ROY’S DECISION.
During the time we have been introducing Georgie Burton, poor Charlie
lay in the little reception room below, with the terrible bruises on his
face, and the night fell darkly around Leighton Place, and the stars
came out and looked down into the open grave, where, early the next
morning, they buried the young man who had been the darling of his
mother, and a sad trial in so many ways to his only brother.
But Roy forgot all that now; and, as he lay helpless upon his bed and
heard the roll of wheels which carried Charlie away, he wept like a
child, and wished so much that no harsh word had ever been spoken by him
to the boy whose face he would never see again.
And then his thoughts went after the young girl who had been Charlie’s
wife for only a few short hours. He could be kind to her, and he would,
for Charlie’s sake, and thus atone for any undue severity he might have
shown his brother.
“As soon as I am able, I will go after her, and bring her home with me,”
he said to himself, and he tried to recall her face as he had seen it in
the car, wondering if he should know her.
She had curls, he knew; for he remembered just how they were tossed
about by the wind; and her eyes were large, and bright, and brown he
thought, though he was not positive. At all events, they were handsome
eyes, and he believed Edna was handsome, too; and perhaps he should like
her very much. And then, as he heard a sweet, cooing voice in the hall,
telling Mrs. Churchill’s maid that her mistress wanted her, he found
himself wondering how Georgie and Edna would suit each other in case it
came about that _both_ should live at Leighton. He had heard so much
said with regard to his making Miss Burton his wife, that he had come to
think he might possibly do so some day, but there was no special cause
for haste; at least, there had been none up to the present time. But if
Edna came there to live, he felt that it might be well to have a younger
mistress in the house,—one who would brighten up matters, and make life
a little gayer than his mother, with her old-fashioned, quiet ways, was
inclined to do.
Could Roy have had his choice he would rather not have had a change, for
he greatly enjoyed his present mode of living, and his entire freedom to
do as he pleased without consulting the wishes of any one. And yet he
was not naturally selfish. He had only grown so from living so much
alone with his mother and having all his tastes consulted and deferred
to. A wife would have made a far different man of him, and have found
him the kindest, most thoughtful of husbands. He had liked Georgie since
she first came to Oakwood, and he thought her very kind and
self-sacrificing to leave her own matters and come there to comfort his
mother, who, as soon as the funeral was over, went to her bed, where she
was cared for by Georgie with a daughter’s tenderness.
When at last quiet had settled around the house, and the day was drawing
to a close, Georgie left her patient for a little and went to see how it
fared with Roy. His limb was paining him more than usual, for a storm
was gathering, and the day had been long and trying, with no one to talk
to but Russell and the doctor. Thus Georgie’s visit was well timed, and
she had never seemed so lovely to Roy, even when arrayed in full party
splendor, as she did now in her plain dress of black alpaca, with a
simple white linen band at her throat and linen cuffs at her wrist. She
had dressed thus in honor of Charlie’s funeral, and in her nun-like garb
she seemed to belong to the house and be a part of the family. Her curls
were put up under a net, but one or two of them had escaped from their
confinement and almost touched Roy’s face as she bent over him asking
how he felt and what she could do for him.
She made his pillow more comfortable and pulled the covering smoothly
around him, and pushed back a stray lock of hair which persisted in
falling into his eyes, and made him feel so much better that by the time
she had seated herself in the chair by his side he was nearer to
speaking the words she had waited so long to hear than he had ever been
before. But first he would talk with her a little about Edna, and see
what she thought of his going after her or sending for her to come at
once. Georgie, however, did not approve of Edna’s coming. “Under some
circumstances it would be very pleasant for you to have her here, and it
would be so nice for Edna,” she said in her softest, mellowest tones,
“but just at present I do not believe it is best. Your mother is too
much grieved and crushed to reason correctly on anything, and I fear the
presence of Charlie’s wife would make her very wretched. She cannot help
it, I dare say, but she charges Charlie’s death to Edna, and under these
circumstances neither could at present be happy with the other. By and
by it will be different of course, and then it may be well to consider
the matter again. Pardon me, Mr. Leighton, if I have said too much, but
your mother is so brokenhearted that I would not for the world have a
drop added to her cup of sorrow. I am so sorry for Edna too. Poor girl!
but she is young, you know, and can bear it better.”
Georgie was very gentle, and her voice had trembled just as much when
speaking of Edna as when talking of his mother, and Roy was wholly
convinced, and thought it might be better not to send for Edna, but let
his mother have time to overcome her aversion to the girl.
It was better also to give himself a little longer space of freedom as a
bachelor; for if Edna did not come, there was no immediate necessity for
him to take a wife to make the house inviting. He and his mother could
still live on in their quiet way, which he enjoyed so much, and felt
that he enjoyed all the more from the fact that he had come so near
losing it; so he did not speak to Georgie then, but it was arranged that
when she went to Chicago she should find Edna, and do for her whatever
needed to be done, and ascertain if she cared to come to Leighton.
“I must trust it all to your management, for I am helpless myself,” Roy
said, offering his hand to Georgie, as she arose to leave the room. “Try
and overcome mother’s prejudice against Edna, won’t you? Women have a
way of doing these things which men know nothing about. Mother thinks
the world of you; so do your best to bring her round, will you?”
Georgie’s hand, though not very small, was soft, and white, and pretty,
and Roy involuntarily pressed it a little, as he asked its owner to “try
and bring his mother round.”
And Georgie promised that she would, and then went away from Roy, who,
in the gathering twilight, tried to imagine how the house would seem
with that queenly woman there as its mistress, and while speculating
upon it fell asleep, and dreamed that Edna Browning was freezing him to
death with open windows, and tying a poke bonnet under his chin.