"Very well, then," said he; "beyond that clump of bushes is a seat. She
sits thereon. Accept my condolences."
"I will remember every word of that," said Miss Port to herself, "but I
haven't time to think of it now. He's just ravin'."
Olive had just had an interview with Mr. Locker which, in her eyes, had
been entirely too protracted, and she had sent him away. He had just
made her an offer of marriage, but she had refused even to consider it,
assuring him that her mind was occupied with other things. She was busy
thinking of those other things when she heard footsteps near her.
"How do you do" said Miss Port, extending her hand.
Olive rose, but she put her hands behind her back.
"Oh!" said Miss Port, dropping her hand, but allowing herself no verbal
resentment. She had come there for information, and she did not wish to
interfere with her own business. "I happened to be here," she said, "and
I thought I'd come and tell you how your uncle is. He took dinner with
us yesterday, and I was sorry to see he didn't have much appetite. But I
suppose he's failin', as most people do when they get to his age. I
thought you might have some message you'd like to send him."
"Thank you," said Olive with more than sufficient coldness, "but I have
no message."
"Oh!" said Miss Port. "You're in a fine place here," she continued,
looking about her, "very different from the toll-gate; and I expect the
Easterfields has everything they want that money can more than pay for."
Having delivered this little shot at the reported extravagance of the
lady of the manor, she remarked: "I don't wonder you don't want to go
back to your uncle, and run out to take the toll. It must have been a
very great change to you if you're used to this sort of thing."
"Who said I was not going back?" asked Olive sharply.
"Your uncle," said Miss Port. "He told me at our house. Of course, he
didn't go into no particulars, but that isn't to be expected, he's not
the kind of man to do that."
Olive stood and looked at this smooth-faced, flat-mouthed spinster. She
was pale, she trembled a little, but she spoke no word; she was a girl
who did not go into particulars, especially with a person such as this
woman standing before her.
Miss Port did not wish to continue the conversation; she generally knew
when she had said enough. "Well," she remarked, "as you haven't no
message to send to your uncle, I might as well go. But I did think that
as I was right on my way, you'd have at least a word for him. Good
mornin'." And with this she promptly walked away to join Mr. Morris,
cataloguing in her mind as she went the foolish and lazy hammocks and
garden chairs, the slow motions of a man who was sweeping leaves from
the broad stone, and various other evidences of bad management and
probable downfall which met her eyes in every direction.
When Miss Port approached the toll-gate on her return she was very
anxious to stop, and hoped that the captain would be at the gate.
Fortune favored her again, and there he stood in the doorway of the
little tollhouse.
"Oh, captain," she exclaimed, extending herself somewhat over the
butcher's knees in order to speak more effectively, "I've been to
Broadstone, and I've seen your niece. She's dressed up just like the
other fine folks there, and she's stiffer than any of them, I guess. I
didn't see Mrs. Easterfield, although I did want to get a chance to tell
her what I thought about her plantin' weeds in her garden, and spreadin'
new kinds of seeds over this country, which goes to weeds fast enough in
the natural way. As to your niece, I must say she didn't show me no
extra civility, and when I asked her if she had any message for you, she
said she hadn't a word to say."
The captain was not in the least surprised to hear that Olive had not
treated Miss Port with extra civility. He remembered his niece treating
this prying gossip with positive rudeness, and he had been somewhat
amused by it, although he had always believed that young people should
be respectful to their elders. He did not care to talk about Olive with
Miss Port, but he had to say something, and so he asked if she seemed to
be having a good time.
"If settin' behind bushes with young men, and goggle-eyed ones at that,
is havin' a good time," replied Miss Port, "I'm sure she's enjoyin'
herself." And then, as she caught sight of Lancaster: "I suppose that's
the young man who's visitin' you. I hope he makes his scholars study
harder than he does. He isn't readin' his book at all; he's just starin'
at nothin'. You might be polite enough to bring him out and introduce
him, captain," she added in a somewhat milder tone.
The captain did not answer; in fact, he had not heard all that Miss Port
had said to him. If Olive had refused to send him a word, even the
slightest message, she must be a girl of very stubborn resentments, and
he was sorry to hear it. He himself was beginning to get over his
resentment at her treatment of him at the Broadstone luncheon, and if
she had been of his turn of mind everything might have been smoothed
over in a very short time.
"Well?" remarked Maria in an inquiring tone.
"Excuse me," said the captain, "what were you saying?"
Miss Maria settled herself in her seat. "If you and that young man
wastin' his time in the garden can't keep your wits from
wool-gatherin'," said she, "I hope old Jane has got sense enough to go
on with the housekeepin'. I'll call again when you've sent your young
man away, and got your young woman back."
Maria said little to the taciturn butcher on their way to Glenford, but
she smiled a good deal to herself. For years it had been the desire of
her life to go to live in the toll-gate--not with any idea of ousting
Captain Asher--oh, no, by no means. Old Mr. Port could not live much
longer, and his daughter would not care to reside in the Glenford house
by herself. But the toll-gate would exactly suit her; there was life;
there was passing to and fro; there was money enough for good living and
good clothes without any encroachment on whatever her father might leave
her; and, above all, there was the captain, good for twenty years yet,
in spite of his want of appetite, which she had mentioned to his niece.
This would be a settlement which would suit her in every way, but so
long as that niece lived there, there would be no hope of it; even the
shipmate's son would be in the way. But she supposed he would soon be
off.
_CHAPTER X_
_Mrs. Easterfield writes a Letter._
When Miss Port had left her, Olive was so much disturbed by what that
placid spinster had told her that she totally forgot Claude Locker's
proposal of marriage, as well as the other things she had been thinking
about. These things had been not at all unpleasant; she had been
thinking of her uncle and her return to the toll-gate house. Her visit
to Broadstone was drawing to a close, and she was getting very tired of
Mr. Locker and Mr. and Mrs. Fox. She found, now her anger had cooled
down, that she was actually missing her uncle, and was thinking of him
as of some one who belonged to her. Her own father had never seemed to
belong to her; for periods of three years he was away on his ship; and,
even when he had been on shore duty, she had sometimes been at school;
and when she and her parents had been stationed somewhere together, the
lieutenant had been a good deal away from home on this or that naval
business. When a girl she had taken these absences as a matter of
course, but since she had been living with her uncle her ideas on the
subject had changed. She wanted now to be at home with him: and as
Broadstone was so near the toll-gate she had no doubt that Mrs.
Easterfield would sometimes want her to come to her when, perhaps, she
would have different people staying with her.
This was a very pleasant mental picture, and the more Olive had looked
at it, the better she had liked it. As to the reconciliation with her
uncle, it troubled her mind but little. So often had she been angry with
people, and so often had everything been made all right again, that she
felt used to the process. Her way was simple enough; when she was tired
of her indignation she quietly dropped it; and then, taking it for
granted that the other party had done the same, she recommenced her
usual friendly intercourse, just as if there had never been a quarrel or
misunderstanding. She had never found this method to fail--although, of
course, it might easily have failed with one who was not Olive--and she
had not the slightest doubt that if she wrote to her uncle that she was
coming on a certain day, she would be gladly received by him when she
should arrive.
But now? After what that woman had told her, what now? If her uncle had
said she was not coming back, there was an end to her mental pictures
and her pleasant plans. And what a hard man he must be to say that!
Slowly walking over the grass, Olive went to look for Mrs. Easterfield,
and found her in her garden on her knees by a flower-bed digging with a
little trowel.
"Mrs. Easterfield," said she, "I am thinking of getting married."
The elder lady sprang to her feet, dropping her trowel, which barely
missed her toes. She looked frightened. "What?" she exclaimed. "To
whom?"
"Not to anybody in particular," replied Olive. "I am considering the
subject in general. Let's go sit on that bench, and talk about it."
A little relieved, Mrs. Easterfield followed her. "I don't know what you
mean," she said, when they were seated. "Women don't think of marriage
in a general way; they consider it in a particular way."
"Oh, I am different," said Olive; "I am a navy girl, and more like a
man. I have to look out for myself. I think it is time I was married,
and therefore I am giving the subject attention. Don't you think that is
prudent?"
"And you say you have no particular leanings?" the other inquired.
"None whatever," said Olive. "Mr. Locker proposed to me less than an
hour ago, but I gave him no answer. He is too precipitate, and he is
only one person, anyway."
"You don't want to marry more than one person!" exclaimed Mrs.
Easterfield.
"No," said Olive, "but I want more than one to choose from."
Mrs. Easterfield did not understand the girl at all. But this was not to
be expected so soon; she must wait a little, and find out more.
Notwithstanding her apparent indifference to Claude Locker, there was
more danger in that direction than Mrs. Easterfield had supposed. A
really persistent lover is often very dangerous, no matter how
indifferent a young woman may be.
"Have you been considering the professor?" she asked, with a smile. "I
noticed that you were very gracious to him yesterday."
"No, I haven't," said Olive. "But I suppose I might as well. I did try
to make him have a good time, but I was still a little provoked and felt
that I would like him to go back to my uncle and tell him that he had
enjoyed himself. But now I suppose I must consider all the eligibles."
"Why now?" asked Mrs. Easterfield quickly; "why now more than any
previous time?"
Olive did not immediately answer, but presently she said: "I am not
going back to my uncle. There was a woman here just now--I don't know
whether she was sent or not--who informed me that he did not expect me
to return to his house. When my mother was living we were great
companions for each other, but now you see I am left entirely alone. It
will be a good while before father comes back, and then I don't know
whether he can settle down or not. Besides, I am not very well
acquainted with him, but I suppose that would arrange itself in time. So
you see all I can do is to visit about until I am married, and therefore
the sooner I am married and settled the better."
"Perhaps this is a cold-blooded girl!" said Mrs. Easterfield to herself.
"But perhaps it is not!" Then, speaking aloud, she said: "Olive Asher,
were you ever in love?"
The girl looked at her with reflective eyes. "Yes," she said. "I was
once, but that was the only time."
"Would you mind telling me about it?" asked Mrs. Easterfield.
"Not at all," replied the girl. "I was between thirteen and fourteen,
and wore short dresses, and my hair was plaited. My father was on duty
at the Philadelphia Navy-Yard, and we lived in that city. There was a
young man who used to come to bring messages to father; I think he was a
clerk or a draftsman. I do not remember his name, except that his first
name was Rupert, and father always called him by that. He was a
beautiful man-boy or boy-man, however you choose to put it. His eyes
were heavenly blue, his skin was smooth and white, his cheeks were red,
and he had the most charming mouth I ever saw. He was just the right
height, well shaped, and wore the most becoming clothes. I fell madly in
love with him the second time I saw him, and continued so for a long
time. I used to think about him and dream about him, and write little
poems about him which nobody ever saw. I tried to make a sketch of his
face once, but I failed and tore it up."
"What did he do?" asked Mrs. Easterfield.
"Nothing whatever," said Olive. "I never spoke to him, or he to me. I
don't believe he ever noticed me. Whenever I could I went into the room
where he was talking to father, but I was very quiet and kept in the
background, and I do not think his eyes ever fell upon me. But that did
not make any difference at all. He was beautiful above all other men in
the world, and I loved him. He was my first, my only love, and it almost
brings tears in my eyes now to think of him."
"Then you really could love the right person if he were to come along,"
said Mrs. Easterfield.
"Why do you think I couldn't? Of course I could. But the trouble is he
doesn't come, so I must try to arrange the matter with what material I
have."
When Mrs. Easterfield left the garden she went rapidly to her room.
There was a smile on her lips, and a light in her eye. A novel idea had
come to her which amused her, pleased her, and even excited her. She sat
down at her writing-table and began a letter to her husband. After an
opening paragraph she wrote thus:
"Is not Mr. Hemphill, of the central office of the D. and J., named
Rupert? It is my impression that he is. You know he has been to our
house several times to dinner when you invited railroad people, and I
remember him very well. If his name is Rupert will you find out, without
asking him directly, whether or not he was engaged about seven years ago
at the navy-yard. I am almost positive I once had a conversation with
him about the navy-yard and the moving of one of the great buildings
there. If you find that he had a position there, don't ask him any more
questions, and drop the subject as quickly as you can. But I then want
you to send him here on whatever pretext you please--you can send me any
sort of an important message or package--and if I find it desirable, I
shall ask him to stay here a few days. These hard-worked secretaries
ought to have more vacations. In fact, I have a very interesting scheme
in mind, of which I shall say nothing now for fear you may think it
necessary to reason about it. By the time you come it will have been
worked out, and I will tell you all about it. Now, don't fail to send
Mr. Hemphill as promptly as possible, if you find his name is Rupert,
and that he has ever been engaged in the navy-yard."
This letter was then sent to the post-office at the gap with an
immediate-delivery stamp on it.
When Mrs. Easterfield went down-stairs, her face still glowing with the
pleasure given by the writing of her letter, she met Claude Locker,
whose face did not glow with pleasure.
"What is the matter with you?" she asked.
"I feel like a man who has been half decapitated," said he. "I do not
know whether the execution is to be arrested and my wound healed, or
whether it is to go on and my head roll into the dust."
"A horrible idea!" said Mrs. Easterfield. "What do you really mean?"
"I have proposed to Miss Asher and I was treated with indifference, but
have not been discarded. Don't you see that I can not live in this
condition? I am looking for her."
"It will be a great deal better for you to leave her alone," replied
Mrs. Easterfield. "If she has any answer for you she will give it when
she is ready. Perhaps she is trying to make up her mind, and you may
spoil all by intruding yourself upon her."
"That will not do at all," said Locker, "not at all. The more Miss Asher
sees of me in an unengaged condition the less she will like me. I am
fully aware of this. I know that my general aspect must be very
unpleasant, so if I expect any success whatever, the quicker I get this
thing settled the better."
"Even if she refuses you," said Mrs. Easterfield.
"Yes," he answered; "then down comes the axe again, away goes my head,
and all is over! Then there is another thing," he said, without giving
Mrs. Easterfield a chance to speak. "There is that mathematical person.
When will he be here again?"
"I do not know," replied Mrs. Easterfield; "he has merely a general
invitation."
"I don't like him," said Locker. "He has been here twice, and that is
two times too many. I hate him."
"Why so?"
"Because he is unobjectionable," Locker answered, "and I am very much
afraid Miss Asher likes unobjectionable people. Now I am
objectionable--I know it--and the longer I remain unengaged the more
objectionable I shall become. I wish you would invite nobody but such
people as the Foxes."
"Why?"
"Because they are married," replied Locker. "But I must not wait here.
Can you tell me where I shall be likely to find her?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Easterfield, "she is with the Foxes, and they are
married."
_CHAPTER XI_
_Mr. Locker is released on Bail._
Nearly the whole of that morning Dick Lancaster sat in the arbor in the
tollhouse garden, his book in his hand. Part of the time he was thinking
about what he would like to do, and part of the time he was thinking
about what he ought to do. He felt sure he had stayed with the captain
as long as he had been expected to, but he did not want to go away. On
the contrary, he greatly desired to remain within walking distance of
Broadstone. He was in love with Olive. When he had seen her at luncheon,
cold and reserved, he had been greatly impressed by her, and when he
went out boating with her the next day he gave her his heart
unreservedly. When people fell in love with Olive they always did it
promptly.
As he sat, with Olive standing near the footlights of his mental stage
and the drop-curtain hanging between her and all the rest of the world,
the captain strolled up to him.
"Dick," said he, "somehow or other my tobacco does not taste as it ought
to. Give me a pipeful of yours."
When the captain had filled his pipe from Dick's bag he lighted it and
gave a few puffs. "It isn't a bit better than mine," said he, "but I
will keep on and smoke it. Dick, let's go and take a walk over the
hills. I feel rather stupid to-day. And, by the way, I hope you will be
able to stay with me for the rest of your vacation. Have you made plans
to go anywhere else?"
"No plans of the slightest importance," answered Lancaster with joyous
vivacity. "I shall be delighted to stay."
This prompt acceptance somewhat surprised the captain. He had spoken
without premeditation, and without thinking of anything at all except
that he did not want everybody to go away and leave him. He had begun to
know something of the pleasures of family life; of having some one to
sit at the table with him; to whom he could talk; on whom he could look.
In fact, although he did not exactly appreciate such a state of things,
some one he could love. He was getting really fond of Dick Lancaster.
As for Olive, he did not know what to think of her; sometimes he was
sure she was not coming back, and at other times he thought it likely he
might get a letter that very day appointing the time for her return. He
stood puffing his pipe and thinking about this after Dick had spoken.
"But it does not matter," he said to himself, "which way it happens. If
she doesn't come I want him here, and if she does come, he is good
enough for anybody, and perhaps she may be pleased." And then he
indulged in a little fragment of the dream which had come to him before;
he saw two young people in a charming home, not at the toll-gate, and
himself living with them. Plenty of money for all moderate needs, and
all happy and satisfied. Then with a sigh he knocked the tobacco from
his pipe and said to himself: "If I hear she is coming, I will let her
know he is still here, and then she must judge for herself."
As they walked together over the hills, Dick Lancaster was very anxious
to know something about Olive's return, but he did not like to ask. The
captain had been very reticent on the subject of his niece, and Dick was
a gentleman. But to his surprise, and very much to his delight, the
captain soon began to talk about Olive. He told Dick how his brother had
entered the navy when the elder was first mate on a merchant vessel; how
Alfred had risen in the service; had married; and how his wife and
daughter had lived in various parts of the world. Then he spoke of a
good many things he had heard about Olive, and other things he had found
out since she had lived with him; and as he went on his heart warmed,
and Dick Lancaster listened with as warm a heart as that from which the
captain spoke.
And thus they walked over the hills, this young man and this elderly
man, each in love with the same girl.
During all the walk Dick never asked when Miss Asher was coming back to
the tollhouse, nor did Captain Asher make any remarks upon the subject.
It was not really of vital importance to Dick, as Broadstone was so
near, and it was of such vital importance to the captain that it was
impossible for him to speak of it.
The next day the bright-hearted Richard trod buoyantly upon the earth;
he did not care to read; he did not want to smoke; and he was not much
inclined to conversation; he was simply buoyant, and undecided. The
captain looked at him and smiled.
"Why don't you walk over to Broadstone?" he said. "It will do you good.
I want you to stay with me, but I don't expect you to be stuck down to
this tollhouse all day. I am going about the farm to-day, but I shall
expect you to supper."
When he was ready to start Dick Lancaster felt a little perplexed. His
ideas of friendly civility impelled him to ask the captain if there was
anything he could do for him, if there was any message or missive he
could take to his niece, or anything he could bring from her, but he was
prudent and refrained; if the captain wished service of this sort he was
a man to ask for it.
The first person Dick met at Broadstone was Mrs. Easterfield, cutting
roses.
"I am very glad to see you, Professor Lancaster," said she, as she put
down her roses and her scissors. "Would you mind, before you enter into
the general Broadstone society, sitting down on this bench and talking a
little to me?"
Dick could not help smiling. What man in the world, even if he were in
love with somebody else, could object to sitting down by such a woman
and talking to her?
"What I am going to say," said Mrs. Easterfield, "is impertinent,
unwarranted, and of an officious character. You and I know each other
very slightly; neither of us has long been acquainted with Captain
Asher, you have met his niece but twice, and I have never really known
her until what you might call the other day. But in spite of all this, I
propose that you and I shall meddle a little in their affairs. I have
taken the greatest fancy to Miss Asher, and, if you can do it without
any breach of confidence, I would like you to tell me if you know of any
misunderstanding between her and her uncle."
"I know of nothing of the kind," said Dick with great interest, "but I
admit I thought there might be something wrong somewhere. He knew I was
coming here to-day--in fact, he suggested it--but he sent Miss Asher no
sort of message."
"Can it be possible he is cherishing any hard feelings against her?" she
remarked. "I should not have supposed he was that sort of man."
"He is not that sort of man," said Dick warmly. "He was talking to me
about her yesterday, and from what he said, I am sure he thinks she is
the finest girl in the world."
"I am glad to hear that," said she, "but it makes the situation more
puzzling. Can it be possible that she is treating him badly?"
"Oh, I could not believe that!" exclaimed Dick fervently. "I can not
imagine such a thing."
Mrs. Easterfield smiled. He had really known the girl but for one day,
for the first meeting did not count; and here he was defending the
absolute beauty of her character. But the assumption of the genus young
man often overtops the pyramids. She now determined to take him a little
more into her confidence.
"Miss Asher has intimated to me that she does not expect to go back to
her uncle's house, and this morning she made a reference to the end of
her visit here, but I thought you might be able to tell me something
about her uncle. If he really does not expect her back I want her to
stay here."
"Alas," said Dick, "I can not tell you anything. But of one thing I feel
sure, and that is that he would like her to come back."
"Well," said Mrs. Easterfield, "I am not going to let her go away at
present, and if Captain Asher should say anything to you on the subject,
you are at liberty to tell him that. From what you said the other day, I
suppose you will soon be leaving this quiet valley for the haunts of
men."
"Oh, no," exclaimed Dick. "He wants me to stay with him as long as I
can, and I shall certainly do it."
"Now," said Mrs. Easterfield, rising, "I must go and finish cutting my
roses. I think you will find everybody on the tennis grounds."
Mrs. Easterfield had cut in all twenty-three roses when Claude Locker
came to her from the house. His face was beaming, and he skipped over
the short grass.
"Congratulate me," he said, as he stepped before her.
Mrs. Easterfield dropped her roses and her scissors and turned pale.
"What do you mean?" she gasped.
"Oh, don't be frightened," he said. "I have not been acquitted, but the
execution has been stopped for the present, and I am out on bail. I
really feel as though the wound in my neck had healed."
"What stuff!" said Mrs. Easterfield, her color returning. "Try to speak
sensibly."
"Oh, I can do that," said Mr. Locker; "upon occasion I can do that very
well. I proposed again to Miss Asher not twenty minutes ago. She gave me
no answer, but she made an arrangement with me which I think is going to
be very satisfactory; she said she could not have me proposing to her
every time I saw her--it would attract attention, and in the end might
prove annoying--but she said she would be willing to have me propose to
her every day just before luncheon, provided I did not insist upon an
answer, and would promise to give no indication whatever at any other
time that I entertained any unusual regard for her. I agreed to this,
and now we understand each other. I feel very confident and happy. The
other person has no regular time for offering himself, and if any effort
of mine can avail he shall not find an irregular opportunity."
Mrs. Easterfield laughed. "Come pick up my roses," she said. "I must go
in."
"It is like making love," said Locker as he picked up the flowers,
"charming, but prickly." At this moment he started. "Who is that?" he
exclaimed.
Mrs. Easterfield turned. "Oh, that is Monsieur Emile Du Brant. He is one
of the secretaries of the Austrian legation. He is to spend a week with
us. Suppose you take my flowers into the house and I will go to meet
him."
Claude Locker, his arms folded around a mass of thorny roses, and a pair
of scissors dangling from one finger, stood and gazed with savage
intensity at the dapper little man--black eyes, waxed mustache, dressed
in the height of fashion--who, with one hand outstretched, while the
other held his hat, advanced with smiles and bows to meet the lady of
the house. Locker had seen him before; he had met him in Washington; and
he had received forty dollars for a poem of which this Austrian young
person was the subject.
He allowed the lady and her guest to enter the house before him, and
then, like a male Flora, he followed, grinding his teeth, and indulging
in imprecations.
"He will have to put on some other kind of clothes," he muttered, "and
perhaps he may shave and curl his hair. That will give me a chance to
see her before lunch. I do not know that she expected me to begin
to-day, but I am going to do it. I have a clear field so far, and nobody
knows what may happen to-morrow."
As Locker stood in the hallway waiting for some one to come and take his
flowers, or to tell him where to put them, he glanced out of the back
door. There, to his horror, he saw that Mrs. Easterfield had conducted
her guest through the house, and that they were now approaching the
tennis ground, where Professor Lancaster and Miss Asher were standing
with their rackets in their hands, while Mr. and Mrs. Fox were playing
chess under the shade of a tree.
"Field open!" he exclaimed, dropping the roses and the scissors. "Field
clear! What a double-dyed ass am I!" And with this he rushed out to the
tennis ground; Mrs. Easterfield did not play.
Before Mrs. Easterfield returned to the house she stood for a moment
and looked at the tennis players.
"Olive and three young men," she said to herself; "that will do very
well."
A little before luncheon Claude Locker became very uneasy, and even
agitated. He hovered around Olive, but found no opportunity to speak to
her, for she was always talking to somebody else, mostly to the
newcomer. But she was a little late in entering the dining-room, and
Locker stepped up to her in the doorway.
"Is this your handkerchief?" he asked.
"No," said she, stopping; "isn't it yours?"
"Yes," he replied, "but I had to have some way of attracting your
attention. I love you so much that I can scarcely see the table and the
people."
"Thank you," she said, "and that is all for the next twenty-four hours."
_CHAPTER XII_
_Mr. Rupert Hemphill._
That afternoon it rained, so that the Broadstone people were obliged to
stay indoors. Dick Lancaster found Mr. Fox a very agreeable and
well-informed man, and Mrs. Fox was also an excellent conversationalist.
Mrs. Easterfield, who, after the confidences of the morning, could not
help looking at him as something more than an acquaintance, talked to
him a good deal, and tried to make the time pass pleasantly, at which
business she was an adept. All this was very pleasant to Dick, but it
did not compensate him for the almost entire loss of the society of
Olive, who seemed to devote herself to the entertainment of the Austrian
secretary. Mrs. Easterfield was very sorry that the young foreigner had
come at this time, but he had been invited the winter before; the time
had been appointed; and the visit had to be endured.
When the rain had ceased, and Dick was about to take his leave, his
hostess declared she would not let him walk back through the mud.
"You shall have a horse," she said, "and that will insure an early visit
from you, for, of course, you will not trust the animal to other hands
than your own. I would ask you to stay, but that would not be treating
the captain kindly."
As Dick was mounting Mr. Du Brant was standing at the front door, a
smile on his swarthy countenance. This smile said as plainly as words
could have done so that it was very amusing to this foreign young man to
see a person with rolled-up trousers and a straw hat mount upon a horse.
Claude Locker, whose soul had been chafing all the afternoon under his
banishment from the society of the angel of his life, was also at the
front door, and saw the contemptuous smile. Instantly a new and powerful
emotion swept over his being in the shape of a strong feeling of
fellowship for Lancaster. It made his soul boil with indignation to see
the sneer which the Austrian directed toward the young man, a thoroughly
fine young man, who, by said foreigner's monkeyful impudence, and
another's mistaken favor, had been made a brother-in-misfortune of
himself, Claude Locker.
"I will make common cause with him against the enemy," thought Locker.
"If I should fail to get her I will help him to." And although Dick's
brown socks were plainly visible as he cantered away, Mr. Locker looked
after him as a gallant and honored brother-in-arms.
That evening Claude Locker fought for himself and his comrade. He
persisted in talking French with Mr. Du Brant; and his remarkable
management of that language, in which ignorance and a subtle facility in
intentional misapprehension were so adroitly blended that it was
impossible to tell one from the other, amused Olive, and so provoked the
Austrian that at last he turned away and began to talk American
politics with Mr. Fox, which so elated the poet that the ladies of the
party passed a merry evening.
"Would you like me to take him out rowing to-morrow?" asked Claude apart
to his hostess.
"With you at the oars?" she asked.
"Of course," said Locker.
"I am amazed," said she, "that you should suspect me of such
cold-blooded cruelty."
"You know you don't want him here," said Claude. "His salary can not be
large, and he must spend the greater part of it on clothes--and oil."
"Is it possible," she asked, "that you look upon that young man as a
rival?"
"By no means," he replied; "such persons never marry. They only prevent
other people from marrying anybody. Therefore it is that I remember what
sort of a boatman I am."
"My dear," said Mr. Fox, when he and his wife had retired to their room,
"after hearing what that Austrian has to say of the American people, I
almost revere Mr. Locker."
"I heard some of his remarks," she said, "and I imagined they would have
an effect of that kind upon you."
When the Broadstone surrey came from the train the next morning it
brought a gentleman.
"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Fox, when from the other side of the lawn she saw
him alight. "Another young man with a valise! It seems to me that this
is an overdose!"
"Overdoses," remarked Mr. Fox, "are often less dangerous than just
enough poison."
Mrs. Easterfield received this visitor at the door. She had been waiting
for him, and did not wish him to meet anybody when she was not present.
After offering his respectful salutations, Mr. Hemphill, Mr.
Easterfield's secretary in the central office of the D. and J.,
delivered without delay a package of which he was the bearer, and
apologized for his valise, stating that Mr. Easterfield had told him he
must spend the night at Broadstone.
"Most assuredly you would do that," said she, and to herself she added,
"If I want you longer I will let you know."
Mr. Rupert Hemphill was a very handsome man; his nose was fine; his eyes
were dark and expressive; he wore silky side-whiskers, which, however,
did not entirely conceal the bloom upon his cheeks; his teeth were very
good; he was well shaped; and his clothes fitted him admirably.
As has been said before, Mrs. Easterfield was exceedingly interested;
she was even a little agitated, which was not common with her. She had
Mr. Hemphill conducted to his room, and then she waited for him to come
down; this also was not common with her.
"Mr. Locker," she called from the open door, "do you know where Miss
Asher is?"
The poet stopped in his stride across the lawn, and approached the lady.
"Oh, she is with the Du Brant," said he. "I have been trying to get in
some of my French, but neither of them will rise to the fly. However, I
am content; it is now three hours before luncheon, and if she has him
to herself for that length of time, I think she will be thoroughly
disgusted. Then it will be my time, as per agreement."
Mrs. Easterfield was a little disappointed. She wanted Olive by herself,
but she did not want to make a point of sending for her. But fortune
favored her.
"There she is," exclaimed Locker; "she is just going into the library.
Let me go tell her you want her."
"Not at all," said Mrs. Easterfield. "Don't put yourself into danger of
breaking your word by seeing her alone before luncheon. I'll go to her."
Mr. Locker continued his melancholy stroll, and Mrs. Easterfield entered
the library. Olive must not be allowed to go away until the moment
arrived which had been awaited with so much interest.
"I am looking for a copy of _Tartarin sur les Alps_. I am sure I saw it
among these French books," said Olive, on her knees before a low
bookcase. "Would you believe it, Mr. Du Brant has never read it, and he
seems to think so much of education."
Mrs. Easterfield knew exactly where the book was, but she preferred to
allow Olive to occupy herself in looking for it, while she kept her eyes
on the hall.
"Wait a moment, Olive," said she; "a visitor has just arrived, and I
want to make him acquainted with you."
Olive rose with a book in her hand, and Mrs. Easterfield presented Mr.
Hemphill to Miss Asher. As she did so, Mrs. Easterfield kept her eyes
steadily fixed upon the young lady's face. With a pleasant smile Olive
returned Mr. Hemphill's bow. She was generally glad to make new
acquaintances.
"Mr. Hemphill is one of my husband's business associates," said Mrs.
Easterfield, still with her eyes on Olive. "He has just come from him."
"Did he send us this fine day by you?" said Olive. "If so, we are
greatly obliged to him."
The young man answered that, although he had not brought the day, he was
delighted that he had come in company with it.
"What atrocious commonplaces!" thought Mrs. Easterfield. "The girl does
not know him from Adam!"
Here was a disappointment; the thrill, the pallor, the involuntary
start, were totally absent; and the first act of the little play was a
failure. But Mrs. Easterfield hoped for better things when the curtain
rose again. She conducted Mr. Hemphill to the Foxes and let Olive go
away with her book; and, as soon as she had the opportunity, she read
the letter from her husband.
"With this I send you Mr. Hemphill," he wrote. "I don't know what you
want to do with him, but you must take good care of him. He is a most
valuable secretary, and an estimable young man. As soon as you have done
with him please send him back."
"I am glad he is estimable," said Mrs. Easterfield to herself. "That
will make the matter more satisfactory to Tom when I explain it to him."
When Dick Lancaster, properly booted and wearing a felt hat, returned
the borrowed horse, he was met by Mr. Locker, who had been wandering
about the front of the house, and when he had dismounted Dick was
somewhat surprised by the hearty handshake he received.
"I am sorry to have to tell you," said the poet, "that there is another
one."
"Another what?" asked Dick.
"Another unnecessary victim," replied Locker. And with this he returned
to the front of the house.
At last Olive came down the stairs, and she was alone. Locker stepped
quickly up to her.
"If I should marry," he said, "would I be expected to entertain that
Austrian?"
She stopped, and gave the question her serious consideration. "I should
think," she said, "that that would depend a good deal upon whom you
should marry."
"How can you talk in that way?" he exclaimed. "As if there were anything
to depend upon!"
"Nothing to depend upon," said Olive, slightly raising her eyebrows.
"That is bad." And she went into the dining-room.
The afternoon was an exceptionally fine one, but the party at Broadstone
did not take advantage of it; there seemed to be a spirit of unrest
pervading the premises, and when the carriage started on a drive along
the river only Mr. and Mrs. Fox were in it. Mrs. Easterfield would not
leave Olive and Mr. Hemphill, and she did not encourage them to go.
Consequently there were three young men who did not wish to go.
"It seems to me," said Mr. Fox, as they rolled away, "that a young
woman, such as Miss Asher, has it in her power to interfere very much
with the social feeling which should pervade a household like this. If
she were to satisfy herself with attracting one person, all the rest of
us might be content to make ourselves happy in such fashions as might
present themselves."
"The rest of us!" exclaimed Mrs. Fox.
"Yes," replied her husband. "I mean you, and Mrs. Easterfield, and
myself, and the rest. That young woman's indeterminate methods of
fascination interfere with all of us."
"I don't exactly see how they interfere with me," said Mrs. Fox rather
stiffly.
"If the carriage had been filled, as was expected," said her husband, "I
might have had the pleasure of driving you in a buggy."
She turned to him with a smile. "Immediately after I spoke," she said,
"I imagined you might be thinking of something of that kind."
Mrs. Easterfield was not a woman to wait for things to happen in their
own good time. If possible, she liked to hurry them up. In this Olive
and Hemphill affair there was really nothing to wait for; if she left
them to themselves there would be no happenings. As soon as was
possible, she took Olive into her own little room, where she kept her
writing-table, and into whose sacred precincts her secretary was not
allowed to penetrate.
"Now, then," said she, "what do you think of Mr. Hemphill?"
"I don't think of him at all," said Olive, a little surprised. "Is there
anything about him to think of?"
"He sat by you at luncheon," said Mrs. Easterfield.
"I know that," said Olive, "and he was better than an empty chair. I
hate sitting by empty chairs."
"Olive," exclaimed Mrs. Easterfield with vivacity, "you ought to
remember that young man!"
"Remember him?" the girl ejaculated.
"Certainly," said Mrs. Easterfield. "After what you told me about him, I
expected you would recognize him the moment you saw him. But you did not
know him; you did not do anything I expected you to do; and I was very
much disappointed."
"What are you talking about?" asked Olive.
"I am talking about Mr. Hemphill; Mr. Rupert Hemphill; who, about seven
years ago, was engaged in the Philadelphia Navy-Yard, and who came to
your house on business with your father. From what you told me of him I
conjectured that he might now be my husband's Philadelphia secretary,
for his name is Rupert, and I had reason to believe that he was once
engaged in the navy-yard. When I found out I was entirely correct in my
supposition I had him sent here, and I looked forward with the most
joyous anticipations to being present when you first saw him. But it was
all a fiasco! I suppose some people might think I was unwarrantably
meddling in the affairs of others, but as it was in my power to create a
most charming romance, I could not let the opportunity pass."
Olive did not hear a word of Mrs. Easterfield's latest remarks; her
round, full eyes were fixed upon the wall in front of her, but they saw
nothing. Her mind had gone back seven years.
"Is it possible," she exclaimed presently, "that that is my Rupert, my
beautiful Rupert of the roseate cheeks, the Rupert of my heart, my only
love! The Endymion-like youth I watched for every day; on whom I gazed
and gazed and worshiped and longed for when he had gone; of whom I
dreamed; to whom my soul went out in poetry; whose miniature I would
have painted on the finest ivory if I had known how to paint; and whose
image thus created I would have worn next my heart to look at every
instant I found myself alone, if it had not been that my dresses were
all fastened down the back! I am going to him this instant! I must see
him again! My Rupert, my only love!" And with this she started to the
door.
"Olive," cried Mrs. Easterfield, springing from her chair, "stop, don't
you do that! Come back. You must not--"
But the girl had flown down the stairs, and was gone.
_CHAPTER XIII_
_Mr. Lancaster's Backers._
Olive found Mr. Hemphill under a tree upon the lawn. He was sitting on a
low bench with one little girl upon each knee. He was not a stranger to
the children, for they had frequently met him during their winter
residences in cities. He was telling them a story when Olive approached.
He made an attempt to rise, but the little girls would not let him put
them down.
"Don't move, Mr. Hemphill," said Olive; "I am going to sit down myself."
And as she spoke she drew forward a low bench. "I am so glad to see you
are fond of children, Mr. Hemphill," she continued; "you must have
changed very much."
"Changed!" he exclaimed. "I have always been fond of them."
"Excuse me," said Olive, "not always. I remember a child you did not
care for, on whom you did not even look, who was absolutely nothing to
you, although you were so much to her."
Mr. Hemphill stared. "I do not remember such a child," said he.
"She existed," said Olive. "I was that child." And then she told him
how she had seen him come to her father's house.
Mr. Hemphill remembered Lieutenant Asher, he remembered going to his
house, but he did not remember seeing there a little girl.
"I was not so very little," said Olive; "I was fourteen, and I was just
at an age to be greatly attracted by you. I thought you were the most
beautiful young man I had ever beheld. I don't mind telling you, because
I can not look upon you as a stranger, that I fell deeply in love with
you."
As Mr. Hemphill sat and listened to these words his face turned redder
than the reddest rose, even his silky whiskers seemed to redden, his
fine-cut red lips were parted, but he could not speak. The two little
girls had been gazing earnestly at Olive. Now the elder one spoke.
"I am in love," she said.
"And so am I," piped up the younger one.
"She's in love with Martha's little Jim," said the first girl, "but I am
in love with Henry. He's eight. Both boys."
"I wouldn't be in love with a girl," said the little one contemptuously.
This interruption was a help to Mr. Hemphill, and his redness paled a
little.
"Of course you could not be expected to know anything of my feelings for
you," said Olive, "and perhaps it is very well you did not, for business
is business, and the feelings of girls should not be allowed to
interfere with it. But my heart went out to you all the same. You were
my first love."
Now Mr. Hemphill crimsoned again worse than before. He had not yet
spoken a word, and there was no word in the English language which he
thought would be appropriate for the occasion.
"You may think I am a little cruel to plump this sort of thing upon
you," said Olive, "in such a sudden way, but I am not. All this was
seven years ago, and a person of my age can surely speak freely of what
happened seven years ago. I did not even know you when I met you, but
Mrs. Easterfield told me about you, and now I remember everything, and I
think it would have been inhuman if I had not told you of the part you
used to play in my life. You have a right to know it."
If Mr. Hemphill could have reddened any more he would have done so, but
it was not possible. The thought flashed into his mind that it might be
well to say something about her having found him very much changed, but
in the next instant he saw that that would not do. How could he assume
that he had ever been beautiful; how could he force her to say that he
was not beautiful now, or that he still remained so?
"I am very glad I have met you," said Olive, "and that I know who you
are. And I am glad, too, to tell you that I forgive you for not taking
notice of me seven years ago."
"Is that all of your story?" asked the elder little girl.
"Yes," said Olive, laughing, "that is all."
"Well, then, let Mr. Hemphill go on with his," said she.
"Oh, certainly," said Olive, jumping up; "and you must all excuse me
for interfering with your story."
Mr. Hemphill sat still, a little girl on each knee. He had not spoken a
word since that beautiful girl had told him she had once loved him. And
he could not speak now.
"You look as if you had a plaster taken off," said the younger little
girl. And, after waiting a moment for an answer, she slipped off his
knee; the other followed; and the story was postponed.
When Mrs. Easterfield heard Olive's account of this incident she was
utterly astounded. "What sort of a girl are you" she exclaimed. "What
are you going to do about it now?"
"Do?" said Olive quietly. "I have done."
Mrs. Easterfield was in a state of great perplexity. She had already
asked Mr. Hemphill to stay until Saturday, three days off, and she could
not tell him to go away, and the awkwardness of his remaining in the
same house with Olive was something not easy to deal with.
During Olive's interview with Mr. Hemphill and the little girls Claude
Locker had been sitting alone at a distance, gazing at the group. He was
waiting for an opportunity of social converse, for this was not
forbidden him even if the time did not immediately precede the luncheon
hour. He saw Hemphill's blazing face, and deeply wondered. If it had
been the lady who had flushed he would have bounced upon the scene to
defend her, but Olive was calm, and it was the conscious guilt of the
man that made his face look like a freshly painted tin roof. This was an
affair into which he had no right to intrude himself, and so he sat and
sighed, and his heart grew heavy. How many ante-luncheon avowals would
have to be made before she would take so much interest in him, one way
or the other!
Mr. Du Brant also sat at a distance. He was reading, or at least
appearing to read; but he was so unaccustomed to holding a book in his
hands that he did it very awkwardly, and Miss Raleigh, who was looking
at him from the library window, made up her mind that if he dropped it,
as she expected him to do, she would get the book and rub the dirt off
the corners before it was put back into the bookcase. But when Olive
left Mr. Hemphill she went so quickly into the house that the Austrian
was unable to join her, and he, therefore, went to his room to prepare
for dinner.
Dick Lancaster had also been waiting, although not watching. He had
hoped that he might have a chance for a little talk with Olive. But
there was really no good reason to expect it, for he knew that two, and
perhaps three, young men had stayed at home that afternoon in the hope
that they might have the same opportunity. The odds against him were
great.
He began to think that perhaps he was engaged in a foolish piece of
business, and was in danger of making himself disagreeably conspicuous.
The other young men were guests at Broadstone, but if he came there
every day as he had been doing, and as he wanted to do, it might be
thought that he was taking advantage of Mrs. Easterfield's kindness. At
that moment he heard the rustle of skirts, and, glancing up, saw Mrs.
Easterfield, who was looking for him.
Mrs. Easterfield's regard for Lancaster was growing, partly on account
of the confidence she had already reposed in him. In her present state
of mind she would have been glad to give him still more, for she did not
know what to do about Olive and Mr. Hemphill, and there was no one with
whom she could talk upon the subject; even if she had known Dick better
her loyalty to Olive would have prevented that.
"Have you found out anything about the captain and Olive?" she asked.
"Has he spoken of her return?"
"No," replied Dick; "he has not said a word on the subject, but I am
very sure he would be overjoyed to have her come back. Every day when
the postman arrives I believe he looks for a letter from her, and he
shows that he feels it when he finds none. He is good-natured, and
pleasant, but he is not as cheerful as when I first came."
"Every day," said Mrs. Easterfield, as they walked together, "I love
Olive more and more."
"So do I," thought Dick.
"But every day I understand her less and less," she continued. "She is
truly a navy girl, and repose does not seem to be one of her
characteristics. From what she has told me, I believe she has never
lived in domestic peace and quiet until she came to stay with her uncle.
It would delight me to see her properly married. I wish you would marry
her."
Dick stopped, and so did she, and they stood looking at each other. He
did not redden, for he was not of the flushing kind; his face even grew
a little hard.
"Do you believe," said he, in a very different tone from his ordinary
voice, "that I have the slightest chance?"
"Of course I do," she answered. "I believe you have a very good chance,
or I should not have spoken to you. I flatter myself that I have
excellent judgment concerning young men, and I am very fond of Olive."
"Mrs. Easterfield," exclaimed Dick, "you know I am in love with her. I
suppose that has been easy enough to see, but it has all been very quick
work with me; in fact, I have had very little to say to her, and have
never said anything that could in the slightest degree indicate how I
felt toward her. But I believe I loved her the second day I met her, and
I am not sure it did not begin the day before."
"I think that sort of thing is always quick work where Olive is
concerned," said Mrs. Easterfield. "I think it likely that many young
men have fallen in love with her, and that they have to be very lively
if they want a chance to tell her so. But don't be jealous. I know
positively that none of them ever had the slightest chance. But now all
that is passed. I know she is tired of an unsettled life, and it is
likely she may soon be thinking of marrying, and there will be no lack
of suitors. She has them now. But I want her to marry you."
"Mrs. Easterfield," exclaimed Dick, "you have known me but a very little
while----"
"Don't mention that," she interrupted. "I do quick work as well as other
people. I never before engaged in any matchmaking business, but if this
succeeds, I shall be proud of it to the end of my days. You are in love
with Olive, and she is worthy of you. I want you to try to win her, and
I will do everything I can to help you. Here is my hand upon it."
As Dick held that hand and looked into that face a courage and a belief
in himself came into his heart that had never been there before. By day
and by night his soul had been filled with the image of Olive, but up to
this moment he had not thought of marrying her. That was something that
belonged to the future, not even considered in his state of inchoate
adoration. But now that he had been told he had reason to hope, he
hoped; and the fact that one beautiful woman told him he might hope to
win another beautiful woman was a powerful encouragement. Henceforth he
would not be content with simply loving Olive; if it were within his
power he would win, he would have her.
"You look like a soldier going forth to conquest," said Mrs. Easterfield
with a smile.
"And you," said he impulsively, "you not only look like, but you are an
angel."
This was pretty strong for the young professor, but the lady understood
him. She was very glad, indeed, that he could express himself
impulsively, for without that power he could not win Olive.
As Dick started away from Broadstone on his walk to the toll-gate he
heard quick steps behind him and was soon overtaken by Claude Locker.
"Hello," said that young man, "if you are on your way home I am going to
walk a while with you. I have not done a thing to-day."
When Dick heard these words his heart sank. He was on his way home
accompanied by Olive--Olive in his heart, Olive in his soul, Olive in
his brain, Olive in the sky and all over the earth--how dared a common
mortal intrude himself upon the scene?
"There is another thing," said Locker, who was now keeping step with
him. "My soul is filled with murderous intent. I thirst for human life,
and I need the restraints of companionship."
"Who is it you want to kill?" asked Dick coldly.
"It is an Austrian," replied the other. "I will not say what Austrian,
leaving that to your imagination. I don't suppose you ever killed an
Austrian. Neither have I, but I should like to do it. It would be a
novel and delightful experience."
Dick did not think it necessary that he should be told more; he
perfectly understood the state of the case, for it was impossible not to
see that this young man was paying marked attention to Olive, while Mr.
Du Brant was doing the same thing. But still it seemed well to say
something, and he remarked:
"What is the matter with the Austrian?"
"He is in love with Miss Asher," said Locker, "and so am I. I am
beginning to believe he is positively dangerous. I did not think so at
first, but I do now. He has actually taken to reading. I know that man;
I have often seen him in Washington. He was always running after some
lady or other, but I never knew him to read before. It is a dangerous
symptom. He reads with one eye, while the other sweeps the horizon to
catch a glimpse of her. By the way, that would be a splendid idea for a
district policeman; if he stood under a lamp-post in citizen's dress
reading a book, no criminal would suspect his identity, and he could
keep one eye on the printed page, and devote the other to the cause of
justice. But to return to our sallow mutton, or black sheep, if you
choose. That Austrian ought to be killed!"
Dick smiled sardonically. "He is not your only obstacle," he said.
"I know it," replied Locker. "There's that Chinese laundried fellow,
smooth-finished, who came up this morning. He must be an old offender,
for I saw her giving it to him hot this morning. I am sure she was
telling him exactly what she thought of him, for he turned as red as a
pickled beet. So he will have to scratch pretty hard if he expects to
get into her good graces again, and I suppose that is what he came here
for. But I am not so much afraid of him as I am of that Austrian. If he
keeps on the literary lay, and reads books with her, looking up the
words in the dictionary, it is dangerous."
"I do not see," said Lancaster, somewhat loftily, "why you speak of
these things to me."
"Then I'll tell you," said Locker quickly. "I speak of them to you
because you are just as much concerned in them as I am. You are in love
with Miss Asher--anybody can see that--and, in fact, I should think you
were a pretty poor sort of a fellow if you were not, after having seen
and talked with her. Consequently that Austrian is just as dangerous to
you as he is to me. And as I have chosen you for my brother-in-arms, it
is right that I tell you everything I know."
"Brother-in-arms?" ejaculated Dick.
"That is what it is," said Locker, "and I will tell you how it came
about. The Austrian looked upon you with scorn and contempt because you
rode a horse wearing rolled-up trousers and low shoes. As you did not
see him and could not return the contempt, I did it for you. Having done
this, a fellow feeling for you immediately sprang up within me. That is
what always happens, you know. After that the feeling became a good deal
stronger, and I said to myself that if I found I could not get Miss
Asher; and it's seventy-six I don't, for that's generally the state of
my luck; I would help you to get her, partly because I like you, and
partly because that Austrian must be ousted, no matter what happens or
how it is done. So I became your brother-in-arms, and if I find I am out
of the race, I am going to back you up just as hard as I can, and here's
my hand upon it."
Dick stopped as he had stopped half an hour before, and gazed upon his
companion.
"Now don't thank me," continued Locker, "or say anything nice, because
if I find I can come in ahead of you I am going to do it. But if we work
together, I am sure we need not be afraid of that Austrian, or of that
fiery-faced model for a ready-made-clothes shop. It is to be either you
or me--first place for me, if possible."
Dick could not help laughing. "You are a jolly sort of a fellow," said
he, "and I will be your brother-in-arms. But it is to be first place for
me, if possible." And they shook hands upon the bargain.
That evening Mr. Hemphill found Olive alone. "I have been trying to get
a chance to speak to you, Miss Asher," said he. "I want to ask you to
help me, for I do not know what in the world to do."
Olive looked at him inquiringly.
"Since you spoke to me this afternoon," he went on, "I have been in a
state of most miserable embarrassment; I can not for the life of me
decide what I ought to say or what I ought to do, or what I ought not to
say or what I ought not to do. If I should pass over as something not
necessary to take into consideration the--the--most unusual statement
you made to me, it might be that you would consider me as a boor, a man
incapable of appreciating the--the--highest honors. Then again, if I do
say anything to show that I appreciate such honors, you may well
consider me presumptuous, conceited, and even insulting. I thought a
while ago that I would leave this house before it would be necessary for
me to decide how I should act when I met you, but I could not do that.
Explanations would be necessary, and I would not be able to make them,
and so, in sheer despair, I have come to you. Whatever you say I ought
to do I will do. Of myself, I am utterly helpless."
Olive looked at him with serious earnestness. "You are in a queer
position," she said, "and I don't wonder you do not know what to do. I
did not think of this peculiar consequence which would result from my
revelation. As to the revelation itself, there is no use talking about
it; it had to be made. It would have been unjust and wicked to allow a
man to live in ignorance of the fact that such a thing had happened to
him without his knowing it. But I think I can make it all right for
you. If you had known when you were very young, in fact, when you were
in another age of man, that a young girl in short dresses was in love
with you, would you have disdained her affection?"
"I should say not!" exclaimed Rupert Hemphill, his eyes fixed upon the
person who had once been that girl in short dresses.
"Well, then," said Olive, "there could have been nothing for her to
complain of, no matter what she knew or what she did not know, and there
is nothing he could complain of, no matter what he knew or did not know.
And as both these persons have passed entirely out of existence, I think
you and I need consider them no longer. And we can talk about tennis or
bass fishing, or anything we like. And if you are a fisherman you will
be glad to hear that there is first-rate bass fishing in the river now,
and that we are talking of getting up a regular fishing party. We shall
have to go two or three miles below here where the water is deeper and
there are not so many rocks."
That night Mr. Hemphill dreamed hard of a girl who had loved him when
she was little, and who continued to love him now that she had grown to
be wonderfully handsome. He was going out to sail with her in a boat far
and far away, where nobody could find them or bring them back.
_CHAPTER XIV_
_A Letter for Olive._
The next morning, about an hour after breakfast, Mr. Du Brant proposed
to Olive. He had received a letter the day before which made it probable
that he might be recalled to Washington before the time which had been
fixed for the end of his visit at Broadstone, and he consequently did
not wish to defer for a moment longer than was necessary this most
important business of his life. He told Miss Asher that he had never
truly loved before; which was probably correct; and that as she had
raised his mind from the common things of earth, upon which it had been
accustomed to grovel, she had made a new man of him in an astonishingly
short time; which, it is likely, was also true.
He assured her that without any regard to outside circumstances, he
could not live without her. If at any other time he had allowed his mind
to dwell for a moment upon matrimony, he had thought of family,
position, wealth, social station, and all that sort of thing, but now he
thought of nothing but her, and he came to offer her his heart. In fact,
the man was truly and honestly in love.
Inwardly Olive smiled. "I can not ask him," she said to herself, "to say
this again every day before dinner. He hasn't the wit of Claude Locker,
and would not be able to vary his remarks; but I can not blast his hopes
too suddenly, for, if I do that, he will instantly go away, and it would
not be treating Mrs. Easterfield properly if I were to break up her
party without her knowledge. But I will talk to her about it. And now
for him.--Mr. Du Brant," she said aloud, speaking in English, although
he had proposed to her in French, because she thought she could make her
own language more impressive, "it is a very serious thing you have said
to me, and I don't believe you have had time enough to think about it
properly. Now don't interrupt. I know exactly what you would say. You
have known me such a little while that even if your mind is made up it
can not be properly made up, and therefore, for your own sake, I am
going to give you a chance to think it all over. You must not say you
don't want to, because I want you to; and when you have thought, and
thought, and know yourself better--now don't say you can not know
yourself better if you have a thousand years in which to consider
it--for though you think that it is true it is not"
"And if I rack my brains and my heart," interrupted Mr. Du Brant, "and
find out that I can never change nor feel in any other way toward you
than I feel now, may I then----"
"Now, don't say anything about that," said Olive. "What I want to do now
is to treat you honorably and fairly, and to give you a chance to
withdraw if, after sober consideration, you think it best to do so. I
believe that every young man who thinks himself compelled to propose
marriage in such hot haste ought to have a chance to reflect quietly
and coolly, and to withdraw if he wants to. And that is all, Mr. Du
Brant. I must be off this minute, for Mrs. Easterfield is over there
waiting for me."
Mr. Du Brant walked thoughtfully away. "I do not understand," he said to
himself in French, "why she did not tell me I need not speak to her
again about it. The situation is worthy of diplomatic consideration, and
I will give it that."
From a distance Claude Locker beheld his Austrian enemy walking alone,
and without a book.
"Something has happened," he thought, "and the fellow has changed his
tactics. Before, under cover of a French novel, he was a snake in the
grass, now he is a snake hopping along on the tip of his tail. Perhaps
he thinks this is a better way to keep a lookout upon her. I believe he
is more dangerous than he was before, for I don't know whether a snake
on tip tail jumps or falls down upon his victims."
One thing Mr. Locker was firmly determined upon. He was going to try to
see Olive as soon as it was possible before luncheon, and impress upon
her the ardent nature of his feelings toward her; he did not believe he
had done this yet. He looked about him. The party, excepting himself and
Mr. Du Brant, were on the front lawn; he would join them and satirize
the gloomy Austrian. If Olive could be made to laugh at him it would be
like preparing a garden-bed with spade and rake before sowing his seeds.
The rural mail-carrier came earlier than usual that day, and he brought
Olive but one letter, but as it was from her father, she was entirely
satisfied, and retired to a bench to read it.
In about ten minutes after that she walked into Mrs. Easterfield's
little room, the open letter in her hand. As Mrs. Easterfield looked up
from her writing-table the girl seemed transformed; she was taller, she
was straighter, her face had lost its bloom, and her eyes blazed.
"Would you believe it!" she said, grating out the words as she spoke.
"My father is going to be married!"
Mrs. Easterfield dropped her pen, and her face lost color. She had
always been greatly interested in Lieutenant Asher. "What!" she
exclaimed. "He? And to whom?"
"A girl I used to go to school with," said Olive, standing as if she
were framed in one solid piece. "Edith Marshall, living in Geneva. She
is older than I am, but we were in the same classes. They are to be
married in October, and she is to sail for this country about the time
his ship comes home. He is to be stationed at Governor's Island, and
they are to have a house there. He writes, and writes, and writes, about
how lovely it will be for me to have this dear new mother. Me! To call
that thing mother! I shall have no mother, but I have lost my father."
With this she threw herself upon a lounge, and burst into passionate
tears. Mrs. Easterfield rose, and closed the door.
Claude Locker had no opportunity to press his suit before luncheon, for
Olive did not come to that meal; she had one of her headaches. Every one
seemed to appreciate the incompleteness of the party, and even Mrs.
Easterfield looked serious, which was not usual with her. Mr. Hemphill
was much cast down, for he had made up his mind to talk to Olive in such
a way that she should not fail to see that he had taken to heart her
advice, and might be depended upon to deport himself toward her as if he
had never heard the words she had addressed to him. He had prepared
several topics for conversation, but as he would not waste these upon
the general company, he indulged only in such remarks as were necessary
to good manners.
Mr. Du Brant talked a good deal in a perfunctory manner, but inwardly he
was somewhat elated. "Her emotions must have been excited more than I
supposed," he thought. "That is not a bad sign."
Mrs. Fox was a little bit--a very little bit--annoyed because Mr. Fox
did not make as many facetious remarks as was his custom. He seemed like
one who, in a degree, felt that he lacked an audience; Mrs. Fox could
see no good reason for this.
When Mrs. Easterfield went up to Olive's room she found her bathing her
eyes in cold water.
"Will you lend me a bicycle" said Olive. "I am sure you have one."
Mrs. Easterfield looked at her in amazement.
"I want to go to my uncle," said Olive. "He is now all I have left in
this world. I have been thinking, and thinking about everything, and I
want to go to him. Whatever has come between us will vanish as soon as
he sees me, I am sure of that. I do not know why he did not want me to
come back to him, but he will want me now, and I should like to start
immediately without anybody seeing me."
"But a bicycle!" exclaimed Mrs. Easterfield. "You can't go that way. I
will send you in the carriage."
"No, no, no," cried Olive; "I want to go quietly. I want to go so that I
can leave my wheel at the door and go right in. I have a short
walking-skirt, and I can wear that. Please let me have the bicycle."
Mrs. Easterfield made Olive sit down and she talked to her, but there
was no changing the girl's determination to go to her uncle, to go
alone, and to go immediately.
_CHAPTER XV_
_Olive's Bicycle Trip._
Despite Olive's desire to set forth immediately on her bicycle trip, it
was past the middle of the afternoon when she left Broadstone. She went
out quietly, not by the usual driveway, and was soon upon the turnpike
road. As she sped along the cool air upon her face refreshed her; and
the knowledge that she was so rapidly approaching the dear old
toll-gate, where, even if she did not find her uncle at the house, she
could sit with old Jane until he came back, gave her strength and
courage.
Up a long hill she went, and down again to the level country. Then there
was a slighter rise in the road, and when she reached its summit she
saw, less than a mile away, the toll-gate surrounded by its trees, the
thick foliage of the fruit-trees in the garden, the little tollhouse and
the long bar, standing up high at its customary incline upon the
opposite side of the road. Down the little hill she went; and then,
steadily and swiftly, onward. Presently she saw that some one was on the
piazza by the side of the tollhouse; his back was toward her, he was
sitting in his accustomed armchair; she could not be mistaken; it was
her uncle.
Now and then, while upon the road, she had thought of what she should
say when she first met him, but she had soon dismissed all ideas of
preconceived salutations, or explanations. She would be there, and that
would be enough. Her father's letter was in her pocket, and that was too
much. All she meant to do was to glide up to that piazza, spring up the
steps, and present herself to her uncle's astonished gaze before he had
any idea that any one was approaching.
She was within twenty feet of the piazza when she saw that her uncle was
not alone; there was some one sitting in front of him who had been
concealed by his broad shoulders. This person was a woman. She had
caught sight of Olive, and stuck her head out on one side to look at
her. Upon her dough-like face there was a grin, and in her eye a light
of triumph. With one quick glance she seemed to say: "Ah, ha, you find
me here, do you? What have you to say to that?"
Olive's heart stood still. That woman, that Maria Port, sitting in close
converse with her uncle in that public place where she had never seen
any one but men! That horrid woman at such a moment as this! She could
not speak to her; she could not speak to her uncle in her presence. She
could not stop. With what she had on her mind, and with what she had in
her pocket, it would be impossible to say a word before that Maria Port!
Without a swerve she sped on, and passed the toll-gate. She only knew
one thing; she could not stop.
The wildest suspicions now rushed into her mind. Why should her uncle
be thus exposing himself to the public gaze with Maria Port? Why did it
give the woman such diabolical pleasure to be seen there with him? With
a mind already prepared for such sickening revelations, Olive was
convinced that it could mean nothing but that her uncle intended to
marry Maria Port. What else could it mean? But no matter what it meant,
she could not stop. She could not go back.
On went her bicycle, and presently she gained sufficient command over
herself to know that she should not ride into the town. But what else
could she do? She could not go back while those two were sitting on the
piazza. Suddenly she remembered the shunpike. She had never been on it,
but she knew where it left the road, and where it reentered it. So she
kept on her course, and in a few minutes had reached the narrow country
road. There were ruts here and there, and sometimes there were stony
places; there were small hills, mostly rough; and there were few
stretches of smooth road; but on went Olive; sometimes trying with much
effort to make good time, and always with tears in her eyes, dimming the
roadway, the prospect, and everything in the world.
"There now!" exclaimed Maria Port, springing to her feet. "What have you
got to say to that? If that isn't brazen I never saw brass!"
"What do you mean?" said the captain, rising in his chair.
"Mean?" said Maria Port, leaning over the railing. "Look there! Do you
see that girl getting away as fast as she can work herself? That's your
precious niece, Olive Asher, scooting past us with her nose in the air
as if we was sticks and stones by the side of the road. What have you
got to say to that, Captain John, I'd like to know?"
The captain ran down the path. "You don't mean to say that is Olive!" he
cried.
"That's who it is," answered Miss Port. "She looked me square in the
face as she dashed by. Not a word for you, not a word for me. Impudence!
That doesn't express it!"
The captain paid no attention to her, but ran into the garden. Old Jane
was standing near the house door. "Was that Miss Olive?" he cried. "Did
you see her?"
"Yes," said old Jane, "it was her. I saw her comin', and I came out to
meet her. But she just shot through the toll-gate as if she didn't know
there was a toll on bicycles."
The captain stood still in the garden-path. He could not believe that
Olive had done this to treat him with contempt. She must have heard some
news. There must be something the matter. She was going into town at the
top of her speed to send a telegram, intending to stop as she came back.
She might have stopped anyway if it had not been for that
good-for-nothing Maria Port. She hated Maria, and he hated her himself,
at this moment, as she stood by his side, asking him what was the matter
with him.
"It's no more than you have to expect," said she. "She's a fine lady, a
navy lady, a foreign lady, that's been with the aristocrats! She's got
good clothes on that she never wore here, and where I guess she had a
pretty stupid time, judgin' from how they carry on at that Easterfield
place. Why in the world should she want to stop and speak to such
persons as you and me?"
The captain paid no attention to these remarks. "If she doesn't want to
send a telegram, I don't see what she is going to town for in such a
hurry. I suppose she thought she could get there sooner than a man could
go on a horse," he said.
"Telegram!" sneered Miss Port. "It's a great deal easier to send
telegrams from the gap."
"Then it is something worse," he thought. Perhaps she might be running
away, though what in the world she was running from he could not
imagine. Anyway, he must see her; he must find out. When she came back
she must not pass again, and if she did not come back he must go after
her. He ran to the road and put down the bar, calling to old Jane to
come there and keep a sharp lookout. Then he quickly returned to the
house.
"What are you going to do" asked Miss Port. "I never saw a man in such a
fluster."
"If she does not come back very soon," said he, "I shall go to town
after her."
"Then I suppose I might as well be going myself," said she. "And by the
way, captain, if you are going to town, why don't you take a seat in my
carriage? Dear knows me and the boy don't fill it."
But the captain would consider no such invitation. When he met Olive he
did not want Maria Port to be along. He did not answer, and went into
the house to make some change in his attire. Old Jane would not let
Olive pass, and if he met her on the road or in the town he wanted to be
well dressed.
Miss Port still stood in the path by the house door. "That's not what I
call polite," said she, "but he's awful flustered, and I don't mind."
Far from minding, Maria was pleased; it pleased her to know that his
niece's conduct had flustered him. The more that girl flustered him the
better it would be, and she smiled with considerable satisfaction. If
she could get that girl out of the way she believed she would find but
little difficulty in carrying out her scheme to embitter the remainder
of the good captain's life. She did not put it in that way to herself;
but that was the real character of the scheme.
Suddenly an idea struck her. It was of no use for her to stand and wait,
for she knew she would not be able to induce the captain to go with her.
It would be a great thing if she could, for to drive into town with him
by her side would go far to make the people of Glenford understand what
was going to happen. But, if she could not do this, she could do
something else. If she started away immediately she might meet that
Asher girl coming back, and it would be a very fine thing if she could
have an interview with her before she saw her uncle.
She made a quick step toward the house and looked in. The captain was
not visible, but old Jane was standing near the back door of the
tollhouse. The opportunity was not to be lost.
"Good-by, John," said she in a soft tone, but quite loud enough for the
old woman to hear. "I'll go home first, for I've got to see to gettin'
supper ready for you. So good-by, John, for a little while." And she
kissed her hand to the inside of the house.
Then she hurried out of the gate; got into the little phaeton which was
waiting for her under a tree; and drove away. She had come there that
afternoon on the pretense of consulting the captain about her father's
health, which she said disturbed her, and she had requested the
privilege of sitting on the toll-gate piazza because she had always
wanted to sit there, and had never been invited. The captain had not
invited her then, but as she had boldly marched to the piazza and taken
a seat, he had been obliged to follow.
Captain Asher, wearing a good coat and hat, relieved old Jane at her
post, and waited and waited for Olive to come back. He did not for a
moment think she might return by the shunpike, for that was a rough
road, not fit for a bicycle. And if she passed this way once, why should
she object to doing it again?
When more than time enough had elapsed for her return from the town, he
started forth with a heavy heart to follow her. He told old Jane that if
for any reason he should be detained in town until late, he would take
supper with Mr. Port, and if, although he did not expect this, he should
not come back that night, the Ports would know of his whereabouts. He
did not take his horse and buggy because he thought it would be in his
way. If he met Olive in the road he could more easily stop and talk to
her if he were walking than if he had a horse to take care of.
"I hope you're not runnin' after Miss Olive," said old Jane.
The captain did not wish his old servant to imagine that it was
necessary for him to run after his niece, and so he answered rather
quickly: "Of course not." Then he set off toward the town. He did not
walk very fast, for if he met Olive he would rather have a talk with her
on the road than in Glenford.
He walked on and on, not with his eyes on the smooth surface of the
pike, but looking out afar, hoping that he might soon see the figure of
a girl on a bicycle; and thus it was that he passed the entrance to the
shunpike without noticing that a bicycle track turned into it.
Olive struggled on, and the road did not improve. She worked hard with
her body, but still harder with her mind. It seemed to her as though
everything were endeavoring to crush her, and that it was almost
succeeding. If she had been in her own room, seated, or walking the
floor, indignation against her uncle would have given her the same
unnatural vigor and energy which had possessed her when she read her
father's letter; but it is impossible to be angry when one is physically
tired and depressed, and this was Olive's condition now. Once she
dismounted, sat down on a piece of rock, and cried. The rest was of
service to her, but she could not stay there long; the road was too
lonely. She must push on. So on she pressed, sometimes walking, and
sometimes on her wheel, the pedals apparently growing stiffer at every
turn. Slight mishaps she did not mind, but a fear began to grow upon her
that she would never be able to reach Broadstone at all. But after a
time--a very long time it seemed--the road grew more level and smooth;
and then ahead she saw the white surface of the turnpike shining as it
passed the end of her road. When she should emerge on that smooth, hard
road it could not be long, even if she went slowly, before she reached
home. She was still some fifty yards from the pike when she saw a man
upon it, walking southward.
As Dick Lancaster passed the end of the road he lifted his head, and
looked along it. It was strange that he should do so, for since he had
started on his homeward walk he had not raised his eyes from the ground.
He had reached Broadstone soon after luncheon, before Olive had left on
her wheel, and had passed rather a stupid time, playing tennis with
Claude Locker, he had seen but little of Mrs. Easterfield, whose mind
was evidently occupied. Once she had seemed about to take him into her
confidence, but had suddenly excused herself, and had gone into the
house. When the game was finished Locker advised him to go home.
"She is not likely to be down until dinner time," he had said, "and this
evening I'll defend our cause against those other fellows. I have
several good things in my mind that I am sure will interest her, and I
don't believe there's any use courting a girl unless you interest her."
Lancaster had taken the advice, and had left much earlier than was
usual.
_CHAPTER XVI_
_Mr. Lancaster accepts a Mission._
When Dick Lancaster saw Olive he stopped with a start, and then ran
toward her.
"Miss Asher!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here? What is the
matter? You look pale."
When she saw him coming Olive had dismounted, not with the active spring
usual with her, but heavily and clumsily. She did not even smile as she
spoke to him.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Lancaster," she said. "I am on my way back to
Broadstone, and I would like to send a message to my uncle by you."
"Back from where? And why on this road?" he was about to ask, but he
checked himself. He saw that she trembled as she stood.
"Miss Asher," said he, "you must stop and rest. Let me take your wheel
and come over to this bank and sit down."
She sat down in the shade and took off her hat; and for a moment she
quietly enjoyed the cool breeze upon her head. He did not want to annoy
her with questions, but he could not help saying:
"You look very tired."
"I ought to be tired," she answered, "for I have gone over a perfectly
dreadful road. Of course, you wonder why I came this way, and the best
thing for me to do is to begin at the beginning and to tell you all
about it, so that you will know what I have been doing, and then
understand what I would like you to do for me."
So she told him all her tale, and, telling it, seemed to relieve her
mind while her tired body rested. Dick listened with earnest avidity. He
lost not the slightest change in her expression as she spoke. He was
shocked when he heard of her father; he was grieved when he imagined how
she must have felt when the news came to her; he was angry when he heard
of the impertinent glare of Maria Port; and his heart was torn when he
knew of this poor girl's disappointment, of her soul-harrowing
conjectures, of her wearisome and painful progress along that rough
road; of which progress she said but little, although its consequences
he could plainly see. All these things showed themselves upon his
countenance as he gazed upon her and listened, not only with his ears,
but his heart.
"I shall be more than glad," he said, when she had finished, "to carry
any message, or to do anything you want me to do. But I must first
relieve you of one of your troubles. Your uncle has not the slightest
idea of marrying Miss Port. I don't believe he would marry anybody; but,
of all women, not that vulgar creature. Let me assure you, Miss Asher,
that I have heard him talk about her, and I know he has the most
contemptuous opinion of her. I have heard him make fun of her, and I
don't believe he would have anything to do with her if it were not for
her father, who is one of his oldest friends."
She looked at him incredulously. "And yet they were sitting close
together," she said; "so close that at first I did not see her;
apparently talking in the most private manner in a very public place.
They surely looked very much like an engaged couple as I have noticed
them. And old Jane has told me that everybody knows she is trying to
trap him; and surely there is good reason to believe that she has
succeeded."
Dick shook his head. "Impossible, Miss Asher," he said. "He never would
have such a woman. I know him well enough to be absolutely sure of that.
Of course, he treats her kindly, and perhaps he is sociable with her. It
is his nature to be friendly, and he has known her for a long time. But
marry her! Never! I am certain, Miss Asher, he would never do that."
"I wish I could believe it," said she.
"I can easily prove it to you," he said. "I will take your message to
your uncle, I will tell him all you want me to tell him, and then I will
ask him, frankly and plainly, about Miss Port. I do not in the least
object to doing it. I am well enough acquainted with him to know that he
is a frank, plain man. I am sure he will be much amused at your
supposition, and angry, too, when I tell him of the way that woman
looked at you and so prevented you from stopping when you had come
expressly to see him. Then I will immediately come to Broadstone to
relieve your mind in regard to the Maria Port business, and to bring
you whatever message your uncle has to send you."
"No, no," said Olive, "you must not do that. It would be too much to
come back to-day. You have relieved my mind somewhat about that woman,
and I am perfectly willing to wait until to-morrow, when you can tell me
exactly how everything is, and let me know when my uncle would like me
to come and see him. I think it will be better next time not to take him
by surprise. But I would be very, very grateful to you, Mr, Lancaster,
if you would come as early in the morning as you can. I can wait very
well until then, now that my mind is easier, but I am afraid that when
to-morrow begins I shall be very impatient. My troubles are always worse
in the morning. But you must not walk. My uncle has a horse and buggy.
But perhaps it would be better to let Mrs. Easterfield send for you. I
know she will be glad to do it."
Dick assured her that he did not wish to be sent for; that he would
borrow the captain's horse, and would be at Broadstone as early as was
proper to make a visit.
"Proper!" exclaimed Olive. "In a case like this any time is proper. In
Mrs. Easterfield's name I invite you to breakfast. I know she will be
glad to have me do it. And now I must go on. You are very, very good,
and I am very grateful."
Dick could not say that he was more grateful for being allowed to help
her than she could possibly be for being helped, but his face showed it,
and if she had looked at him she would have known it.
"Miss Asher," he exclaimed as she rose, "your skirt is covered with
dust. You must have fallen."
"I did have one fall," she said, "but I was so worried I did not mind."
"But you can not go back in that plight," he said; "let me dust your
skirt." And breaking a little branch from a bush, he proceeded to make
her look presentable. "And now," said he, when she had complimented him
upon his skill, "I will walk with you to the entrance of the grounds.
Perhaps as you are so tired," he said hesitatingly, "I can help you
along, so that you will not have to work so hard yourself."
"Oh, no," she answered; "that is not at all necessary. When I am on the
turnpike I can go beautifully. I feel ever so much rested and stronger,
and it is all due to you. So you see, although you will not go with me,
you will help me very much." And she smiled as she spoke. He truly had
helped her very much.
Dick was unwilling that she should go on alone, although it was still
broad daylight and there was no possible danger, and he was also
unwilling because he wanted to go with her, but there was no use saying
anything or thinking anything, and so he stood and watched her rolling
along until she had passed the top of a little hill, and had departed
from his view. Then he ran to the top of the little hill, and watched
her until she was entirely out of sight.
The rest of the way to the toll-gate seemed very short to Dick, but he
had time enough to make up his mind that he would see the captain at the
earliest possible moment; that he would deliver his message and the
letter of Lieutenant Asher; that he would immediately bring up the
matter of Maria Port and let the captain know the mischief that woman
had done. Then, armed with the assurances the captain would give him, he
would start for Broadstone after supper, and carry the good news to
Olive. It would be a shame to let that dear girl remain in suspense for
the whole night, when he, by riding, or even walking an inconsiderable
number of miles, could relieve her. He found old Jane in the tollhouse.
"Where is the captain" he asked.
"The captain?" she repeated. "He's in town takin' supper with his
sweetheart."
Dick stared at her.
"Perhaps you haven't heard that he's engaged to Maria Port," said the
woman; "and I don't wonder you're taken back! But I suppose everybody
will soon know it now, and the sooner the better, I say."
"What are you talking about" exclaimed Dick. "You don't mean to tell me
that the captain is going to marry Miss Port?"
"Whether he wants to or not, he's gone so far he'll have to. I've knowed
for a long time she's been after him, but I didn't think she'd catch him
just yet."
"I don't believe it." cried Dick. "It must be a mistake! How do you know
it?"
"Know!" said old Jane, who, ordinarily a taciturn woman, was now excited
and inclined to volubility. "Don't you suppose I've got eyes and ears?
Didn't I see them for ever and ever so long sittin' out on this piazza,
where everybody could see 'em, a-spoonin' like a couple of young people?
And didn't I see 'em tearin' themselves asunder as if they couldn't
bear to be apart for an hour? And didn't I hear her tell him she was
goin' home to get an extry good supper for him? And didn't I hear her
call him 'dear John,' and kiss her hand to him. And if you don't believe
me you can go into the kitchen and ask Mary; she heard the 'dear John'
and saw the hand-kissin'. And then didn't he tell me he was goin' to the
Ports' to supper, and if he stayed late and anybody asked for
him--meaning you, most probable, and I think he might have left
somethin' more of a message for you--that he was to be found with the
Ports--with Maria most likely, for the old man goes to bed early?"
Dick made no answer; he was standing motionless looking out upon the
flowers in the garden.
"And perhaps you haven't heard of Miss Olive comin' past on a bicycle,"
old Jane remarked. "I saw her comin', and I knew by the look on her face
that it made her sick to see that woman sittin' here, and I don't blame
her a bit. When he started so early for town I thought he might be
intendin' to look for her, and yet be in time for the Ports' supper, but
she didn't come back this way at all, and I expect she went home by the
shunpike."
"Which she did," said Dick, showing by this remark that he was listening
to what the old woman was saying.
"But he cut me mighty short when I asked him," continued old Jane. "I
tried to ease his mind, but as I found his mind didn't need no easin', I
minded my own business, just as he was mindin' his. And now, sir, you'll
have to eat your supper alone this time."
If Dick's supper had consisted of nectar and the brains of nightingales
he would not have noticed it; and, until late in the evening, he sat in
the arbor, anxiously waiting for the captain's return. About ten o'clock
old Jane, sleepy from having sat up so long, called to him from the door
that he might as well come in and let her lock up the house. The captain
was not coming home that night. He had stayed with the Ports once
before, when the old man was sick.
"I guess he's got a better reason for stayin' tonight," she said. "It'll
be a great card for that Maria when the Glenford people knows it, and
they'll know it you may be sure, if she has to go and walk the soles of
her feet off tellin' them. One thing's mighty sure," she continued. "I'm
not goin' to stay here with her in the house. He'll have to get somebody
else to help him take toll. But I guess she'll want to do that herself.
Nothin' would suit her better than to be sittin' all day in the
tollhouse talkin' scandal to everybody that goes by."