Lanigan Beam, for he's young and good-looking, and particularly because
he seems very much in love with me; but although he pretends to be
anxious to study, I know he is not very deep, and will probably soon
tire of that. So when my sympathy for Mr. Tippengray was fairly
aroused,--and it has been growing for some time,--it was easy enough to
drop Lanigan; but before I allowed myself to become too much interested
in Mr. Tippengray I had to consider all sides of the case. You seem to
like Mr. Tippengray very much, and of course if you really made up your
mind to prefer him to anybody else, one great object would be gained,
just the same as if I married him, and he would be saved from the hole
those two are digging for him."
[Illustration: A MATRIMONIAL CONVERSATION.]
"And in that case," said Mrs. Cristie, repressing a strong disposition
to laugh, "what would you do? Perhaps you would be content to take
anything that might be left."
"I suppose you mean Mr. Lodloe," said Ida. "Well, to speak plainly, I
have never thought that I had a right to take him into consideration,
but if the field were entirely open, I would not hesitate a moment in
preferring him to either of the others."
Now Mrs. Cristie laughed outright.
"I could never have imagined," she said, "that a young girl such as you
are could have such practical and business-like views about matrimony."
"Well," said the nurse-maid, "I don't see anything out of the way in my
views. I want to bring an intelligent judgment to bear upon everything I
do, and if the higher education is of any good at all, it ought to help
us to regulate our affections."
"I have nothing to say on the subject," said Mrs. Cristie, "except that
they did not pretend to teach us that at Vassar. I don't see how you can
bring yourself to such calculations. But one part of your scheme I
approve of highly: positively you ought to drop Lanigan Beam. As to
marrying Mr. Tippengray, that is your affair, and his affair. And you
may be sure I shall not interfere in any way."
Ida looked at her and smiled.
"I wasn't very much afraid of that," she said, "though of course I
thought I ought to steer clear of even a possible interference; but now
I can go ahead with a clear conscience."
Mrs. Cristie felt drawn towards this ingenuous maid.
"Ida," she said, taking her by the hand, "as you have been so confiding
towards me, I will say to you that since you have concluded to drop Mr.
Beam your choice is decidedly restricted."
"I am glad to hear it," said the other, warmly; "he is a good man, and I
think he has brains that you can count on. Is it all settled?"
"Oh, no, no!" said Mrs. Cristie; "and mind, Ida, don't you say a word of
this to a living soul."
"Oh, you needn't be afraid of that," said Miss Mayberry; "I never betray
confidences."
"I am afraid," said Mrs Cristie to herself, as she stood alone by her
baby's bedside, "that I went a little too far. It isn't settled yet, and
it would have been better not to say anything about it. However"--and
then her thoughts went wandering. She was going down-stairs and out of
doors as soon as she had satisfied herself that Douglas could be
prudently left to his slumbers.
XXI
TWISTED TRYSTS
Mrs. Cristie found the lower floor of the Squirrel Inn quite deserted.
She stopped before a window in a Norman tower and looked out. Twilight
was fading, but there was a young moon in the sky. By stepping a little
to one side she could see the moon, with the evening star twinkling not
far away from it. She did not go out, however, but slowly wandered into
a long room under the roof of a Swiss chalet. Here she went out on a
queer little balcony and sat down; but her view was cut off by an
out-jutting upper story of the old English type, with rows of
small-paned windows, and she soon came in from the balcony. There was a
light burning in the taproom, and as she passed its open door she
stopped for a moment and gazed reflectively at the row of dilapidated
stuffed squirrels, each of which had once stood guard upon the
guide-post to the inn. But she took no note of the squirrels, nor of
anything else in the quiet room, but as she stood, and instinctively put
her finger to her forehead, a resolution came.
"I will be sensible, like Ida," she thought. "I will go out and let
things happen as they may."
She went out into the young moonlight and, glancing across the lawn,
saw, near the edge of the bluff that commanded the western view, two
persons sitting upon a bench. Their backs were towards her, but one of
them she knew to be Calthea Rose.
"I hope that is not poor Mr. Tippengray," said Mrs. Cristie to herself.
"If she has secured him already, and taken him out there, I am afraid
that even Ida will not be able to get him away from her. Ida must still
be at her supper. I should not have detained her so long."
But Ida was not at her supper. As she turned towards the end of the lawn
Mrs. Cristie saw her nurse-maid slowly strolling over the grass, a man
on each side of her. They were plainly to be seen, and one man was Mr.
Tippengray and the other Lanigan Beam. The three were engaged in earnest
conversation. Mrs. Cristie smiled.
"I need not have feared for Ida," she thought; "she must have made a
bold stroke to leave her rival in the lurch in that way, but I suppose
in order to get one man she has to take both. It is a little hard on
Miss Calthea"; and with an amused glance towards the couple on the bluff
she moved towards the gardens. Her mind was in a half-timorous and
undetermined state, in which she would have been glad to wander about by
herself and to meet nobody, or, if it so should happen, glad to meet
somebody; and wistfully, but yet timidly, she wondered which it would
be. All at once she heard a step behind her. In spite of herself she
started and flushed, and, turning, saw Mr. Petter. The sight of this
worthy gentleman was a shock to her. She had been sure he was sitting
with Calthea Rose on the bluff. If it was not he, who was it?
[Illustration: CALTHEA HOLDS HIM WITH HER LISTENING EAR.]
"I am glad to see you, Mrs. Cristie," said the landlord of the inn, "for
I want to speak with you. My mind is disturbed, and it is on account of
your assistant, Miss Mayberry. She has been talked about in a way that I
do not at all like. I may even say that my wife has been urging me to
use my influence with you to get her dismissed. I assured Mrs. Petter,
however, that I should use that influence, if it exists, in exactly the
opposite direction. Shall we walk on together, Mrs. Cristie, while I
speak further on the subject? I have a high opinion of Miss Mayberry. I
like her because she is what I term blooded. Nothing pleases me so much
as blooded service, and, I may add, blooded associations and
possessions. So far as I am able to have it so, my horses, my cattle,
and all my live stock are blooded. I consider my house, this inn, to be
a blooded house. It can trace its various lines of architectural
ancestry to honorable origins. The company at my house, with the
exception of Lanigan Beam,--who, however, is not a full guest, but
rather a limited inmate, ascending by a ladder to his dormitory,--are,
if you will excuse me for saying so, blooded. And that one of these
guests should avail herself of blooded service is to me a great
gratification, of which I hope I shall not be deprived. To see a vulgar
domestic in Miss Mayberry's place would wound and pain me, and I may
say, Mrs. Cristie that I have been able to see no reason whatever for
such substitution."
Mrs. Cristie had listened without a word, but as she listened she had
been asking herself who that could be with Calthea Rose. If it was not
Walter Lodloe, who was it? And if it was he, why was he there? And if he
was there, why did he stay there? Of course she was neither jealous nor
worried nor troubled by such a thing, but the situation was certainly
odd. She had come out expecting something, she did not know exactly
what; it might not have been a walk among the sweet-pea blossoms, but
she was very certain it was not a conversation with Mr. Petter, while
Walter Lodloe sat over there in the moonlight with Calthea Rose.
"You need not have given yourself any anxiety," she said to her
companion, "for I have not the slightest idea of discharging Ida. She
suits me admirably, and what they say about her is all nonsense; of
course I do not mean any disrespect to Mrs. Petter."
Mr. Petter deprecatingly waved his hand.
"I understand perfectly your reference to my wife," he said "Her mind, I
think, has been acted upon by others. Allow me to say, madam, that your
words have encouraged and delighted me. I feel we are moving in the
right direction. I breathe better."
"How is it possible," thought Mrs. Cristie, during the delivery of this
speech, "that he can sit there, and sit, and sit, and sit, when he knows
at this hour I am always somewhere about the house or grounds, and never
in my room? Well, if he likes to sit there, let him sit"; and with this
she looked up with some vivacity into the face of her landlord and
asked him if even his pigeons and his chickens were blooded, and if the
pigs were also of good descent. As she spoke she slightly accelerated
her pace.
Mr. Petter was very willing to walk faster, and to talk about all that
appertained to his beloved Squirrel Inn, and so they walked and talked
until they reached the garden and disappeared from view behind the tall
shrubbery that bordered the central path.
Mrs. Petter sat on a little Dutch porch, looking out on the lawn, and
her mind was troubled. She wished to talk to Mr. Petter, and here he was
strolling about in the moonlight with that young widow. Of course there
was nothing in it, and it was perfectly proper for him to be polite to
his guests, but there were lines in politeness as well as in other
things, and they ought to be drawn before people went off walking by
themselves in the garden at an hour when most farmers were thinking
about going to bed. The good lady sat very uneasily on her little bench.
The night air felt damp to her and disagreeable; she was sure there were
spiders and other things running about the porch floor, and there were
no rounds to the bench on which she could put her feet. But she could
not bear to go in, for she had not the least idea in the world where
they had gone to. Perhaps they might walk all the way to Lethbury, for
all she knew. At this moment a man came up to the porch. It was Lanigan
Beam, and his soul was troubled. The skilful Miss Mayberry had so
managed the conversation in which she and the two gentlemen were
engaged, that its subject matter became deeper and deeper in its
character, until poor Lanigan found that it was getting very much too
deep for him. As long as he could manage to keep his head above water he
stood bravely, but when he was obliged to raise himself on the tips of
his toes, and even then found the discourse rising above his chin,
obliging him to shut his mouth and to blink his eyes, he thought it wise
to strike out for shore before he made a pitiful show of his lack of
mental stature.
And in a very bad humor Lanigan walked rapidly to the house, where he
was much surprised to see Mrs. Petter on the little Dutch porch.
"Why, madam," he exclaimed, "I thought you never sat out after
nightfall."
"As a rule, I don't," the good lady answered, "and I oughtn't to now;
but the fact is--" She hesitated, but it was not necessary to finish the
sentence. Mr. Petter and Mrs. Cristie emerged from the garden and stood
together just outside its gate. He was explaining to her the origin of
some of the peculiar features of the Squirrel Inn.
When the eyes of Mr. Beam fell upon these two, who stood plainly visible
in the moonlight, while he and Mrs. Petter were in shadow, his trouble
was dissipated by a mischievous hilarity.
"Well, well, well!" said he, "she _is_ a woman."
"Of course she is," said Mrs. Petter; "and what of that, I'd like to
know?"
"Now that I think of it," said Lanigan, with a finger on the side of his
nose, "I remember that she and her young man didn't have much to say to
each other at supper. Quarreled, perhaps. And she is comforting herself
with a little flirt with Mr. Petter."
"Lanigan Beam, you ought to be ashamed of yourself," cried the good
lady; "you know Mr. Petter never flirts."
"Well, perhaps _he_ doesn't," said Lanigan; "but if I were you, Mrs.
Petter, I would take him out a shawl or something to put over his
shoulders. He oughtn't to be standing out there in the night wind."
"I shall do nothing of the kind," she answered shortly, "and I oughtn't
to be out here in the night air either."
Lanigan gazed at Mrs. Cristie and her companion. If that charming young
widow wanted some one to walk about with her in the moonlight, she could
surely do better than that. Perhaps a diversion might be effected and
partners changed.
"Mrs. Petter," said he, "I wouldn't go in, if I were you. If you move
about you will be all right. Suppose we stroll over that way."
"I am ready to stroll," said Mrs. Petter, in a tone that showed she had
been a good deal stirred by her companion's remarks, "but I am not going
to stroll over that way. The place is big enough for people to keep to
themselves, if they choose, and I am one that chooses, and I choose to
walk in the direction of my duty, or, more properly, the duty of
somebody else, and see that the hen-houses are shut"; and, taking
Lanigan's arm, she marched him down to the barn, and then across a small
orchard to the most distant poultry-house within the limits of the
estate.
When Mr. Stephen Petter, allowing his eyes to drop from the pointed roof
of his high tower, saw his wife and Lanigan Beam walking away among the
trees in the orchard, he suddenly became aware that the night air was
chilly, and suggested to his companion that it might be well to return
to the house.
"Oh, not yet, Mr. Petter," said she; "I want you to tell me how you came
to have that little turret over the thatched roof."
She had determined that she would not go indoors while Calthea Rose and
Mr. Lodloe sat together on that bench.
Early in the evening Miss Calthea had seen Mr. Lodloe walking by himself
upon the bluff, and she so arranged a little promenade of her own that
in passing around some shrubbery she met him near the bench. Miss
Calthea was an admirable manager in dialogue, and if she had an object
in view it did not take her long to find out what her collocutor liked
to talk about. She had unusual success in discovering something which
very much interested Mr. Lodloe, and they were soon seated on a bench
discussing the manners and ways of life in Lethbury.
To a man who recently had been seized with a desire to marry and to live
in Lethbury, and who had already taken some steps in regard to the
marriage, this subject was one of the most lively interest, and Lodloe
was delighted to find what a sensible, practical, and well-informed
woman was Miss Rose. She was able to give him all sorts of points about
buying a building or renting houses in Lethbury, and she entered with
the greatest zeal into the details of living, service, the cost of
keeping a horse, a cow, and poultry, and without making any inconvenient
inquiries into the reasons for Mr. Lodloe's desire for information on
these subjects. She told him everything he wanted to know about
housekeeping in her native village, because she had made herself aware
that his mind was set on that sort of thing. In truth she did not care
whether he settled in Lethbury or some other place, or whether he ever
married and settled at all. All she wished was to talk to him in such a
way that she might keep him with her as long as possible. She wished
this because she liked to keep a fine-looking young man all to herself,
and also because she thought that the longer she did so the more
uneasiness she would cause Mrs. Cristie.
She had convinced herself that it would not do for life to float too
smoothly at the Squirrel Inn. She would stir up things here and there,
but prudently, so that no matter who became disgusted and went away, it
would not be Mr. Tippengray. She was not concerned at present about this
gentleman. It was ten to one that by this time Lanigan Beam had driven
him away from the child's nurse.
Walter Lodloe was now beginning to feel that it was quite time that his
conversation with Miss Rose, which had really lasted much longer than he
supposed, should be brought to a close. His manner indicating this, Miss
Calthea immediately entered into a most attractive description of a
house picturesquely situated on the outskirts of Lethbury, which would
probably soon be vacated on account of the owner's desire to go West.
At the other end of the extensive lawn two persons walked backward and
forward near the edge of the trees perfectly satisfied and untroubled.
What the rest of the world was doing was of no concern whatever to
either of them.
"I am afraid, Mr. Tippengray," said the nurse-maid, "that when your
Greek version of the literature of to-day, especially its humorous
portion, is translated into the American language of the future it will
lose much of its point and character."
"You must remember, my dear Miss Mayberry," said the gentleman, "that we
do not know what our language will be in eight hundred or a thousand
years from now. The English of to-day may be utterly unintelligible to
the readers of that era, but that portion of our literature which I put
into imperishable and unchangeable Greek will be the same then as now.
The scholar may read it for his own pleasure and profit, or he may
translate it for the pleasure and profit of others. At all events, it
will be there, like a fly in amber, good for all time. All you have to
do is to melt your amber, and there you have your fly."
"And a well-shriveled-up fly it would be, I am afraid," said Ida.
Mr. Tippengray laughed.
"Be not too sure of that," he said. "I will translate some of my Greek
version of 'Pickwick' back into English, and let you see for yourself
how my amber preserves the fly."
"Let me do it," said Ida. "It is a long time since I read 'Pickwick,'
and therefore my translation will be a better test."
"Capital!" cried Mr. Tippengray. "I will copy a few lines for you
to-night."
From out an open Elizabethan window under a mansard roof, and
overlooking a small Moorish veranda, there came a sound of woe. The
infant Douglas had awakened from a troubled sleep, and with a wild and
piercing cry he made known to his fellow-beings his desire for society.
Instantly there was a kaleidoscopic change among the personages on the
grounds of the Squirrel Inn. Miss Mayberry darted towards the house; the
Greek scholar, without knowing what he was doing, ran after her for a
short distance, and then stopped; Mrs. Petter screamed from the edge of
the orchard to know what was the matter; and Lanigan ran to see. Mr.
Petter, the natural guardian of the place, pricked up his ears and
strode towards the inn, his soul filled with a sudden fear of fire. Mrs.
Cristie recognized the voice of her child, but saw Ida running, and so,
relieved of present anxiety, remained where her companion had left her.
Walter Lodloe, hearing Mrs. Petter's voice and the running, sprang from
his seat; and seeing that it would be impossible to detain him now, and
preferring to leave rather than to be left, Miss Calthea hurried away to
see what was the matter.
XXII
THE BLOSSOM AND THE LITTLE JAR
Perceiving Mrs. Cristie standing alone near the entrance to the garden,
Walter Lodloe walked rapidly towards her. As he approached she moved in
the direction of the house.
"Will you not stop a moment?" he said. "Do not go in yet."
"I must," she answered; "I have been out here a long while--too long."
"Out here a long time!" he exclaimed. "You surprise me. Please stop one
moment. I want to tell you of a most interesting conversation I have had
with Miss Rose. It has animated me wonderfully."
Considering what had occurred that afternoon, this remark could not fail
to impress Mrs. Cristie, and she stopped and looked at him. He did not
give her time to ask any questions, but went on:
"I have been asking her about life in Lethbury--houses, gardens,
everything that relates to a home in that delightful village. And what
she has told me opens a paradise before me. I did not dream that down
in that moon-lighted valley I should be almost rich; that I could offer
you--"
"And may I ask," she interrupted, "if you have been talking about me to
Miss Rose?"
"Not a word of it," he answered warmly. "I never mentioned your name,
nor referred to you in any way."
She could not help ejaculating a little sarcastically:
"How circumspect!"
"And now," he said, coming closer to her, "will you not give me an
answer? I love you, and I cannot wait. And oh! speak quickly, for here
comes Mrs. Petter straight towards us."
"I do not like Lethbury," said Mrs. Cristie.
Lodloe could have stamped his feet, in the fire of his impatience.
"But of me, of myself," he said. "And oh! speak quickly, she is almost
here."
"Please cease," said Mrs. Cristie; "she will hear you."
Mrs. Petter came up panting.
"I don't want to interrupt you, Mrs. Cristie," she said, "but really and
truly you ought to go to your baby. He has stopped crying in the most
startling and suspicious way. Of course I don't know what she has done
to him, and whether it's anything surgical or laudanum. And it isn't for
me to be there to smell the little creature's breath; but you ought to
go this minute, and if you find there is anything needed in the way of
mustard, or hot water, or sending for the doctor, just call to me from
the top of the stairs."
"My dear Mrs. Petter," said Mrs. Cristie, "why didn't Calthea Rose come
and tell me this herself, instead of sending you?"
"She said that she thought you would take it better from me than from
her; and after we had made up our minds about it, she said I ought not
to wait a second."
"Well," said Mrs. Cristie, "it was very good in you to come to me, but I
do not feel in the least alarmed. It was Ida's business to quiet the
child, and I have no doubt she did it without knives or poison. But now
that you are here, Mrs. Petter, I wish to ask your opinion about
something that Mr. Lodloe has been talking of to me."
The young man looked at her in astonishment.
"He has been telling me," continued Mrs. Cristie, "of a gentleman he
knows, a person of education, and accustomed to society, who had
conceived the idea of living in Lethbury. Now what do you think of
that?"
"Well," said Mrs. Petter, "if he's married, and if his wife's got the
asthma, or he's got it himself, I have heard that Lethbury is good for
that sort of complaint. Or if he's failed in business and has to live
cheap; or if he is thinking of setting up a store where a person can get
honest wash-goods; or if he has sickly children, and isn't particular
about schools, I suppose he might as well come to Lethbury as not."
"But he has none of those reasons for settling here," said Mrs. Cristie.
"Well, then," remarked Mrs. Petter, somewhat severely, "he must be weak
in his mind. And if he's that, I don't think he's needed in Lethbury."
As she finished speaking the good woman turned and beheld her husband
just coming out of the house. Being very desirous of having her talk
with him, and not very well pleased at the manner in which her mission
had been received, she abruptly betook herself to the house.
"Now, then," said Mrs. Cristie, turning to Lodloe, "what do you think of
that very explicit opinion?"
"Does it agree with yours?" he asked.
"Wonderfully," she replied. "I could not have imagined that Mrs. Petter
and I were so much of a mind."
"Mrs. Cristie," said Lodloe, "I drop Lethbury, and here I stand with
nothing but myself to offer you."
The moon had now set, the evening was growing dark, and the lady began
to feel a little chilly about the shoulders.
"Mr. Lodloe," she asked, "what did you do with that bunch of sweet peas
you picked this afternoon?"
"They are in my room," he said eagerly. "I have put them in water. They
are as fresh as when I gathered them."
"Well," she said, speaking rather slowly, "if to-morrow, or next day, or
any time when it may be convenient, you will bring them to me, I think I
will take them."
[Illustration: THE BABY AND THE SWEET-PEA BLOSSOM.]
In about half an hour Mrs. Cristie went into the house, feeling that she
had stayed out entirely too late. In her room she found Ida reading by a
shaded lamp, and the baby sleeping soundly. The nurse-maid looked up
with a smile, and then turned her face again to her book. Mrs. Cristie
stepped quietly to the mantelpiece, on which she had set the little jar
from Florence, but to her surprise there was nothing in it. The
sweet-pea blossom was gone. After looking here and there upon the floor,
she went over to Ida, and in a low voice asked her if she had seen
anything of a little flower that had been in that jar.