_CHAPTER XVII_

_Dick is not a Prompt Bearer of News._

When the captain reached Glenford, and before he went to the Ports' he

went to the telegraph-office, and made inquiries at various other

places, but his niece had not been seen in town. He wandered about so

long and asked so many questions that it was getting dark when he

suddenly thought of the shunpike. He had not thought of it before, for

it was an unfit road for bicycles, but now he saw that he had been a

fool. That was the only way she could have gone back.

Hurrying to a livery-stable, he hired a horse and buggy and a lantern,

and drove to the shunpike. There he plainly saw the track of the bicycle

as it had turned into that rough road. Then he drove on, examining every

foot of the way, fearful that he might see, lying senseless by the side

of the road, the figure of a girl, perhaps unconscious from fatigue,

perhaps dead from an accident.

When at last he emerged upon the turnpike he lost the track of the

bicycle, but still he went on, all the way to Broadstone; a girl might

be lying senseless by the side of the road, even on the pike, which at

this time was not much frequented. Thus assuring himself that Olive had

reached Broadstone in safety, or at least had not fallen by the way, he

turned and drove back to town upon the pike, passing his own toll-gate,

where the bar was always up after dark. He had promised to return the

horse that night, and, as he had promised, he intended to do it. It was

after nine o'clock when, returning from the livery-stable, he reached

the Port house, and saw Maria sitting in the open doorway.

She instantly ran out to meet him, asking him somewhat sharply why he

had disappointed them. She had kept the supper waiting ever so long. He

went in to see her father, who was sitting up for him, and she busied

herself in getting him a fresh supper. Nice and hot the supper was, and

although his answers to her questions had not been satisfactory, she

concealed her resentment, if she had any. When the meal was over both

father and daughter assured him that it was too late for him to go home

that night, and that he must stay with them. Tired and troubled, Captain

Asher accepted the invitation.

As soon as he could get away from the Port residence the next morning

Captain Asher went home. He had hoped he would have been able to leave

before breakfast, but the solicitous Maria would not listen to this. She

prepared him a most tempting breakfast, cooking some of the things with

her own hands, and she was so attentive, so anxious to please, so kind

in her suggestions, and in every way so desirous to make him happy

through the medium of savory food and tender-hearted concern, that she

almost made him angry. Never before, he thought, had he seen a woman

make such a coddling fool of herself. He knew very well what it meant,

and that provoked him still more.

When at last he got away he walked home in a bad humor; he was even

annoyed with Olive. Granting that what she had done was natural enough

under the circumstances, and that she had not wished to stop when she

saw him in company with a woman she did not like, he thought she might

have considered him as well as herself. She should have known that it

would give him great trouble for her to dash by in that way and neither

stop nor come back to explain matters. She must have known that Maria

Port was not going to stay always, and she might have waited somewhere

until the woman had gone. If she had had the least idea of how much he

wanted to see her she would have contrived some way to come back to him.

But no, she went back to Broadstone to please herself, and left him to

wander up and down the roads looking for her in the dark.

When the captain met old Jane at the door of the tollhouse her

salutation did not smooth his ruffled spirits, for she told him that she

and Mr. Lancaster had sat up until nearly the middle of the night

waiting for him, and that the poor young man must have felt it, for he

had not eaten half a breakfast.

The captain paid but little attention to these remarks and passed in,

but before he crossed the garden he met Dick, who informed him that he

had something very important to communicate. Important communications

that must be delivered without a moment's loss of time are generally

unpleasant, and knowing this, the captain knit his brows a little, but

told Dick he would be ready for him as soon as he lighted his pipe. He

felt he must have something to soothe his ruffled spirits while he

listened to the tale of the woes of some one else.

But at the moment he scratched his match to light his pipe his soul was

illuminated by a flash of joy; perhaps Dick was going to tell him he was

engaged to Olive; perhaps that was what she had come to tell him the day

before. He had not expected to hear anything of this kind, at least not

so soon, but it had been the wish of his heart--he now knew that without

appreciating the fact--it had been the earnest wish of his heart for

some time, and he stepped toward the little arbor with the alacrity of

happy anticipation.

As soon as they were seated Dick began to speak of Olive, but not in the

way the captain had hoped for. He mentioned the great trouble into which

she had been plunged, and gave the captain his brother's letter to read.

When he had finished it the captain's face darkened, and his frown was

heavy.

"An outrageous piece of business," he said, "to treat a daughter in this

way; to put a schoolmate over her head in the family! It is shameful!

And this is what she was coming to tell me?"

"Yes," said Dick, "that is it."

Now there was another flash of joy in the captain's heart, which cleared

up his countenance and made his frown disappear. "She was coming to me,"

he thought. "I was the one to whom she turned in her trouble." And it

seemed to this good captain as if he had suddenly become the father of a

grown-up daughter.

"But what message did she send me?" he asked quickly. "Did she say when

she was coming again?"

Dick hesitated; Olive had said that she wanted her uncle to say when he

wanted to see her, so that there should be no more surprising, but this

request had been conditional. Dick knew that she did not want to come if

her uncle were going to marry Miss Port; therefore it was that he

hesitated.

"Before we go any further," he said, "I think I would better mention a

little thing which will make you laugh, but still it did worry Miss

Asher, and was one reason why she went back to Broadstone without

stopping."

"What is it" asked the captain, putting down his pipe.

Dick did not come out plainly and frankly, as he had told Olive he would

do when he mentioned the Maria Port matter. In his own heart he could

not help believing now that Olive's suspicions had had good foundations,

and old Jane's announcements, combined with the captain's own actions in

regard to the Port family, had almost convinced him that this miserable

engagement was a fact. But, of course, he would not in any way intimate

to the captain that he believed in such nonsense, and therefore, in an

offhand manner, he mentioned Olive's absurd anxiety in regard to Miss

Port.

When the captain heard Dick's statement he answered it in the most frank

and plain manner; he brought his big hand down on his knee and swore as

if one of his crew had boldly contradicted him. He did not swear at

anybody in particular; there was the roar and the crash of the thunder

and the flash of the lightning, but no direct stroke descended upon any

one. He was angry that such a repulsive and offensive thing as his

marriage to Maria Port should be mentioned, or even thought of, but he

was enraged when he heard that his niece had believed him capable of

such disgusting insanity. With a jerk he rose to his feet.

"I will not talk about such a thing as this," he said. "If I did I am

sure I should say something hard about my niece, and I don't want to do

that." With this he strode away, and proceeded to look after the

concerns of his little farm.

Old Jane came cautiously to Dick. "Did he tell you when it was going to

be, or anything about it?" she asked.

"No," said Dick, "he would not even speak of it."

"I suppose he expects us to mind our own business," said she, "and of

course we'll have to do it, but I can tell him one thing--I'm goin' to

make it my business to leave this place the day before that woman comes

here."

Dejected and thoughtful, Dick sat in the arbor. Here was a state of

affairs very different from what he had anticipated. He had not been

able to hurry to her the evening before; he had not gone to breakfast as

she had invited him; he had not started off early in the forenoon; and

now he asked himself when should he go, or, indeed, why should he go at

all? She had no anxieties he could relieve. Anything he could tell her

would only heap more unhappiness upon her, and the longer he could keep

his news from her the better it would be for her.

Olive had not joined the Broadstone party at dinner the night before.

She had been too tired, and had gone directly to her room, where, after

a time, Mrs. Easterfield joined her; and the two talked late. One who

had overheard their conversation might well have supposed that the elder

lady was as much interested in Lieutenant Asher's approaching nuptials

as was the younger one. When she was leaving Mrs. Easterfield said:

"You have enough on your mind to give it all the trouble it ought to

bear, and so I beg of you not to think for a moment of that absurd idea

about your uncle's engagement. I never saw the woman, but I have heard

of her; she is a professional scandal-monger; and Captain Asher would

not think for a moment of marrying her. When Mr. Lancaster comes

to-morrow you will hear that she was merely consulting him on business,

and that you are to go to the toll-gate to-morrow as soon as you can.

But remember, this time I am going to send you in the carriage. No more

bicycles."

In spite of this well-intentioned admonition, Olive did not sleep well,

and dreamed all night of Miss Port in the shape of a great cat covered

with feathers like a chicken, and trying to get a chance to jump at her.

Very early she awoke, and looking at her clock, she began to calculate

the hours which must pass before Mr. Lancaster could arrive. It was

rather strange that of the two troubles which came to her as soon as she

opened her eyes, the suspected engagement of her uncle pushed itself in

front of the actual engagement of her father; the one was something she

_knew_ she would have to make up her mind to bear; the other was

something she _feared_ she would have to make up her mind to bear.

_CHAPTER XVIII_

_What Olive determined to do._

Olive was very much disappointed at breakfast time, and as soon as she

had finished that meal she stationed herself at a point on the grounds

which commanded the entrance. People came and talked to her, but she did

not encourage conversation, and about eleven o'clock she went to Mrs.

Easterfield in her room.

"He is not coming," she said. "He is afraid."

"What is he afraid of?" asked Mrs. Easterfield.

"He is afraid to tell me that the optimistic speculations with which he

tried to soothe my mind arose entirely from his own imagination. The

whole thing is exactly what I expected, and he hasn't the courage to

come and say so. Now, really, don't you think this is the state of the

case, and that if he had anything but the worst news to bring me he

would have been here long ago?"

Mrs. Easterfield looked very serious. "I would not give up," she said,

"until I saw Mr. Lancaster and heard what he has to say."

"That would not suit me," said Olive. "I have waited and waited just as

long as I can. It is as likely as not that he has concluded that he can

not do anything here which will be of service to any one, and has

started off to finish his vacation at some place where people won't

bother him with their own affairs. He told me when I first met him that

he was on his way North. And now, would you like me to tell you what I

have determined to do?"

"I would," said Mrs. Easterfield, but her expression did not indicate

that she expected Olive's announcement to give her any pleasure.

"I have been considering it all the morning," said Olive, "and I have

determined to marry without delay. The greatest object of my life at

present is to write to my father that I am married. I don't wish to tell

him anything until I can tell him that. I would also be glad to be able

to send the same message to the toll-gate house, but I don't suppose it

will make much difference there."

"Do you think," said Mrs. Easterfield, "that my inviting you here made

all this trouble?"

"No," said Olive. "It was not the immediate cause, but uncle knows I do

not like that woman, and she doesn't like me, and it would not have

suited him to have me stay very much longer with him. I thought at first

he was glad to have me go on account of Mr. Lancaster, but now I do not

believe that had anything to do with it. He did not want me with him,

and what that woman came here and told me about his not expecting me

back again was, I now believe, a roundabout message from him."

"Now, Olive," said Mrs. Easterfield, "it would be a great deal better

for you to stop all this imagining until you hear from Mr. Lancaster,

if you don't see him. Perhaps the poor young man has sprained his ankle,

or was prevented in some ordinary way from coming. But what is this

nonsense about getting married?"

"There is no nonsense about it," said Olive. "I am going to marry, but I

have not chosen any one yet."

Mrs. Easterfield uttered an exclamation of horror. "Choose!" she

exclaimed. "What have you to do with choosing? I don't think you are

much like other girls, but I did think you had enough womanly qualities

to make you wait until you are chosen."

"I intend to wait until I am chosen," said Olive, "but I shall choose

the person who is to choose me. I have always thought it absurd for a

young woman to sit and wait and wait until some one comes and sees fit

to propose to her. Even under ordinary circumstances, I think the young

woman has not a fair chance to get what she wants. But my case is

extraordinary, and I can't afford to wait; and as I don't want to go out

into the world to look for a husband, I am going to take one of these

young men here."

"Olive," cried Mrs. Easterfield, "you don't mean you are going to marry

Mr. Locker?"

"You forget," said Olive, "that I told you I have not made up my mind

yet. But although I have not come to a decision, I have a leaning toward

one of them. The more I think of it the more I incline in the direction

of my old love."

"Mr. Hemphill!" exclaimed Mrs. Easterfield. "Olive, you are crazy, or

else you are joking in a very disagreeable manner. There could be no

one more unfit for you than he is."

"I am not crazy, and I am not joking," replied the girl, "and I think

Rupert would suit me very well. You see, I think a great deal more of

Rupert than I do of Mr. Hemphill, although the latter gentleman has

excellent points. He is commonplace, and, above everything else, I want

a commonplace husband. I want some one to soothe me, and quiet me, and

to give me ballast. If there is anything out of the way to be done I

want to do it myself. I am sure he is in love with me, for his anxious

efforts to make me believe that the frank avowal of my early affection

had no effect upon him proves that he was very much affected. I believe

that he is truly in love with me."

Mrs. Easterfield's sharp eyes had seen this, and she had nothing to say.

"I believe," continued Olive, "that a retrospect love will be a better

foundation for conjugal happiness than any other sort of affection. One

can always look back to it no matter what happens, and be happy in the

memory of it. It would be something distinct which could never be

interfered with. You can't imagine what an earnest and absorbing love I

once had for that man!"

Mrs. Easterfield sprang to her feet. "Olive Asher," she cried, "I can't

listen to you if you talk in this way!"

"Well, then," said Olive, "if you object so much to Rupert--you must not

forget that it would be Rupert that I would really marry if I became the

wife of Mr. Hemphill--do you advise me to take Mr. Locker? And I will

tell you this, he is not to be rudely set aside; he has warm-hearted

points which I did not suspect at first. I will tell you what he just

said to me. As I was coming up-stairs he hurried toward me, and his face

showed that he was very anxious to speak to me. So before he could utter

a word, I told him that he was too early; that his hour had not yet

arrived. Then that good fellow said to me that he had seen I was in

trouble, and that he had been informed it had been caused by bad news

from my family. He had made no inquiries because he did not wish to

intrude upon my private affairs, and all he wished to say now was that

while my mind was disturbed and worried he did not intend to present his

own affairs to my attention, even though I had fixed regular times for

his doing so. But although he wished me to understand that I need not

fear his making love to me just at this time, he wanted me to remember

that his love was still burning as brightly as ever, and would be again

offered me just as soon as he would be warranted in doing so."

"And what did you say to that?" asked Mrs. Easterfield.

"I felt like patting him on the head," Olive answered, "but instead of

doing that I shook his hand just as warmly as I could, and told him I

should not forget his consideration and good feeling."

Mrs. Easterfield sighed. "You have joined him fast to your car," she

said, "and yet, even if there were no one else, he would be impossible."

"Why so?" asked Olive quickly. "I have always liked him, and now I like

him ever so much better. To be sure he is queer; but then he is so much

queerer than I am that perhaps in comparison I might take up the part

of commonplace partner. Besides, he has money enough to live on. He told

me that when he first addressed me. He said he would never ask any woman

to live on pickled verse feet, and he has also told me something of his

family, which must be a good one."

"Olive," said Mrs. Easterfield, "I don't believe at all in the necessity

or the sense in your precipitating plans of marrying. It is all airy

talk, anyway. You can't ask a man to step up and marry you in order that

you may sit down and write a letter to your father. But if you are

thinking of marrying, or rather of preparing to marry at some suitable

time, why, in the name of everything that is reasonable, don't you take

Mr. Lancaster? He is as far above the other young men you have met here

as the mountains are above the plains; he belongs to another class

altogether. He is a thoroughly fine young man, and has a most honorable

profession with good prospects, and I know he loves you. You need not

ask me how I know it--it is always easy for a woman to find out things

like that. Now, here is a prospective husband for you whose cause I

should advocate. In fact, I should be delighted to see you married to

him. He possesses every quality which would make you a good husband."

Olive smiled. "You seem to know a great deal about him," said she, "and

I assure you that so far as he himself is concerned, I have no

objections to him, except that I think he might have had the courage to

come and tell me the truth this morning, whatever it is."

"Perhaps he has not found out the truth yet," quickly suggested Mrs.

Easterfield.

Olive fixed her eyes upon her companion and for a few moments reflected,

but presently she shook her head.

"No, that can not be," she answered. "He would have let me know he had

been obliged to wait. Oh, no, it is all settled, and we can drop that

subject. But as for Mr. Lancaster, his connections would make any

thought of him impossible. He, and his father, too, are both close

friends of my uncle, and he would be a constant communication between me

and that woman unless there should be a quarrel, which I don't wish to

cause. No, I want to leave everything of that sort as far behind me as

it used to be in front of me, and as Professor Lancaster is mixed up

with it I could not think of having anything to do with him."

Mrs. Easterfield was silent. She was trying to make up her mind whether

this girl were talking sense or nonsense. What she said seemed to be

extremely nonsensical, but as she said it, it was difficult to believe

that she did not consider it to be entirely rational.

"Well," said Olive, "you have objected to two of my candidates, and I

positively decline the one you offer, so we have left only the diplomat.

He has proposed, and he has not yet received a definite answer. You have

told me yourself that he belongs to an aristocratic family in Austria,

and I am sure that would be a grand match. We have talked together a

great deal, and he seems to like the things I like. I should see plenty

of court life and high society, for he will soon be transferred from

this legation, and if I take him I shall go to some foreign capital. He

is very sharp and ambitious, and I have no doubt that some day he will

be looked upon as a distinguished foreigner. Now, as it is the ambition

of many American girls to marry distinguished foreigners, this alliance

is certainly worthy of due consideration."

"Stuff!" said Mrs. Easterfield.

Olive was not annoyed, and replied very quietly: "It is not stuff. You

must know young women who have married foreigners and who did not do

anything like so well as if they had married rising diplomats."

Mrs. Blynn now knocked at the door on urgent household business.

"I shall want to see you again about all this, Olive," said Mrs.

Easterfield as they parted.

"Of course," replied the girl, "whenever you want to."

"Mrs. Blynn," said the lady of the house, "before you mention what you

have come to talk about, please tell one of the men to put a horse to a

buggy and come to the house. I want to send a message by him."

The letter which was speedily on its way to Mr. Richard Lancaster was a

very brief one. It simply asked the young gentleman to come to

Broadstone, with bad news or good news, or without any news at all. It

was absolutely necessary that the writer should see him, and in order

that there might be no delay she sent a conveyance for him. Moreover,

she added, it would give her great pleasure if Mr. Lancaster would come

prepared to spend a couple of days at her house. She felt sure good

Captain Asher would spare him for that short time. She believed that at

this moment more gentlemen were needed at Broadstone, and, although she

did not go on to say that she thought Dick was not having a fair chance

at this very important crisis, that is what she expected the young man

to understand.

Just before luncheon, at the time when Claude Locker might have been

urging his suit had he been less kind-hearted and generous, Olive found

an opportunity to say a few words to Mrs. Easterfield.

"A capital idea has come into my head," she said. "What do you think of

holding a competitive examination among these young men?"

"More stuff, and more nonsense!" ejaculated Mrs. Easterfield. "I never

knew any one to trifle with serious subjects as you are trifling with

your future."

"I am not trifling," said Olive. "Of course, I don't mean that I should

hold an examination, but that you should. You know that parents--foreign

parents, I mean--make all sorts of examinations of the qualifications

and merits of candidates for the hands of their daughters, and I should

be very grateful if you would be at least that much of a mother to me."

"No examination would be needed," said the other quickly; "I should

decide upon Mr. Lancaster without the necessity of any questions or

deliberations."

"But he is not a candidate," said Olive; "he has been ruled out.

However," she added with a little laugh, "nothing can be done just now,

for they have not all entered themselves in the competition; Mr.

Hemphill has not proposed yet."

At that instant the rest of the family joined them on their way to

luncheon.

The meal was scarcely over when Olive disappeared up-stairs, but soon

came down attired in a blue sailor suit, which she had not before worn

at Broadstone, and although the ladies of that house had been astonished

at the number of costumes this navy girl carried in her unostentatious

baggage, this was a new surprise to them.

"Mr. Hemphill and I are going boating," said Olive to Mrs. Easterfield.

"Olive!" exclaimed the other.

"What is there astonishing about it?" asked the girl. "I have been out

boating with Mr. Locker, and it did not amaze you. You need not be

afraid; Mr. Hemphill says he has had a good deal of practise in rowing,

and if he does not understand the management of a boat I am sure I do.

It is only for an hour, and we shall be ready for anything that the rest

of you are going to do this afternoon."

With this, away she went, skipping over the rocks and grass, down to the

river's edge, followed by Mr. Hemphill, who could scarcely believe he

was in a world of common people and common things, while he, in turn,

was followed by the mental anathemas of a poet and a diplomat.

_CHAPTER XIX_

_The Captain and Dick Lancaster desert the Toll-Gate._

When Captain Asher, in an angry mood, left his young friend and guest

and went out into his barnyard and his fields in order to quiet his soul

by the consideration of agricultural subjects, he met with but little

success. He looked at his pigs, but he did not notice their plump

condition; he glanced at his two cows, cropping the grass in the little

meadow, but it did not impress him that they also were in fine

condition; nor did he care whether the pasture were good or not. He

looked at this; and he looked at that; and then he folded his arms and

looked at the distant mountains. Suddenly he turned on his heel, walked

straight to the stable, harnessed his mare to the buggy, and, without

saying a word to anybody, drove out of the gate, and on to Glenford.

Dick Lancaster, who was in the arbor, looked in amazement after the

captain's departing buggy, and old Jane, with tears in her eyes, came

out and spoke to him.

"Isn't this dreadful" she said to him. "Supper with that woman and there

all night, and back again as soon as he can get off this mornin'!"

"Perhaps he is not going to her house," Dick suggested. "He may have

business in town which he forgot yesterday."

"If he'd had it he'd forgot it," replied the old woman. "But he hadn't

none. He's gone to Maria Port's, and he may bring her back with him,

married tight and fast, for all you or me knows. It would be just like

his sailor fashion. When the captain's got anything to do he just does

it sharp and quick."

"I don't believe that," said Dick. "If he had had any such intention as

that he certainly would have mentioned it to you or to me."

The good woman shook her head. "When an old man marries a girl," she

said, "she just leads him wherever she wants him to go, and he gives up

everything to her, and when an old man marries a tough and seasoned and

smoked old maid like Maria Port, she just drives him wherever she wants

him to go, and he hasn't nothin' to say about it. It looks as if she

told him to come in this mornin', and he's gone. It may be for a

weddin', or it may be for somethin' else, but whatever it is, it'll be

her way and not his straight on to the end of the chapter."

Dick had nothing to answer. He was very much afraid that old Jane knew

what she was talking about, and his mind was occupied with trying to

decide what he, individually, ought to do about it. Old Jane was now

obliged to go to the toll-gate to attend to a traveler, but when she

came back she took occasion to say a few more words.

"It's hard on me, sir," she said, "at my age to make a change. I've

lived at this house, and I've took toll at that gate ever since I was a

girl, long before the captain came here, and I've been with him a long

time. My people used to own this house, but they all died, and when the

place was sold and the captain bought it, he heard about me, and he said

I should always have charge of the old toll-gate when he wasn't

attendin' to it himself, just the same as when my father was alive and

was toll-gate keeper, and I was helpin' him. But I've got to go now, and

where I'm goin' to is more'n I know. But I'd rather go to the county

poorhouse than stay here, or anywhere else, with Maria Port. She's a

regular boa-constrictor, that woman is! She's twisted herself around

people before this and squeezed the senses out of them; and that's

exactly what she's doin' with the captain. If she could come here to

live and bring her old father, and get him to sell the house in town and

put the money in bank, and then if she could worry her husband and her

father both to death, and work things so she'd be a widow with plenty of

money and a good house and as much farm land as she wanted, and a

toll-gate where she could set all day and take toll and give back lies

and false witness as change, she'd be the happiest woman on earth."

It had been long since old Jane had said as much at any one time to any

one person, but her mind was stirred. Her life was about to change, and

the future was very black to her.

When dinner was ready the captain had not yet returned, and Dick ate his

meal by himself. He was now beginning to feel used to this sort of

thing. He had scarcely finished, and gone down to the garden-gate to

look once more over the road toward Glenford, when the man in the buggy

arrived, and he received Mrs. Easterfield's letter.

He lost no moments in making up his mind. He would go to Broadstone, of

course, and he did not think it at all necessary to stand on ceremony

with the captain. The latter had gone off and left him without making

any statement whatever, but he would do better, and he wrote a note

explaining the state of affairs. As he was leaving old Jane came to bid

him good-by.

"I don't know," said she, "that you will find me here when you come

back. The fact of it is I don't know nothin'. But one thing's certain,

if she's here I ain't, and if she's too high and mighty to take toll in

her honeymoon, the captain'll have to do it himself, or let 'em pass

through free."

Mrs. Easterfield was on the lawn when Lancaster arrived, and in answer

to the involuntary glance with which Dick's eyes swept the surrounding

space, even while he was shaking hands with her, she said: "No, she is

not here. She has gone boating, and so you must come and tell me

everything, and then we can decide what is best to tell her."

For an instant Dick's soul demurred. If he told Olive anything he would

tell her all he knew, and exactly what had happened. But he would not

lose faith in this noble woman who was going to help him with Olive if

she could. So they sat down, side by side, and he told her everything he

knew about Captain Asher and Miss Port.

"It does look very much as if he were going to marry the woman," said

Mrs. Easterfield. Then she sat silent and looked upon the ground, a

frown upon her face.

Dick was also silent, and his countenance was clouded. "Poor Olive," he

thought, "it is hard that this new trouble should come upon her just at

this time."

But Mrs. Easterfield said in her heart: "Poor fellow, how little you

know what has come upon you! The woman who has turned her uncle from

Olive has turned Olive from you."

"Well," said the lady at length, "do you think it is worth while to say

anything to her about it? She has already surmised the state of affairs,

and, so far as I can see, you have nothing of importance to tell her."

"Perhaps not," said Dick, "but as she sent me on a mission I want to

make known to her the result of it so far as there has been any result.

It will be very unpleasant, of course--it will be even painful--but I

wish to do it all the same."

"That is to say," said Mrs. Easterfield with a smile that was not very

cheerful, "you want to be with her, to look at her and to speak to her,

no matter how much it may pain her or you to do it."

"That's it," answered Dick.

Mrs. Easterfield sat and reflected. She very much liked this young man,

and, considering herself as his friend, were there not some things she

ought to tell him? She concluded that there were such things.

"Mr. Lancaster," she said, "have you noticed that there are other young

men in love with Miss Asher?"

"I know there is one," said Dick, "for he told me so himself."

"That was Claude Locker?" said she with interest.

"And he promised," continued Dick, "that if he failed he would do all he

could to help me. I can not say that this is really for love of me, for

his avowed object is to prevent Mr. Du Brant from getting her. We

assumed that he was her lover, although I do not know that there is any

real ground for it."

"There is very good ground for it," said she, "for he has already

proposed to her. What do you think of that?"

"It makes no difference to me," said Dick; "that is, if he has not been

accepted. What I want is to find myself warranted in telling Miss Asher

how I feel toward her; it does not matter to me how the rest of the

world feels."

"Then there is another," said Mrs. Easterfield, "with whom she is now on

the river--Mr. Hemphill. He is in love with her; and as he can not stay

here very long, I think he will soon propose."

"I can not help it," said Dick; "I love her, and the great object of my

life just at present is to tell her so. You said you would help me, and

I hope you will not withdraw from that promise."

"No, indeed," said she, "but I do not know her as well as I thought I

did. But here she comes now, and without the young man. I hope she has

not drowned him!"

Without heeding anything that had just been said to him Dick kept his

eyes fixed upon the sparkling girl who now approached them. Every step

she made was another link in his chain; Mrs. Easterfield glanced at him

and knew this. She pitied him for what he had to tell her now, and more

for what he might have to hear from her at another time. But Olive saved

Dick from any present ordeal. She stepped up to him and offered him her

hand.

"I do not wonder, Mr. Lancaster," she said, "that you did not want to

come back and tell me your doleful story, but as I know what it is, we

need not say anything about it now, except that I am ever so much

obliged to you for all your kindness to me. And now I am going to ask

another favor. Won't you let me speak to Mrs. Easterfield a few

moments?"

As soon as they were seated, with the door shut, Olive began.

"Well," said she, "he has proposed."

"Mr. Hemphill!" exclaimed Mrs. Easterfield.

"Rupert," Olive answered, "yes, it is truly Rupert who proposed to me."

"I declare," cried Mrs. Easterfield, "you come to me and tell me this as

if it were a piece of glad news. Yesterday, and even this morning, you

were plunged in grief, and now your eyes shine as if you were positively

happy."

"I have told you my aim and object in life," said the girl. "I am trying

to do something, and to do it soon, and everything is going on smoothly.

And as to being happy, I tell you, Mrs. Easterfield, there is no woman

alive who could help being made happy by such a declaration as I have

just received. No matter what answer she gave him, she would be bound

to be happy."

"Most other women would not have let him make it," said Mrs. Easterfield

a little severely.

"There is something in that," said Olive, "but they would not have the

object in life I have. I may be unduly exalted, but you would not wonder

at it if you had seen him and heard him. Mrs. Easterfield, that man

loves me exactly as I used to love him, and he has told me his love just

as I would have told him mine if I could have carried out the wish of my

heart. His eyes glowed, his frame shook with the ardor of his passion.

Two or three times I had to tell him that if he did not trim boat we

should be upset. I never saw anything like his impassioned vehemence. It

reminded me of Salvini. I never was loved like that before."

"And what answer did you make to him?" asked Mrs. Easterfield, her voice

trembling.

"I did not make him any. It would not have been fair to the others or to

myself to do that. I shall not swerve from my purpose, but I shall not

be rash."

Mrs. Easterfield rose suddenly and stepped to the open window; she could

not sit still a moment longer; she needed air. "Olive," she said, "this

is mad and wicked folly in you, and it is impertinent in him, no matter

how much you encouraged him. I would like to send him back to his desk

this minute. He has no right to come to his employer's house and behave

in this manner."

Olive did not get angry. "He is not impertinent," said she. "He knows

nothing in this world but that I once loved him, and that now he loves

me. Employer and employee are nothing to him. I don't believe he would

go if you told him to, even if you could do such a thing, which I don't

believe you would, for, of course, you would think of me as well as of

him."

"Olive Asher," cried Mrs. Easterfield in a voice which was almost a

wail, "do you mean to say that you are to be considered in this matter,

that for a moment you think of marrying this man?"

"Yes," said Olive; "I do think of it, and the more I think of it the

better I think of it. He is a good man; you have told me that yourself;

and I can feel that he is good. I know he loves me. There can be no

mistake about his words and his eyes. I feel as I never felt toward any

other man, that I might become attached to him. And in my opinion a real

attachment is the foundation of love, and you must never forget that I

once loved him." The girl now stepped close to Mrs. Easterfield. "I am

sorry to see those tears," she said; "I did not come here to make you

unhappy."

"But you have made me very unhappy," said the elder lady, "and I do not

think I can talk any more about this now."

When Olive had gone Mrs. Easterfield hurried down-stairs in search of

Lancaster. She did not care what any one might think of her

unconventional eagerness; she wanted to find him, and she soon

succeeded. He was sitting in the shade with a book, which, when she

approached him, she did not believe he was reading.

"Yes," said she, as he started to his feet in evident concern, "I have

been crying, and there is no use in trying to conceal it. Of course, it

is about Olive, but I can not confide in you now, and I do not know that

I have any right to do so, anyway. But I came here to beg you most

earnestly not to propose to Miss Asher, no matter how good an

opportunity you may have, no matter how much you want to do so, no

matter how much hope may spring up in your heart."

"Do you mean," said Dick, "that I must never speak to her? Am I too

late? Is she lost to me?"

"Not at all," said she, "you are not too late, but you may be too early.

She is not lost to anybody, but if you should speak to her before I tell

you to she will certainly be lost to you."

_CHAPTER XX_

_Mr. Locker determines to rush the Enemy's Position._

The party at Broadstone was not in what might be called a congenial

condition. There were among them elements of unrest which prevented that

assimilation which is necessary to social enjoyment. Even the ordinarily

placid Mr. Fox was dissatisfied. The trouble with him was--although he

did not admit it--that he missed the company of Miss Asher. He had found

her most agreeable and inspiriting, but now things had changed, and he

did not seem to have any opportunity for the lively chats of a few days

before. He remarked to his wife that he thought Broadstone was getting

very dull, and he should be rather glad when the time came for them to

leave. Mrs. Fox was not of his opinion; she enjoyed the state of affairs

more than she had done when her husband had been better pleased. There

was something going on which she did not understand, and she wanted to

find out what it was. It concerned Miss Asher and one of the young men,

but which one she could not decide. In any case it troubled Mrs.

Easterfield, and that was interesting.

Claude Locker seemed to be a changed man; he no longer made jokes or

performed absurdities. He had become wonderfully vigilant, and seemed to

be one who continually bided his time. He bided it so much that he was

of very little use as a member of the social circle.

Mr. Du Brant was also biding his time, but he did not make the fact

evident. He was very vigilant also, but was very quiet, and kept himself

in the background. He had seen Olive and Mr. Hemphill go out in the

boat, but he determined totally to ignore that interesting occurrence.

The moment he had an opportunity he would speak to Olive again, and the

existence of other people did not concern him.

Mr. Hemphill was walking by the river; Olive had not allowed him to come

to the house with her, for his face was so radiant with the ecstasy of

not having been discarded by her that she did not wish him to be seen.

From her window Mrs. Easterfield saw this young man on his return from

his promenade, and she knew it would not be many minutes before he would

reach the house. She also saw the diplomat, who was glaring across the

grounds at some one, probably Mr. Locker, who, not unlikely, was glaring

back at him. She had come up-stairs to do some writing, but now she put

down her pen and called to her secretary.

"Miss Raleigh," said she, "it has been a good while since you have done

anything for me."

"Indeed it has," said the other with a sigh.

"But I want you to do something this minute. It is strictly confidential

business. I want you to go down on the lawn, or any other place where

Miss Asher may be, and make yourself _mal à propos_. I am busy now, but

I will relieve you before very long. Can you do that? Do you

understand?"

The aspect of the secretary underwent a total change. From a dull,

heavy-eyed woman she became an intent, an eager emissary. Her hands

trembled with the intensity of her desire to meddle with the affairs of

others.

"Of course I understand," she exclaimed, "and I can do it. You mean you

don't want any of those young men to get a chance to speak to Miss

Asher. Do you include Mr. Lancaster? Or shall I only keep off the

others?"

"I include all of them," said Mrs. Easterfield. "Don't let any of them

have a chance to speak to her until I can come down. And hurry! Here is

one coming now."

Hurrying down-stairs, the secretary glanced into the library. There she

saw Mrs. Fox in one armchair, and Olive in another, both reading. In the

hall were the two little girls, busily engaged in harnessing two small

chairs to a large armchair by means of a ball of pink yarn. Outside,

about a hundred yards away, she saw Mr. Hemphill irresolutely

approaching the house. Miss Raleigh's mind, frequently dormant, was very

brisk and lively when she had occasion to waken it. She made a dive

toward the children.

"Dear little ones," she cried, "don't you want to come out under the

trees and have the good Mr. Hemphill tell you a story? I know he wants

to tell you one, and it is about a witch and two pussy-cats and a

kangaroo. Come along. He is out there waiting for us." Down dropped the

ball of yarn, and with exultant cries each little girl seized an

outstretched hand of the secretary, and together they ran over the grass

to meet the good Mr. Hemphill.

Of course he was obliged to want to tell them a story; they expected it

of him, and they were his employer's children. To be sure he had on mind

something very practical and sensible he wished to say to Miss Olive,

which had come to him during his solitary walk, and which he did not

believe she would object to hearing, although he had said so much to her

quite recently. As soon as he should begin to speak she would know that

this was something she ought to know. It was about his mother, who had

an income of her own, and did not in the least depend upon her son. Miss

Olive would certainly agree with him that it was proper for him to tell

her this.

But the little girls seized his hands and led him away to a bench,

where, having seated him almost forcibly, each climbed upon a knee. The

good Mr. Hemphill sent a furtive glare after Miss Raleigh, who, with

that smile of gentle gratification which comes to one after having just

done a good deed to another, sauntered slowly away.

"Don't come back again," cried out the older of the little girls. "He

was put out in the last story, and we want this to be a long one. And

remember, Mr, Rupert, it is to be about a witch and two pussy-cats--"

"And a kangaroo," added the other.

At the front door the secretary met Miss Asher, just emerging. "Isn't

that a pretty picture" she said, pointing to the group under the trees.

Olive looked at them and smiled. "It is beautiful," she said; "a

regular family composition. I wish I had a kodak."

"Oh, that would never do!" exclaimed Miss Raleigh. "He is just as

sensitive as he can be, and, of course, it's natural. And the dear

little things are so glad to get him to themselves so that they can have

one of the long, long stories they like so much. May I ask what that is

you are working, Miss Asher?"

"It is going to be what they call a nucleus," said Olive, showing a

little piece of fancy work. "You first crochet this, and then its

ultimate character depends on what you may put around it. It may be a

shawl, or a table cover, or even an apron, if you like crocheted aprons.

I learned the stitch last winter. Would you like me to show it to you?"

"I should like it above all things," said the secretary. And together

they walked to a rustic bench quite away from the story-telling group.

"So far I have done nothing but nucleuses," said Olive, as they sat

down. "I put them away when they are finished, and then I suppose some

time I shall take up one and make it into something."

"Like those pastry shells," said Miss Raleigh, "which can be laid away

and which you can fill up with preserves or jam whenever you want a pie.

How many of these have you, Miss Asher?"

"When this is finished there will be four," said Olive.

At some distance, and near the garden, Dick Lancaster, strolling

eastward, encountered Claude Locker, strolling westward.

"Hello!" cried Locker. "I am glad to see you. Brought your baggage with

you this time, I see. That means you are going to stay, of course."

"A couple of days," replied Dick.

"Well, a man can do a lot in that time, and you may have something to

do, but I am not sure. No, sir," continued Locker, "I am not sure. I am

on the point of making a demonstration in force. But the enemy is always

presenting some new force. By enemy you understand me to mean that which

I adore above all else in the world, but which must be attacked, and

that right soon if her defenses are to be carried. Step this way a

little, and look over there. Do you see that Raleigh woman sitting on a

bench with her? Well, now, if I had not had such a beastly generous

disposition I might be sitting on that bench this minute. I was deceived

by a feint of the opposing forces this morning. I don't mean she

deceived me. I did it myself. Although I had the right by treaty to

march in upon her, I myself offered to establish a truce in order that

she might bury her dead. I did not know who had been killed, but it

looked as if there were losses of some kind. But it was a false alarm.

The dead must have turned up only missing, and she was as lively as a

cricket at luncheon, and went out in a boat with that tailor's

model--sixteen dollars and forty-eight cents for the entire suit

ready-made; or twenty-three dollars made to order."

Dick smiled a little, but his soul rebelled within him. He regretted

that he had given his promise to Mrs. Easterfield. What he wanted to do

that moment was to go over to Captain Asher's niece and ask her to take

a walk with him. What other man had a better right to speak to her than

he had? But he respected his word; it would be very hard to break a

promise made to Mrs. Easterfield; and he stood with his hands in his

pockets, and his brows knit.

"Now, I tell you what I am going to do," said Locker. "I am going to

wait a little while--a very little while--and then I shall bounce over

my earthworks, and rush her position. It is the only way to do it, and I

shall be up and at her with cold steel. And now I will tell you what you

must do. Just you hold yourself in reserve; and, if I am routed, you

charge. You'd better do it if you know what's good for you, for that

Austrian's over there pulverizing his teeth and swearing in French

because that Raleigh woman doesn't get up and go. Now, I won't keep you

any longer, but don't go far away. I can't talk any more, for I've got

to have every eye fixed upon the point of attack."

Dick looked at the animated face of his companion, and began to ask

himself if the moment had not arrived when even a promise made to Mrs.

Easterfield might be disregarded. Should he consent to allow his fate to

depend upon the fortunes of Mr. Locker? He scorned the notion. It would

be impossible for the girl who had talked so sweetly, so earnestly, so

straight from her heart, when he had met her on the shunpike, to marry

such a mountebank as this fellow, generous as he might be with that

which could never belong to him. As to the diplomat, he did not

condescend to bestow a thought upon such a black-pointed little

foreigner.

_CHAPTER XXI_

_Miss Raleigh enjoys a Rare Privilege._

Miss Raleigh was very attentive to the instructions given her by Miss

Asher, and while she exhibited the fashion of the new stitch Olive

reflected.

"I wonder," she said to herself, "if Mrs. Easterfield has done this. It

looks very much like it, and if she did I am truly obliged to her. There

is nothing I want so much now as a rest, and I didn't want to stay in

the house either. Miss Raleigh," said she, suddenly changing the

subject, "were you ever in love?"

The secretary started. "What do you mean by that?" she asked.

"I don't mean anything," said Olive. "I simply wanted to know."

"It is a queer question," said Miss Raleigh, her face changing to

another shade of sallowness.

"I know that," said Olive quickly, "but the answers to queer questions

are always so much more interesting than those to any others. Don't you

think so?"

"Yes, they are," said Miss Raleigh thoughtfully, "but they are generally

awfully hard to get. I have tried it myself."

"Then you ought to have a fellow feeling for me," said Olive.

"Well," said the other, looking steadfastly at her companion, "if you

will promise to keep it all to yourself forever, I don't mind telling

you that I was once in love. Would you like me to tell you who I was in

love with?"

"Yes," said Olive, "if you are willing to tell me."

"Oh, I am perfectly willing," said the secretary. "It was Mr. Hemphill."

Olive turned suddenly and looked at her in amazement.

"Yes, it was Mr. Hemphill over there," said the other, speaking very

tranquilly, as if the subject were of no importance. "You see, I have

been living with the Easterfields for a long time, and in the winter we

see a good deal of Mr. Hemphill. He has to come to the house on

business, and often takes meals. He is Mr. Easterfield's private and

confidential secretary. And, somehow or other, seeing him so often, and

sometimes being his partner at cards when two were needed to make up a

game, I forgot that I was older than he, and I actually fell in love

with him. You see he has a good heart, Miss Asher; anybody could tell

that from his way with children; and I have noticed that bachelors are

often nicer with children than fathers are."

"And he?" asked Olive.

Miss Raleigh laughed a little laugh. "Oh, I did all the loving," she

answered. "He never reciprocated the least little bit, and I often

wondered why I adored him as much as I did. He was handsome, and he was

good, and he had excellent taste; he was thoroughly trustworthy in his

relations to the family, and I believe he would be equally so in all

relations of life; but all that did not account for my unconquerable

ardor, which was caused by a certain something which you know, Miss

Asher, we can't explain."

Olive tried hard not to allow any emotion to show itself in her face,

but she did not altogether succeed. "And you still--" said she.

"No, I don't," interrupted Miss Raleigh. "I love him no longer. There

came a time when all my fire froze. I discovered that there was--"

"I say, Miss Asher--" it was the voice of Claude Locker.

Olive looked around at him. "Well?" said she.

"Perhaps you have not noticed," said he, "that the tennis ground is now

in the shade, and if you don't mind walking that way--" He said a good

deal more which Miss Raleigh did not believe, understanding the young

man thoroughly, and which Olive did not hear. Her mind was very busy

with what she had just heard, which made a great impression on her. She

did not know whether she was affronted, or hurt, or merely startled.

Here was a man who loved her, a man she had loved, and one about whom

she had been questioning herself as to the possibility of her loving him

again. And here was a woman, a dyspeptic, unwholesome spinster, who had

just said she had loved him. If Miss Raleigh had loved this man, how

could she, Olive, love him? There was something repugnant about it which

she did not attempt to understand. It went beyond reason. She felt it

to be an actual relief to look up at Claude Locker, and to listen to

what he was saying.

"You mean," said she presently, "that you would like Miss Raleigh and me

to come with you and play tennis."

"I did not know Miss Raleigh played," he answered, "but I thought

perhaps--"

"Oh, no," said Olive. "I would not think of such a thing. In fact, Miss

Raleigh and I are engaged. We are very busy about some important work."

Mr. Locker gazed at the crocheted nucleus with an air of the loftiest

disdain. "Of course, of course," said he, "but you really oblige me,

Miss Asher, to speak very plainly and frankly and to say that I really

do not care about playing tennis, but that I want to speak to you on a

most important subject, which, for reasons that I will explain, must be

spoken of immediately. So, if Miss Raleigh will be kind enough to

postpone the little matter you have on hand--"

Olive smiled and shook her head. "No, indeed, sir," she said; "I would

not hurt a lady's feelings in that way, and moreover, I would not allow

her to hurt her own feelings. It would hurt your feelings, Miss Raleigh,

wouldn't it, to be sent away like a child who is not wanted?"

"Yes," said the secretary, "I think it would."

Mr. Locker listened in amazement. He had not thought the mature maiden

had the nerve to say that.

"Then again," said Olive, "this isn't the time for you to talk business

with me, and you should not disturb me at this hour."

"Oh," said Locker, bringing down the forefinger of his right hand upon

the palm of his left, "that is a point, a very essential point. I

voluntarily surrendered the period of discourse which you assigned to me

for a reason which I now believe did not exist, and this is only an

assertion of the rights vested in me by you."

Miss Raleigh listened very attentively to these remarks, but could not

imagine what they meant.

Olive looked at him graciously. "Yes," she said, "you are very generous,

but your period for discourse, as you call it, will have to be

postponed."

"But it can't be postponed," he answered. "If I could see you alone I

could soon explain that to you. There are certain reasons why I must

speak now."

"I can't help it," said Olive. "I am not going to leave Miss Raleigh,

and I am sure she does not want to leave me, so if you are obliged to

speak you must speak before her."

Mr. Locker gazed from one to the other of the two ladies who sat before

him; each of them wore a gentle but determined expression. He addressed

the secretary.

"Miss Raleigh," said he, "if you understood the reason for my strong

desire to speak in private with Miss Asher, perhaps you would respect it

and give me the opportunity I ask for. I am here to make a proposition

of marriage to this lady, and it is absolutely necessary that I make it

without loss of time. Do you desire me to make it in your presence?"

"I should like it very much," said Miss Raleigh.

Mr. Locker gave her a look of despair, and turned to Olive. "Would you

permit that?" he asked.

"If it is absolutely necessary," she said, "I suppose I shall have to

permit it."

Mr. Locker had the soul of a lion in his somewhat circumscribed body,

and he was not to be recklessly dared to action.

"Very well, then," said he, "I shall proceed as if we were alone, and I

hope, Miss Raleigh, you will at least see fit to consider yourself in a

strictly confidential position."

"Indeed I shall," she replied; "not one word shall ever--"

"I hope not," interrupted Claude, "and I will add that if I should ever

be accidentally present when a gentleman is about to propose to you,

Miss Raleigh, I shall heap coals of fire upon your head by

instantaneously withdrawing."

The secretary was about to thank him, but Olive interrupted. "Now,

Claude Locker," said she, "what can you possibly have to say to me that

you have not said before?"

"A good deal, Miss Asher, a good deal, although I don't wonder you

suppose that no man could say more to you of his undying affection than

I have already said. But, since I last spoke on the subject, I have been

greatly impressed by the fact that I have not said enough about myself;

that I have not made you understand me as I really am. I know very well

that most people, and I suppose that at some time you have been among

them, look upon me as a very frivolous young man, and not one to whom

the right sort of a girl should give herself in marriage. But that is a

mistake. I am as much to be depended upon as anybody you ever met. My

apparently whimsical aspect is merely the outside--my shell, marked off

in queer designs with variegated colors--but within that shell I am as

domestic, as sober, and as surely to be found where I am expected to be

as any turtle. This may seem a queer figure, but it strikes me as a very

good one. When I am wanted I am there. You can always depend upon me."

There was not a smile upon the face of either woman as he spoke. They

were listening earnestly, and with the deepest interest. Miss Raleigh's

eyes sparkled, and Olive seemed to be most seriously considering this

new aspect in which Mr. Locker was endeavoring to place himself.

"Perhaps you may think," Claude continued, "that you would not desire

turtle-like qualities in a husband, you who are so bright, so bounding,

so much like a hare, but I assure you, that is just the companion who

would suit you. All day you might skip among the flowers, and in the

fields, and wherever you were, you would always know where I was--making

a steady bee-line for home; and you would know that I would be there to

welcome you when you arrived."

"That is very pretty!" said Miss Raleigh. And then she quickly added:

"Excuse me for making a remark."

"Now, Miss Asher," continued Locker, "I have tried, very imperfectly, I

know, to make you see me as I really am, and I do hope you can put an

end to this suspense which is keeping me in a nervous tingle. I can not

sleep at night, and all day I am thinking what you will say when you do

decide. You need not be afraid to speak out before Miss Raleigh. She is

in with us now, and she can't get out. I would not press you for an

answer at this moment, but there are reasons which I can not say

anything about without meddling with other people's business. But my

business with you is the happiness of my life, and I feel that I can not

longer endure having it momentarily jeopardized."

At the conclusion of this speech a faint color actually stole into Miss

Raleigh's face, and she clasped her thin hands in the intensity of her

approval.

"Mr. Locker," said Olive, speaking very pleasantly, "if you had come to

me to-day and had asked me for a decision based upon what you had

already said to me, I think I might have settled the matter. But after

what you have just told me, I can not answer you now. You give me things

to think about, and I must wait."

"Heavens" exclaimed Mr. Locker, clasping his hands. "Am I not yet to

know whether I am to rise into paradise, or to sink into the infernal

regions?"

Olive smiled. "Don't do either, Mr. Locker," she said. "This earth is a

very pleasant place. Stay where you are."

He folded his arms and gazed at her. "It is a pleasant place," said he,

"and I am mighty glad I got in my few remarks before you made your

decision. I leave my love with you on approbation, and you may be sure I

shall come to-morrow before luncheon to hear what you say about it."

"I shall expect you," said Olive. And as she spoke her eyes were full of

kind consideration.

"Now, that's genuine," said Miss Raleigh, when Locker had departed. "If

he had not felt every word he said he could not have said it before me."

"No doubt you are right," said Olive. "He is very brave. And now you see

this new line, which begins an entirely different kind of stitch!"

In the middle distance Mr. Du Brant still strolled backward and forward,

pulverizing his teeth and swearing in French. He seldom removed his eyes

from Miss Asher, but still she sat on that bench and crocheted, and

talked, and talked, and crocheted, with that everlasting Miss Raleigh!

He had seen Locker with her, and he had seen him go; and now he hoped

that the woman would soon depart. Then it would be his chance.

The young Austrian had become most eager to make Olive his wife. He

earnestly loved her; and, beyond that, he had come to see that a

marriage with her would be most advantageous to his prospects. This

beautiful and brilliant American girl, familiar with foreign life and

foreign countries, would give him a position in diplomatic society which

would be most desirable. She might not bring him much money; although he

believed that all American girls had some money; but she would bring him

favor, distinction, and, most likely, advancement. With such a wife he

would be a welcome envoy at any court. And, besides, he loved her. But,

alas, Miss Raleigh would not go away.

About half an hour after Claude Locker left Olive he encountered Dick

Lancaster.

"Well," said he, "I charged. I was not routed, I can't say that I was

even repulsed. But I was obliged to withdraw my forces. I shall go into

camp, and renew the attack to-morrow. So, my friend, you will have to

wait. I wish I could say that there is no use of your waiting, but I am

a truthful person and can't do that."

Lancaster was not pleased. "It seems to me," he said, "that you trifle

with the most important affairs of life."

"Trifle!" exclaimed Locker. "Would you call it trifling if I fail, and

then to save her from a worse fate, were to back you up with all my

heart and soul?"

Dick could not help smiling. "By a worse fate," he said, "I suppose you

mean--"

"The Austrian," interrupted Locker. "Mrs. Easterfield has told me

something about him. He may have a title some day, and he is about as

dangerous as they make them. Instead of accusing me of trifling, you

ought to go down on your knees and thank me for still standing between

him and her."

"That is a duty I would like to perform myself," said Dick.

"Perhaps you may have a chance," sighed Locker, "but I most earnestly

hope not. Look over there at that he-nurse. Those children have made him

take them walking, and he is just coming back to the house."

_CHAPTER XXII_

_The Conflicting Serenades._

Mrs. Easterfield worked steadily at her letter, feeling confident all

the time that her secretary was attending conscientiously to the task

which had been assigned to her, and which could not fail to be a most

congenial one. One of the greatest joys of Miss Raleigh's life was to

interfere in other people's business; and to do it under approval and

with the feeling that it was her duty was a rare joy.

The letter was to her husband, and Mrs. Easterfield was writing it

because she was greatly troubled, and even frightened. In the indulgence

of a good-humored and romantic curiosity to know whether or not a

grown-up young woman would return to a sentimental attachment of her

girlhood, she had brought her husband's secretary to the house with

consequences which were appalling. If this navy girl she had on hand had

been a mere flirt, Mrs. Easterfield, an experienced woman of society,

might not have been very much troubled, but Olive seemed to her to be

much more than a flirt; she would trifle until she made up her mind, but

when she should come to a decision Mrs. Easterfield believed she would

act fairly and squarely. She wanted to marry; and, in her heart, Mrs.

Easterfield commended her; without a mother; now more than ever without

a father; her only near relative about to marry a woman who was

certainly a most undesirable connection; Olive was surely right in

wishing to settle in life. And, if piqued and affronted by her father's

intended marriage, she wished immediately to declare her independence,

the girl could not be blamed. And, from what she had said of Mr.

Hemphill, Mrs. Easterfield could not in her own mind dissent. He was a

good young man; he had an excellent position; he fervently loved Olive;

she had loved him, and might do it again. What was there to which she

could object? Only this: it angered and frightened her to think of Olive

Asher throwing herself away upon Rupert Hemphill. So she wrote a very

strong letter to her husband, representing to him that the danger was

very great and imminent, and that he was needed at Broadstone just as

soon as he could get there. Business could be set aside; his wife's

happiness was at stake; for if this unfortunate match should be made, it

would be her doing, and it would cloud her whole life. Of herself she

did not know what to do, and if she had known, she could not have done

it. But if he came he would not only know everything, but could do

anything. This indicated her general opinion of Mr. Tom Easterfield.

"Now," said she to herself, as she fixed an immediate-delivery stamp

upon the letter, "that ought to bring him here before lunch to-morrow."

When Olive saw fit to go to her room Miss Raleigh felt relieved from

guard, and went to Mrs. Easterfield to report. She told that lady

everything that had happened, even including her own emotions at

various points of the interview. The amazed Mrs. Easterfield listened

with the greatest interest.

"I knew Claude Locker was capable of almost any wild proceeding," she

said, "but I did not think he would do that!"

"There is one thing I forgot," said the secretary, "and that is that I

promised Mr. Locker not to mention a word of what happened."

"I am very glad," replied Mrs. Easterfield, "that you remembered that

promise after you told me everything, and not before. You have done

admirably so far."

"And if I have any other opportunities of interpolating myself, so to

speak," said Miss Raleigh, "shall I embrace them?"

Mrs. Easterfield laughed. "I don't want you to be too obviously

zealous," she answered. "I think for the present we may relax our

efforts to relieve Miss Asher of annoyance." Mrs. Easterfield believed

this. She had faith in Olive; and if that young woman had promised to

give Claude Locker another hearing the next day she did not believe that

the girl would give anybody else a positive answer before that time.

Miss Raleigh went away not altogether satisfied. She did not believe in

relaxed vigilance; for one thing, it was not interesting.

Olive was surprised when she found that Mr. Lancaster was to stay to

dinner, and afterward when she was informed that he had been invited to

spend a few days, she reflected. It looked like some sort of a plan, and

what did Mrs. Easterfield mean by it? She knew the lady of the house

had a very good opinion of the young professor, and that might explain

the invitation at this particular moment, but still it did look like a

plan, and as Olive had no sympathy with plans of this sort she

determined not to trouble her head about it. And to show her

non-concern, she was very gracious to Mr. Lancaster, and received her

reward in an extremely interesting conversation.

Still Olive reflected, and was not in her usual lively spirits. Mr. Fox

said to Mrs. Fox that it was an abominable shame to allow a crowd of

incongruous young men to swarm in upon a country house party, and

interfere seriously with the pleasures of intelligent and

self-respecting people.

That night, after Mrs. Easterfield had gone to bed, and before she

slept, she heard something which instantly excited her attention; it was

the sound of a guitar, and it came from the lawn in front of the house.

Jumping up, and throwing a dressing-gown about her, she cautiously

approached the open window. But the night was dark, and she could see

nothing. Pushing an armchair to one side of the window, she seated

herself, and listened. Words now began to mingle with the music, and

these words were French. Now she understood everything perfectly. Mr. Du

Brant was a musician, and had helped himself to the guitar in the

library.

From the position in which she sat Mrs. Easterfield could look upon a

second-story window in a projecting wing of the house, and upon this

window, which belonged to Olive's room, and which was barely perceptible

in the gloom, she now fixed her eyes. The song and the thrumming went

on, but no signs of life could be seen in the black square of that open

window.

Mrs. Easterfield was not a bad French scholar, and she caught enough of

the meaning of the words to understand that they belonged to a very

pretty love song in which the flowers looked up to the sky to see if it

were blue, because they knew if it were the fair one smiled, and then

their tender buds might ope; and, if she smiled, his heart implored that

she might smile on him. There was a second verse, much resembling the

first, except that the flowers feared that clouds might sweep the sky;

and they lamented accordingly.

Now, Mrs. Easterfield imagined that she saw something white in the

depths of the darkness of Olive's room, but it did not come to the

front, and she was very uncertain about it. Suddenly, however, something

happened about which she could not be in the least uncertain. Above

Olive's room was a chamber appropriated to the use of bachelor visitors,

and from the window of this room now burst upon the night a wild,

unearthly chant. It was a song with words but without music, and the

voice in which it was shot out into the darkness was harsh, was shrill,

was insolently blatant. And thus the clamorous singer sang:

"My angel maid--ahoy!

If aught should you annoy,

By act or sound,

From sky or ground,

I then pray thee

To call on me

My angel maid--ahoy,

My ange--my ange--l maid

Ahoy! Ahoy! Ahoy!"

The music of the guitar now ceased, and no French words were heard. No

ditty of Latin origin, be it ever so melodious and fervid, could stand

against such a wild storm of Anglo-Saxon vociferation. Every ahoy rang

out as if sea captains were hailing each other in a gale!

"What lungs he has" thought Mrs. Easterfield, as she put her hand over

her mouth so that no one should hear her laugh. At the open window, at

which she still steadily gazed, she now felt sure she saw something

white which moved, but it did not come to the front.

A wave of half-smothered objurgation now rolled up from below; it was

not to be readily caught, but its tone indicated rage and

disappointment. But the guitar had ceased to sound, and the French love

song was heard no more. A little irrepressible laugh came from

somewhere, but who heard it beside herself Mrs. Easterfield could not

know. Then all was still, and the insects of the night, and the tree

frogs, had the stage to themselves.

Early in the morning Miss Raleigh presented herself before Mrs.

Easterfield to make a report. "There was a serenade last night," she

said, "not far from Miss Asher's window. In fact, there were two, but

one of them came from Mr. Locker's room, and was simply awful. Mr. Du

Brant was the gentleman who sang from the lawn, and I was very sorry

when he felt himself obliged to stop. I do not think very much of him,

but he certainly has a pleasant voice, and plays well on the guitar. I

think he must have been a good deal cut up by being interrupted in that

dreadful way, for he grumbled and growled, and did not go into the

house for some time. I am sure he would have been very glad to fight if

any one had come down."

"You mean," said Mrs. Easterfield, "if Mr. Locker had come."

"Well," said the secretary, "if Mr. Hemphill had appeared I have no

doubt he would have answered. Mr. Du Brant seemed to me ready to fight

anybody."

"How do you know so much about him?" asked Mrs. Easterfield. "And why

did you think of Mr. Hemphill?"

"Oh, he was looking out of his window," said Miss Raleigh. "He could not

see, but he could hear."

"I ask you again," said Mrs. Easterfield, "how do you know all this?"

"Oh, I had not gone to bed, and, at the first sound of the guitar, I

slipped on a waterproof with a hood, and went out. Of course, I wanted

to know everything that was happening."

"I had not the least idea you were such an energetic person," remarked

Mrs. Easterfield, "and I think you were entirely too rash. But how about

Mr. Lancaster? Do you know if he was listening?"

Miss Raleigh stood silent for a moment, then she exclaimed: "There now,

it is too bad! I entirely forgot him! I have not the slightest idea

whether he was asleep or awake, and it would have been just as easy--"

"Well, you need not regret it," said Mrs. Easterfield. "I think you did

quite enough, and if anything of the kind occurs again I positively

forbid you to go out of the house."

"There is one thing we've got to look after," said Miss Raleigh,

without heeding the last remark, "this may result in bloodshed."

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Easterfield; "nothing of that kind is to be feared

from the gentlemen who visit Broadstone."

"Still," said Miss Raleigh, "don't you think it would be well for me to

keep an eye on them?"

"Oh, you may keep both eyes on them if you want to," said Mrs.

Easterfield. Then she began to talk about something else, but, although

she dismissed the matter so lightly, she was very glad at heart that she

had sent for her husband. Things were getting themselves into unpleasant

complications, and she needed Tom.

There was a certain constraint at the breakfast table. Mr. Fox had heard

the serenades, although his consort had slept soundly through the

turmoil; and, while carefully avoiding any reference to the incidents of

the night, he was anxiously hoping that somebody would say something

about them. Mrs. Easterfield saw that Mr. Du Brant was in a bad humor,

and she hoped he was angry enough to announce his early departure. But

he contented himself with being angry, and said nothing about going

away.

Mr. Hemphill was serious, and looked often in the direction of Olive. As

for Dick Lancaster, Miss Raleigh, whose eye was fixed upon him whenever

it could be spared from the exigencies of her meal, decided that if

there should be a fight he would be one of the fighters; his brow was

dark and his glance was sharp; in fact, she was of the opinion that he

glared. Claude Locker did not come to breakfast until nearly everybody

had finished. His dreams had been so pleasant that he had overslept

himself.

In the eyes of Mrs. Easterfield Olive's conduct was positively charming.

No one could have supposed that during the night she had heard anything

louder than the ripple of the river. She talked more to Mr. Du Brant

than to any one else, although she managed to draw most of the others

into the conversation; and, with the assistance of the hostess, who gave

her most good-humored help, the talk never flagged, although it did not

become of the slightest interest to any one who engaged in it. They were

all thinking about the conflict of serenades, and what might happen

next.

Shortly after breakfast Miss Raleigh came to Mrs. Easterfield. "Mr. Du

Brant is with her," she said quickly, "and they are walking away. Shall

I interpolate?"

"No," said the other with a smile, "you can let them alone. Nothing will

happen this morning, unless, indeed, he should come to ask for a

carriage to take him to the station."

Mrs. Easterfield was busy in her garden when Dick Lancaster came to her.

"What a wonderfully determined expression you have!" said she. "You look

as if you were going to jump on a street-car without stopping it!"

"You are right," said he, "I am determined, and I came to tell you so. I

can't stand this sort of thing any longer. I feel like a child who is

told he must eat at the second table, and who can not get his meals

until every one else is finished."

"And I suppose," she said, "you feel there will be nothing left for

you."

"That is it," he answered, "and I don't want to wait. My soul rebels! I

can't stand it!"

"Therefore," she said, "you wish to appear before the meal is ready, and

in that case you will get nothing." He looked at her inquiringly. "I

mean," said she, "that if you propose to Miss Asher now you will be

before your time, and she will decline your proposition without the

slightest hesitation."

"I do not quite understand that," said Dick. "Would she decline all

others?"

"I am afraid not."

"But why do you except me?" asked Dick. "Surely she is not engaged. I

know you would tell me at once if that were so."

"It is not so," said Mrs. Easterfield.

"Then I shall take my chances. With all this serenading and love-making

going on around me and around the woman I love with all my heart. I can

not stand and wait until I am told my time has come. The intensity and

the ardor of my feelings for her give me the right to speak to her.

Unless I know that some one else has stepped in before me and taken the

place I crave, I have decided to speak to her just as soon as I can. But

I thought it was due to you to come first and tell you."

"Mr. Lancaster," said Mrs. Easterfield, speaking very quietly, "if you

decide to go to Miss Asher and ask her to marry you, I know you will do

it, for I believe you are a man who keeps his word to himself, but I

assure you that if you do it you will never marry her. So you really

need not bother yourself about going to her; you can simply decide to do

it, and that will be quite sufficient; and you can stay here and hold

these long-stemmed dahlias for me as I cut them."

A troubled wistfulness showed itself upon the young man's face. "You

speak so confidently," he said, "that I almost feel I ought to believe

you. Why do you tell me that I am the only one of her suitors who would

certainly be rejected if he offered himself?"

Mrs. Easterfield dropped the long-stemmed dahlias she had been holding;

and, turning her eyes full upon Lancaster, she said, "Because you are

the only one of them toward whom she has no predilections whatever. More

than that, you are the only one toward whom she has a positive

objection. You are the only one who is an intimate friend of her uncle,

and who would be likely, by means of that intimate friendship, to bring

her into connection with the woman she hates, as well as with a relative

she despises on account of his intended marriage with that woman."

"All that should not count at all," cried Dick. "In such a matter as

this I have nothing to do with Captain Asher! I stand for myself and

speak for myself. What is his intended wife to me? Or what should she be

to her?"

"Of course," said Mrs. Easterfield, "all that would not count at all if

Olive Asher loved you. But you see she doesn't. I have had it from her

own lips that her uncle's intended marriage is, and must always be, an

effectual barrier between you and her."

"What" cried Dick. "Have you spoken to her of me? And in that way?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Easterfield, "I have. I did not intend to tell you, but

you have forced me to do it. You see, she is a young woman of

extraordinary good sense. She believes she ought to marry, and she is

going to try to make the very best marriage that she possibly can. She

has suitors who have very strong claims upon her consideration--I am not

going to tell you those claims, but I know them. Now, you have no

claim--special claim, I mean--but for all this, I believe, as I have

told you before, that you are the man she ought to marry, and I have

been doing everything I can to make her cease considering them, and to

consider you. And this is the way she came to give me her reasons for

not considering you at all. Now the state of the case is plain before

you."

Dick bowed his head and fixed his eyes upon the dahlias on the ground.

"Don't tread on the poor things," she said, "and don't despair. All you

have to do is to let me put a curbed bit on you, and for you to consent

to wear it for a little while. See," said she, moving her hands in the

air, as if they were engaged upon the bridle of a horse, "I fasten this

chain rather closely, and buckle the ends of the reins in the lowest

curb. Now, you must have a steady hand and a resolute will until the

time comes when the curb is no longer needed."

"And do you believe that time will come?" he asked.

"It will come," she said, "when two things happen; when she has reason

to love you, and has no reason to object to you; and, in my opinion,

that happy combination may arrive if you act sensibly."

"But--" said Dick.

At this moment a quick step was heard on the garden-path and they both

turned. It was Olive.

"Mr. Lancaster," she cried, "I want you; that is, if Mrs. Easterfield

can spare you. We are making up a game of tennis. Mr. Du Brant and Mr.

Hemphill are there, but I can not find Mr. Locker."

Mrs. Easterfield could spare him, and Dick Lancaster, with the curbed

chain pressing him very hard, walked away with Olive Asher.

_CHAPTER XXIII_

_The Captain and Maria._

When the captain drove into Glenford on the day when his mind had been

so much disturbed by Dick Lancaster's questions regarding a marriage

between him and Maria Port, he stopped at no place of business, he

turned not to the right nor to the left, but went directly to the house

of his old friend with whom he had spent the night before.

Mr. Simeon Port was sitting on his front porch, reading his newspaper.

He looked up, surprised to see the captain again so soon.

"Simeon," said the captain, "I want to see Maria. I have something to

say to her."

The old man laid down his newspaper. "Serious?" said he.

"Yes, serious," was the answer, "and I want to see her now."

Mr. Port reflected for a moment. "Captain," said he, "do you believe you

have thought about this as much as you ought to?"

"Yes, I have," replied the captain; "I've thought just as much as I

ought to. Is she in the house?"

Mr. Port did not answer. "Captain John," said he presently, "Maria isn't

young, that's plain enough, considerin' my age; but she never does seem

to me as if she'd growed up. When she was a girl she had ways of her

own, and she could make water bile quick, and now she can make it bile

just as quick as ever she did, and perhaps quicker. She's not much on

mindin' the helm, Captain John, and there're other things about her that

wouldn't be attractive to husbands when they come to find them out. And

if I was you I'd take my time."

"That's just what I intend to do," said the captain. "This is my time,

and I am going to take it."

Miss Port, who was busy in the back part of the house, heard voices, and

now came forward. She was wiping her hands upon her apron, and one of

them she extended to the captain.

"I am glad to see you--John," she said, speaking in a very gentle voice,

and hesitating a little at the last word.

The captain looked at her steadfastly, and then, without taking her

hand, he said: "I want to speak to you by yourself. I'll go into the

parlor."

She politely stepped back to let him pass her, and then her father

turned quickly to her.

"Did you expect to see him back so soon?" he asked.

She smiled and looked down. "Oh, yes," said she, "I was sure he'd come

back very soon."

The old man heaved a sigh, and returned to his paper.

Maria followed the captain. "John," said she, speaking in a low voice,

"wouldn't you rather come into the dinin'-room? He's a little bit hard

of hearin', but if you don't want him to hear anything he'll take in

every word of it."

"Maria Port," said the captain, speaking in a strong, upper-deck voice,

"what I have to say I'll say here. I don't want the people in the street

to hear me, but if your father chooses to listen I would rather he did

it than not."

She looked at him inquiringly. "Well," she answered, "I suppose he will

have to hear it some time or other, and he might as well hear it now as

not. He's all I've got in the world, and you know as well as I do that I

run to tell him everything that happens to me as soon as it happens.

Will you sit down?"

"No," said the captain, "I can speak better standing. Maria Port, I have

found out that you have been trying to make people believe that I am

engaged to marry you."

The smile did not leave Maria's face. "Well, ain't you?" said she.

A look of blank amazement appeared on the face of the captain, but it

was quickly succeeded by the blackness of rage. He was about to swear,

but restrained himself.

"Engaged to you?" he shouted, forgetting entirely the people in the

street; "I'd rather be engaged to a fin-back shark!"

The smile now left her face. "Oh, thank you very much," she said. "And

this is what you meant by your years of devotion! I held out for a long

time, knowing the difference in our ages and the habits of sailors, and

now--just when I make up my mind to give in, to think of my father and

not of myself, and to sacrifice my feelin's so that he might always

have one of his old friends near him, now that he's got too feeble to go

out by himself, and at his age you know as well as I do he ought to have

somebody near him besides me, for who can tell what may happen, or how

sudden--you come and tell me you'd rather marry a fish. I suppose you've

got somebody else in your mind, but that don't make no difference to me.

I've got no fish to offer you, but I have myself that you've wanted so

long, and which now you've got."

The angry captain opened his mouth to speak; he was about to ejaculate

Woman! but his sense of propriety prevented this. He would not apply

such an epithet to any one in the house of a friend. Wretch rose to his

lips, but he would not use even that word; and he contented himself

with: "You! You know just as well as you know you are standing there

that I never had the least idea of marrying you. You know, too, that you

have tried to make people think I had, people here in town and people

out at my house, where you came over and over again pretending to want

to talk about your father's health, when it did not need any more

talking about than yours does. You know you have made trouble in my

family; that you so disgusted my niece that she would not stop at my

house, which had been the same thing as her home; you sickened my

friends; and made my very servants ashamed of me; and all this because

you want to marry a man who now despises you. I would have despised you

long ago if I had seen through your tricks, but I didn't."

There was a smile on Miss Port's face now, but it was not such a smile

as that with which she had greeted the captain; it was a diabolical

grin, brightened by malice. "You are perfectly right," she said;

"everybody knows we are engaged to be married, and what they think about

it doesn't matter to me the snap of my finger. The people in town all

know it and talk about it, and what's more, they've talked to me about

it. That niece of your'n knows it, and that's the reason she won't come

near you, and I'm sure I'm not sorry for that. As for that old thing

that helps you at the toll-gate, and as for the young man that's

spongin' on you, I've no doubt they've got a mighty poor opinion of you.

And I've no doubt they're right. But all that matters nothin' to me.

You're engaged to be married to me; you know it yourself; and everybody

knows it; and what you've got to do is to marry, or pay. You hear what I

say, and you know what I'm goin' to stick to."

It may be well for Captain Asher's reputation that he had no opportunity

to answer Miss Port's remarks. At that instant Mr. Simeon Port appeared

at the door which opened from the parlor on the piazza. He stepped

quickly, his actions showing nothing of that decrepitude which his

dutiful daughter had feared would prevent him from seeking the society

of his friends. He fixed his eyes on his daughter and spoke in a loud,

strong voice.

"Maria," said he, "go to bed! I've heard what you've been saying, and

I'm ashamed of you. I've been ashamed of you before, but now it's worse

than ever. Go to bed, I tell you! And this time, go!"

There was nothing in the world that Maria Port was afraid of except her

father, and of him personally she had not the slightest dread. But of

his dying without leaving her the whole of his fortune she had an

abiding terror, which often kept her awake at night, and which sent a

sickening thrill through her whenever a difficulty arose between her and

her parent. She was quite sure what he would do if she should offend him

sufficiently; he would leave her a small annuity, enough to support her;

and the rest of his money would go to several institutions which she had

heard him mention in this connection. If she could have married Captain

Asher she would have felt a good deal safer; it would have taken much

provocation to make her father leave his money out of the family if his

old friend had been one of that family.

Now, when she heard her father's voice, and saw his dark eyes glittering

at her, she knew she was in great danger, and the well-known chill ran

through her. She made no answer; she cared not who was present; she

thought of nothing but that those eyes must cease to glitter, and that

angry voice must not be heard again. She turned and walked to her room,

which was on the same floor, across the hall.

"And mind you go to bed!" shouted her father. "And do it regular. You're

not to make believe to go to bed, and then get up and walk about as soon

as my back is turned. I'm comin' in presently to see if you've obeyed

me."

She answered not, but entered her room, and closed the door after her.

Mr. Port now turned to the captain. "I never could find out," he said,

"where Maria got that mind of her'n. It isn't from my side, for my

father and mother was as good people as ever lived, and it wasn't from

her mother, for you knew her, and there wasn't anything of the kind

about her."

"No," said Captain Asher, "not the least bit of it."

"It must have been from her grandmother Ellis," said the old man. "I

never knew her, for she died before I was acquainted with the family,

but I expect she died of deviltry. That's the only insight I can get

into the reasons for Maria's havin' the mind she's got. But I tell you,

Captain John, you've had a blessed escape! I didn't know she was in the

habit of goin' out to your house so often. She didn't tell me that."

"Simeon," said the captain, "I think I will go now. I have had enough of

Maria. I don't suppose I'll hear from her very soon again."

The old man smiled. "No," said he, "I don't think she'll want to trouble

you any more."

Miss Port, whose ear was at the keyhole of her door not twelve feet

away, grinned malignantly.

Soon after Captain Asher had gone Mr. Port walked to the door of his

daughter's room, gave a little knock, and then opened the door a little.

"You are in bed, are you?" said he. "Well, that's good for you. Turn

down that coverlid and let me see if you've got your nightclothes on."

She obeyed. "Very well," he continued; "now you stay there until I tell

you to get up."

Captain Asher went home, still in a very bad humor. He had ceased to be

angry with Maria Port, he was done with her; and he let her pass out of

his mind. But he was angry with other people, especially with Olive.

She had allowed herself to have a most contemptuous opinion of him; she

had treated him shamefully; and as he thought of her his indignation

increased instead of diminishing. And young Lancaster had believed it!

And old Jane! It was enough to make a stone slab angry, and the captain

was not a stone slab.

_CHAPTER XXIV_

_Mr. Tom arrives at Broadstone._

After the conclusion of the game of tennis in which Olive and three of

her lovers participated, Claude Locker, returning from a long walk,

entered the grounds of Broadstone. He had absented himself from that

hospitable domain for purposes of reflection, and also to avoid the

company of Mr. Du Brant. Not that he was afraid of the diplomat, but

because of the important interview appointed for the latter part of the

morning. He very much wished that no unpleasantness of any kind should

occur before the time for that interview.

Having found that he had given himself more time than was necessary for

his reflections and his walk, he had rested in the shade of a tree and

had written two poems. One of these was the serenade which he would have

roared out on the night air on a very recent occasion if he had had time

to prepare it. It was, in his opinion, far superior to the impromptu

verses of which he had been obliged to make use, and it pleased him to

think that if things should go well with him after the interview to

which he was looking forward, he would read that serenade to its object,

and ask her to substitute it in her memory for the inharmonic lines

which he had used in order to smother the degenerate melody of a

foreign lay. The other poem was intended for use in case his interview

should not be successful. But on the way home Mr. Locker experienced an

entire change of mind. He came to believe that it would be unwise for

him to arrange to use either of those poems on that day. For all he

knew, Miss Asher might like foreign degenerate lays, and she might be

annoyed that he had interfered with one. He remembered that she had told

him that if he had insisted on an immediate answer to his proposition it

would have been very easy to give it to him. He realized what that

meant; and, for all he knew, she might be quite as ready this morning to

act with similar promptness. That Du Brant business might have settled

her mind, and it would therefore be very well for him to be careful

about what he did, and what he asked for.

About half an hour before luncheon, when he neared the house and

perceived Miss Asher on the lawn, it seemed to him very much as if she

were looking for him. This he did not like, and he hurried toward her.

"Miss Asher," said he, "I wish to propose an amendment."

"To what?" asked Olive. "But first tell me where you have been and what

you have been doing? You are covered with dust, and look as hot as if

you had been pulling the boat against the rapids. I have not seen you

the whole morning."

"I have been walking," said he, "and thinking. It is dreadful hot work

to think. That should be done only in winter weather."

"It would be a woeful thing to take a cold on the mind," said Olive.

"That is so!" he replied. "That is exactly what I am afraid of this

morning, and that is the reason I want to propose my amendment. I beg

most earnestly that you will not make this interview definitive. I am

afraid if you do I may get chills in my mind, soul, and heart from which

I shall never recover. I have an idea that the weather may not be as

favorable as it was yesterday for the unveiling of tender emotions."

"Why so?" asked Olive.

"There are several reasons," returned Mr. Locker. "For one thing, that

musical uproar last night. I have not heard anything about that, and I

don't know where I stand."

Olive laughed. "It was splendid," said she. "I liked you a great deal

better after that than I did before."

"Now tell me," he exclaimed hurriedly, "and please lose no time, for

here comes a surrey from the station with a gentleman in it--do you like

me enough better to give me a favorable answer, now, right here?"

"No," said Olive. "I do not feel warranted in being so precipitate as

that."

"Then please say nothing on the subject," said Locker. "Please let us

drop the whole matter for to-day. And may I assume that I am at liberty

to take it up again to-morrow at this hour?"

"You may," said Olive. "What gentleman is that, do you suppose?"

"I know him," said Locker, "and, fortunately, he is married. He is Mr.

Easterfield."