who is
a clergyman, and he has a nice parish, and will be glad to have me
married from the rectory--and Reggie and Gladys very sensibly don’t
expect me to marry a baronet from their London lodgings. Sir Archy was
very explicit in his letter about our future plans. He is willing to
spend a month in London this season, but he has been away so much he
feels it necessary to be at Fox Court in June--and he has taken a place
in Scotland from the 12th of August.”
“But suppose you didn’t care to go to Scotland from the 12th of August?
And suppose you wanted to spend more than a month in London?” asked
Letty, much scandalized by these cut and dried proceedings.
“Of course I should not make the slightest objection to any of Sir
Archy’s plans,” replied Ethel, wonderingly.
“And he must have assumed a good deal,” suddenly cried Letty, bursting
out laughing.
“He only assumed that I would act as any other sensible girl would,”
replied Ethel, calmly. “Sir Archy is a baronet of good family, suitable
age, and excellent estate. What more could a girl--and a girl in my
position--want?”
“Nothing in the world, I fancy,” answered Letty, laughing still more;
and when the two girls had their last interview they misunderstood and
disesteemed each other more than at their first.
Driving home through the odorous dusk, in the chaise by the Colonel’s
side, Letty pondered over the remarkable ways of some people. The idea
of a man dictating his plans to a woman before he married her--or
after, for that matter. Farebrother had asked her what she would like,
and their plans were made solely and entirely by Letty. “But I think,”
she reflected, as she laid her pretty head back in the chaise, “that I
would do whatever he asked me to do--because, after all, he is twice
the man that my cousin Archy is, and deserves to be loved twice as
much--” and “he” meant Farebrother, who was, at that very moment,
working hard for Letty in his office on a noisy New York thoroughfare.
And when his work was done, he turned for refreshment to a photograph
of her which he kept in that breast pocket reserved for such articles,
and gazed fondly at her face in its starlike purity--and then smiled.
He never looked at Letty or thought of her that, along with the most
tender respect, he did not feel like smiling; and Letty never could
and never did understand why it was that Farebrother found her such an
amusing study.