REFUSED AND ADMITTED.
A WEEK passed, and not a word came from Maimie. It was strange how the
days seemed to drag with us, and how we watched the posts, and how we
all talked of Maimie, wondering each hour of the day what she might be
doing.
A week gone by, patience failed, and a discussion took place as to
whether my husband or Jack should go to “The Gables” and ask after
Maimie. Jack then confessed rather penitently that he had already been,
four days earlier, without asking our advice, and had been stiffly
refused admission.
“Not wise, Jack,” my husband said; though of course Jack did not know,
as we did, a certain little passage between Maimie and her stepfather,
which made it advisable that Jack should not seem to be running after
Maimie too solicitously. We did not suppose Churton would approve of
Jack for her future husband. Probably he expected Maimie to marry what
is called “well,” and to be in some way a means of gain to himself. Not
that fathers—especially stepfathers—do generally gain much personally
from a daughter’s wealthy marriage. But Churton was capable of such an
expectation.
“No, I’m afraid it wasn’t wise,” Jack admitted regretfully. “Somehow, I
have felt ashamed to speak of it.”
“They didn’t use the measles excuse again, I suppose?” said Cherry.
“No; the girl said Maimie and Uncle were both out, and would not be
back till late, and her mistress wasn’t well enough for visitors. She
had evidently been primed. I could do nothing with her.”
“One thing is certain,—Jack must not be the one to go again so soon,” I
said. “Robert, I think it should be you this time.”
And so the matter was settled. My husband went next day, and we all
awaited his return in a fever of anxiety, trying to laugh at one
another for the same, yet feeling it none the less.
And at last my husband came back.
“Well,” he said, with a curious smile, “I have seen Maimie.”
“You have! I am glad,” I said; and a weight seemed to roll from my
heart.
“Yes, I have seen her. But Churton was there all the time, so not much
could be said.”
“How did she look?” asked Jack.
“Rather paler than usual, but otherwise well. She held me very tightly
for a moment, poor child, and then tried to put a restraint on herself.”
“Afraid Uncle Churton would be jealous,” suggested Cherry.
“Do tell us everything, father,” Jack said in a gruff voice, supporting
his chin on his hands.
“There is not very much to tell. When I reached the door, the girl
meant to send me away as usual. I could see it in her face. So I said,
‘I wish to see Miss Browne, if you please. She is at home.’ This was
rather a haphazard shot, but my guess proved correct. The girl seemed
disconcerted, stared, and said nothing. I repeated, ‘Miss Browne is at
home, and I wish to see her. If she is engaged, I will wait till she is
free.’”
“Splendid!” exclaimed Jack. “Why, father, I didn’t know you were so
cute.”
“The girl hesitated, and then went off, leaving me in the doorway.
Coming back, she showed me into the drawing-room, and left me there
alone. Churton presently appeared, and I can’t say he gave me a warm
welcome. He said Aunt Briscoe was very poorly, too poorly to see any
one; and she seemed growing so fond of Maimie as hardly to bear her
out of her sight; but he dared say Maimie could be spared for five
minutes. I said I would stay until she could be spared. Churton said a
few words, and then walked away, and by-and-by he and Maimie came in
together.”
“And she looked—” Jack asked again.
“Not so bright as usual, but otherwise like herself. She kissed me very
affectionately, and seemed delighted to see me, asking after you all,
and sending messages of love. We could not of course talk freely, with
Churton sitting by all the time. I asked about poor Aunt Briscoe, and
Maimie says she finds a great change in her,—great weakness, and no
appetite. So that excuse has not been all a pretence.”
“But she would not have refused to see us a year ago when she was ill,”
I said.
“No, that is different now. Churton remarked again how fond Aunt
Briscoe is of Maimie; and Maimie said, ‘Yes, she has given me a
welcome.’”
“Go on, please,” Jack said breathlessly.
“I am afraid there is not much more to tell,” my husband said. “We were
under a good deal of constraint. Churton presently told Maimie she had
better go back to Aunt Briscoe, and Maimie stood up at once. She seems
curiously submissive to him.”
“Did she mind going?” I asked.
She clung to me again, and shed a few tears. I went with her to the
door, and there she threw herself into my arms, and whispered a
good-bye. I had a little chat with Churton after she was gone, and said
I hoped she would come and see us soon. He said he could not promise it
yet,—he did not like incessant running backwards and forwards between
two families. I reminded him that Maimie was like one of ourselves by
this time. He frowned, and said she was not that, and added that he
hoped by-and-by to be able to repay me for all her expenses while with
us.
“Nonsense!” muttered Jack.
“Then we spoke of Maimie herself, and of her prettiness and taking
ways. Churton was fluent enough there—only he talked too much as one
might talk of the good points of a horse, counting on its marketable
value.”
Jack groaned.
“Maimie will not be easily swayed to do what she does not think right,”
I said, responding to what I felt was in Jack’s mind.
My husband soon after left the room, and I saw him glance back, as if
he had something more that he wished to say to me. I followed in a few
seconds, and when we were alone he said—
“Maimie gave me this.”
“What, Robert?”
“A note for you. She slipped it into my pocket, when she was saying
good-bye, and whispered, ‘Not a word to anybody else.’ So here it is.”