JOURNEY’S END
Miss Frink was sitting on the porch of the Sea View Hotel, rocking as all
good Americans do, and thinking, as usual, of Hugh.
The expanse of ocean lay before her, and, as she watched the sailboats
careening, she wondered if her nephew cared for sailing and if he was a
good swimmer. She thought of the desirable girls in Farrandale. Some of
them had had European educations. She hoped Hugh would accept the Tarrant
invitation. As Miss Frink passed in review the young people she had seen
grow up without noticing them, Inez Tarrant stood out in her mind as the
most attractive. She shook her head as a memory of Hugh’s father struck
athwart her thought.
“I won’t,” she reflected. “I won’t interfere this time, whatever the boy
does. He shall never think of his old aunt as a wet blanket. Never!”
She was in a blissful dream when suddenly a car drew up before the hotel
porch directly in front of her rocking-chair. She didn’t recognize it
at first. All its shiny blueness was dust-laden. So were its occupants.
One of them saw her instantly, and waved his cap. Millicent was out as
quickly as Hugh, pulling off her veil and looking up with a beating heart
at Miss Frink, who started to her feet.
“We’ve come to lunch with you, Aunt Susanna.” Hugh embraced her, and she
took Millicent’s timid hand.
“Well, if this isn’t fine of you children! What sights you are! Take the
car to the garage, Hugh, while I help Millicent to brush up. You must
have started very early,” she added to the girl when they had reached her
room.
“We did, and it has been such a beautiful morning. The car runs like
velvet.”
“You look tired, child. Are those shadows under your eyes, or is it
all dust? Now I’ll leave you here. Make yourself at home. Don’t hurry.
There’s plenty of time. Come down to the porch when you’re ready.”
Miss Frink returned to her rocking-chair, and soon Hugh joined her,
washed and brushed to her heart’s desire.
“I’m your letter to-day, Aunt Susanna,” he said, pulling up a chair
beside her.
“Well, I’ll take you”—she regarded the vital light in his eyes—“and read
you, too.”
“The X-ray still working?” he laughed.
“Certainly. Here is a very happy boy.”
“With everything to make him happy,” he returned.
“The car pleases you?”
“Perfect. The company, too.”
“Me or Millicent?” Miss Frink’s lips twitched. “My! That girl’s hair was
pretty when it tumbled down just now, upstairs.”
“Both of you,” replied Hugh.
“Have you accepted Miss Tarrant’s invitation?”
“No—yes—Oh, yes, I remember now, I did, to please you.”
“It will be to please yourself, later.”
Hugh gave her a brilliant smile in which eyes and lips coöperated with
great effect.
“It won’t matter much, Aunt Susanna. There is only one perfect girl in
Farrandale, and I’ve found her.”
Miss Frink grasped the arms of her chair.
“Hugh Sinclair!” she gasped. “Why, I never even thought of Millicent
Duane!”
He leaned toward her and spoke low. The smile vanished under his aunt’s
aghast eyeglasses.
“Set your X-ray going, Aunt Susanna. See the modesty, the honesty, the
purity, the frankness, the unselfishness, the charm of total goodness—”
“Did you come down here to tell me this?”
“No. I never said a word to her until this morning on the way; and she
refused me. She’s afraid of you. She believes herself too humble and
obscure to suit you, and she says she’d rather die than marry me if it
didn’t please you. She loves you, too, Aunt Susanna. She appreciates you.”
Miss Frink’s firm resolution of an hour ago recurred to her. Her surprise
was so absolute that she leaned back in her chair, speechless.
“We just made up our minds suddenly last night to come, and it has been a
most lovely drive.”
“H’m. Millicent looks as if she had been through the war.”
“She has. We’ll tell you about it, later.”
Millicent appeared from the doorway, and Miss Frink noted the expression
in Hugh’s face as he started up to meet her.
“I know you are both famished,” she said. “Let us go right in to lunch.”
Poor Millicent, with her double burden of apprehension and embarrassment,
made a valiant attempt to eat, and Hugh saved her from the necessity of
talking by keeping up a busy conversation with his aunt. As for Miss
Frink, she was constantly fighting a sense of resentment.
“Just like me,” she thought. “Just because I didn’t plan it, I suppose I
can’t approve it. Just because I can’t have him all to myself, I suppose
I wouldn’t like it, whoever it was. Just like you, Susanna Frink. Just
like you!”
When they rose from the table, Hugh spoke.
“We did come down here on an errand, Aunt Susanna. Is there some place
where we can be entirely by ourselves?”
“We will go up to my room,” she returned. What could their errand be if
it was not on that rending subject?
“She didn’t eat anything,” reflected Miss Frink as they went up in the
elevator. “I suppose they don’t when they’re in love.”
Her heart pleaded a little for Millicent, just then. Even if it were
presumptuous for the girl to fall in love with Hugh, was it within
youthful feminine human nature to help it when they had been thrown
together daily for so long? What had been nearly superhuman was to refuse
him, shut in with him in that very new, very blue, shiny roadster with
all the early summer surroundings of romance. The girl had some strength,
anyway. And how sweetly she had sympathized with herself at the exciting
time of the discovery!
She sat down now, however, with an entirely non-committal expression,
and Millicent took a place facing her. Apparently she was the one with
the message. Hugh wandered to a window overlooking the sea.
How pale the girl was! The shadows under her hazel eyes had not been
dust. Those eyes had apparently started out to be brown, but thought
better of it. They were surpassingly clear, and they looked now directly
into Miss Frink’s.
“I don’t know even yet if it was right for me to come,” she began.
“Grandpa thought it wasn’t, for we haven’t the least right to trouble
you in your affairs; but it means so much to Grandpa I couldn’t content
myself without knowing from your own lips if you are selling our home.”
Miss Frink’s face continued set. A little frown came in her forehead.
“Not that we wouldn’t get used to the thought, but—just at first, it—he
made Grandpa look so old—”
“Who did?”
“Mr. Goldstein. He wants to put up an apartment house and he was looking
the ground over to see if he could save the elm.”
“Oh, yes. Mr. Goldstein. He is Adèle’s—Mrs. Lumbard’s employer, I
believe.”
“Yes, Miss Frink”—the hazel eyes searched the bright eyeglasses—“did Mrs.
Lumbard ask you to sell the place?”
“Certainly not. Why do you ask such a question?”
“Because—I’m ashamed to say so, but I’ve thought so much about it. Mrs.
Lumbard hates me. I can’t imagine why. I’ve met her on the street. Nobody
ever looked at me the way she does.”
Miss Frink threw a quick glance over her shoulder at Hugh, who came back
from the window, and stood near Millicent.
“This only came to light yesterday,” he said. “Of course, if you are
selling the place, it is all right; but I talked with Grimshaw last night
at dinner, and I was not satisfied with his replies, although he claimed
to have your authority. If there was anything for you to look into, I
thought it best for us to come in person; but, if everything is being
done by your order, there is nothing for us to do but kiss you and leave
you.”
“I suppose,” Millicent’s voice wavered, “I suppose it would be dreadful
to ask you to change your mind, but Grandpa—I don’t know what he will do.
He loves every little sprout, and—and there isn’t any other place—”
“Your grandfather seems to be your whole thought,” said Miss Frink. She
was definitely frowning now, and her expression was severe.
“He is. I’d do anything—I’m doing something almost disgraceful now in
begging you—” The voice stopped, and color came up in the pale cheeks.
Hugh watched his aunt, but there was no change in her expression.
“We thought if there was any question in your mind,” he said, “that we
would leave the car here, and you would return with us on the train.”
Miss Frink looked at her watch. “The train went while we were eating,”
she said. “There isn’t another until evening, but I think I will go back
with you. Meanwhile”—her set face lightened—“I suggest that this girl lie
down and rest while you take me for a drive.”
“That’ll be bully!” agreed Hugh.
Millicent tried to control her trembling lips as she followed Miss
Frink’s movement and rose. The latter went into the next room to put on
her hat.
Hugh took the young girl’s hands, and she drew them away gently. “Don’t
you see,” he said softly, “that that is hopeful?”
“I don’t know. Oh, she looked so hard. I’m afraid of her when she is the
Queen of Farrandale.”
“But she wouldn’t go with us if it were settled. You see that?”
“Then, why couldn’t she say one encouraging word?”
“Because she doesn’t know how far Grimshaw has gone. He said he had full
authority. Perhaps now she wishes she hadn’t given it to him.”
Miss Frink came back. “Think how many times you’ve put me to sleep,
Millicent. Now you let the ocean do the same for you. Go right into that
room and make yourself comfortable. Lie down on my bed and don’t think
about anything but the waves.”
They left her, and Miss Frink looked at the car admiringly as Hugh drove
it around to the hotel steps. It had been cleaned into new blueness
again, and she sank into the low seat and breathed a sigh of satisfaction
as it rolled smoothly away.
“Poor Millicent,” said Hugh. He meant it as a gentle hint that now they
were alone his aunt might confide in him on the affair that had brought
them. Evidently nothing was further from her intention.
“Yes, I hope she gets to sleep,” she returned. “Could anything run
smoother than this, Hugh?”
The brisk ocean breeze swept past them. Hugh accepted the dismissal of
his little love. He glanced around at his companion’s strong features,
set now in perfect contentment.
“I’m the lover she never had,” he reflected, “and the husband she never
had, and the son she never had, and the grandson she thought she had, but
he comes right away and tells her he loves somebody else. Tough, I’ll
say.”
They were speeding along the road near the sea, and passing summer homes
set far apart.
“You will like to have the car in New York this fall, Hugh.”
“It sure would be a big luxury.”
“You and Mr. Ogden would enjoy it—when I wasn’t there.”
Miss Frink looked around at her chauffeur and smiled, and he smiled back,
valiantly, though he was thinking that Millicent was probably not asleep,
but staring at the sea with dry, troubled eyes.
“You will come, of course, Aunt Susanna, if I go to law school there?”
“Yes, I think I should cultivate quite an intimacy with New York under
those circumstances. I’d bring her with me sometimes, too.” Again she met
Hugh’s eyes, and the sudden light in them rewarded her.
There was no other reference to Millicent during the long drive, and they
returned to find the girl sitting on the porch. Her white face pulled on
Hugh’s heartstrings.
Miss Frink asked her if she had slept, and she replied that she had had a
fine rest; and she asked interested questions about the drive until Miss
Frink went into the house to pack her bag.
“Did she say anything more?” asked the girl eagerly.
“Nothing—except that when I am in New York at the law school she will
bring you to see me.”
Millicent’s questioning expression faded. “I shan’t be there to bring,”
she said quietly; “we shall have to move away into the country somewhere.”
“But that showed that she likes you, Millicent—that all those absurd
ideas about your not satisfying her don’t amount to anything. I told her.
She knows what I want.”
“I understand better than you do.” Millicent smiled faintly. “She knows
you haven’t met girls of your own kind yet, and what changes a year may
bring; but she wants to keep you happy.”
They were able to get a chair car on the train that night. Miss Frink
and Hugh sat in adjoining seats, and Millicent in the third leaned back
with closed eyes and thought of her grandfather, and tried to make plans
for their future. She worked to exclude the radiant possibility which had
dawned on her in the wonderful ride of the morning. Every joy she had
ever dreamed of was embraced in the thought of a life with Hugh; but it
was too sudden, he was too young to know what he wanted, and she was sure
that Miss Frink’s plans and ambitions for him made the idea of little
Milly Duane an absurdity. The Queen of Farrandale should see that her
attitude was completely shared by Millicent herself.
The train was late in starting, and, by reason of detention along the
way, it was after eleven o’clock when it pulled into Farrandale. They
took a station taxicab and drove to Miss Frink’s house, intending that,
after the lady had entered, Hugh, mindful of Colonel Duane’s exhortation,
would take Millicent home; but as they approached, they were surprised
to see the lower floor of the house brightly lighted, and an automobile
parked before it.
“Come in with us, Millicent,” said Miss Frink. “We may as well see what
this illumination means before you go home.”
Hugh let them into the hall with his latch-key, and laughter from the
end of the corridor showed that the study was occupied. Miss Frink led
the way and was first to enter the room. She stood for a moment while
the gay laughter died on the lips of her secretary and Adèle Lumbard as
they stared at the apparition. Mr. Goldstein was standing by Miss Frink’s
flat-topped desk, and apparently had just laid upon it a handful of gold
pieces. Millicent would have shrunk back, but Hugh held her firmly by the
arm and they followed Miss Frink as she moved into the room.
Besides herself, Mr. Goldstein was the only unembarrassed member of the
company.
“In the nick of time, Miss Frink,” he said, advancing with an air of
cordial welcome. He made a move toward shaking hands, but the expression
on the face of the Queen of Farrandale discouraged him.
There succeeded a silent space while she walked to the desk and picked up
a paper bearing her signature.
Her dark, bright gaze jumped to Grimshaw.
“I just wondered,” she said. The secretary had grown very pale, and it
was difficult to face her; but he did so. Adèle stepped nearer to him.
“So you did use your power of attorney,” she added.
“Certainly,” replied Grimshaw, with all the dignity he could command. “As
you know, I am always looking out for advantageous business moves for
you. Here was one that was extraordinary. The sale of that corner where
the Duanes have been living, to be used for an apartment house, could
only be made to a man of Mr. Goldstein’s means—”
“And generosity.” Miss Frink’s interruption was curt to fierceness. She
grasped the gold coins and let them jingle back on the desk.
The purchaser spoke cheerfully. “Oh, it was all the same to me,” he said.
“Mrs. Lumbard, she is the lady that loves the gold.” He laughed toward
Adèle and wagged his head. “She likes her salary in those good little
solid pieces. Isn’t it so, lovely lady?”
Miss Frink’s glance flashed at Adèle. “But this is not her salary, I
judge.”
Mr. Goldstein shrugged deprecatingly. “Oh, no, Mr. Grimshaw has been very
obliging.”
“Leonard, I feel that you had help in all this.” The speaker regarded her
secretary with deep feeling. “You would not have done it, alone.”
Grimshaw could not speak; and Adèle saw it. She cast a defiant, angry
glance at Hugh and Millicent, silent spectators of the scene. The girl’s
hands were unconsciously on her heart as hope sprang in it for her
grandfather’s deliverance.
“Miss Frink,” cried Adèle, “you have no right to be speaking to Leonard
as though he were a criminal when he never thinks of anything but your
good. You were not here, and he acted for you.”
“Yes, madam,” said Mr. Goldstein, grave now that he saw the transaction
was displeasing, “I certainly understood that everything was correct. I
have acted in good faith.”
“I have no doubt of it,” returned Miss Frink. “Gather up that gold, if
you please. My employes do not receive bribes.”
Mr. Goldstein mechanically obeyed, and his troubled gaze rested on her.
“But I have paid good money down to clinch this bargain,” he said.
Miss Frink’s genuine distress at her secretary’s sordid action lightened
at some thought.
She smiled at her young people, and Grimshaw cast a baleful look at Hugh
who had precipitated this scene. Anxiety again clutched at Millicent’s
heart. Miss Frink had not been mercenary. She had not ignored the love of
Colonel Duane for his simple, happy life, and she was powerful. The girl
studied her face now for encouragement that, no matter how far matters
had gone, she could save them.
“You should not withdraw from this, Miss Frink,” said Grimshaw, inspired
by a fiery look from Adèle. “Indeed, it is not at all certain that you
can do so, legally.”
The lady’s smile faded. “You didn’t delve into this matter quite far
enough, Grim. Had you happened to examine my deposit box, you and I would
both have been spared something. Mr. Goldstein”—the speaker turned to
the would-be purchaser—“your money will be returned to you. Mr. Grimshaw
was unaware that the Duane homestead does not belong to me any longer. I
learned rather recently that some one dear to me had expressed admiration
for it, and the last thing I did before leaving town was to transfer that
property. I did not speak of the transaction to any one: not even to the
new owner.”
The secretary’s spectacles regarded her, shining in a very white face.
Mr. Goldstein returned to the charge. “Then the property might still be
for sale,” he said argumentatively.
“I think not,” returned Miss Frink. “I have reason to believe that it
will be held for—well, it will not be regarded commercially. I am sorry
for your disappointment, Mr. Goldstein, and I will bid you good-night.”
“Good-night, then, madam, and I shall hope for a more fruitful meeting
some day,” he returned.
Hugh and Millicent were blind to the exit of the three, who moved quickly
out of the room.
In that minute Hugh’s heart leaped, for the Queen of Farrandale, who
never did anything by halves, drew Millicent away from him and, passing
an arm around her, held her close. The girl flushed with pleasure in the
loving caress, for the bright old eyes that met hers were blurred.
“Come here, Hugh.” Her free hand drew him. “He is your landlord now,
Millicent. I hope he will be a good one.”
The boy threw his arms around the pair, and held them. “I don’t know what
to do with you, Aunt Susanna,” he said unsteadily.
“Why, of course, I had to give you an engagement present,” she returned.
The surprise and relief of the moment seemed to center in the radiant
young creature whose rosy cheek Miss Frink’s lips were pressing.
“Millicent!” cried the lover softly, and there was a wealth of joy
present, and joy to come, in the exclamation. “Millicent!”