"Here's papa! Here's papa!" shouted the two little girls as they ran out

of the front door.

"And papa," said the oldest one, "we want you to tell us a story just as

soon as you have brushed your hair! Mr. Rupert has been telling us

stories, but yours are a great deal better."

"Yes," said the other little girl, "he makes all the children too good.

They can't be good, you know, and there's no use trying. We told him so,

but he doesn't mind."

There was story-telling after luncheon, but the papa did not tell them,

and the children were sent away. It was Mrs. Easterfield who told the

stories, and Mr. Tom was a most interested listener.

"Well," said he, when she had finished, "this seems to be a somewhat

tangled state of affairs."

"It certainly is," she replied, "and I tangled them."

"And you expect me to straighten them?" he asked.

"Of course I do," she replied, "and I expect you to begin by sending Mr.

Hemphill away. You know I could not do it, but I should think it would

be easy for you."

"Would you object if I lighted a cigar?" he asked.

"Of course not," she said. "Did you ever hear me object to anything of

the kind?"

"No," said he, "but I never have smoked in this room, and I thought

perhaps Miss Raleigh might object when she came in to do your writing."

"My writing!" exclaimed Mrs. Easterfield. "Now don't trifle! This is no

time to make fun of me. Olive may be accepting him this minute."

"It seems to me," said Mr. Easterfield, slowly puffing his cigar, "that

it would not be such a very bad thing if she did. So far as I have been

able to judge, he is my favorite of the claimants. Du Brant and I have

met frequently, and if I were a girl I would not want to marry him.

Locker is too little for Miss Asher, and, besides, he is too flighty.

Your young professor may be good enough, but from my limited

conversation with him at the table I could not form much of an opinion

as to him one way or another. I have an opinion of Hemphill, and a very

good one. He is a first-class young man, a rising one with prospects,

and, more than that, I think he is the best-looking of the lot."

"Tom," said Mrs. Easterfield, "do you suppose I sent for you to talk

such nonsense as that? Can you imagine that my sense of honor toward

Olive's parents would allow me even to consider a marriage between a

high-class girl, such as she is--high-class in every way--to a mere

commonplace private secretary? I don't care what his attributes and

merits are; he is commonplace to the backbone; and he is impossible. If

what ought to be a brilliant career ends suddenly in Rupert Hemphill I

shall have Olive on my conscience for the rest of my life."

"That settles it," said Mr. Tom Easterfield; "your conscience, my dear,

has not been trained to carry loads, and I shall not help to put one on

it. Hemphill is a good man, but we must rule him out."

"Yes," said she, "Olive is a great deal more than good. He must be

ruled out."

"But I can't send him away this afternoon," Tom continued. "That would

put them both on their mettle, and, ten to one, he would considerately

announce his engagement before he left."

"No," said she. "Olive is very sharp, and would resent that. But now

that you are here I feel safe from any immediate rashness on their

part."

"You are right," said Mr. Tom. "My very coming will give them pause. And

now I want to see the girl."

"What for?" asked Mrs. Easterfield.

"I want to get acquainted with her. I don't know her yet, and I can't

talk to her if I don't know her."

"Are you going to talk to her about Hemphill?"

"Yes, for one thing," he answered.

"Well," said she, "you will have to be very circumspect. She is both

alert, and sensitive."

"Oh, I'll be circumspect enough," he replied. "You may trust me for

that."

It was not long after this that Mrs. Easterfield, being engaged in some

hospitable duties, sent Olive to show Mr. Tom the garden, and it was

rather a slight to that abode of beauty that the tour of the rose-lined

paths occupied but a very few minutes, when Mr. Easterfield became

tired, and desired to sit down. Having seated themselves on Mrs.

Easterfield's favorite bench, Olive looked up at her companion, and

asked:

"Well, sir, what is it you brought me here to say to me?"

Mr. Tom laughed, and so did she.

"If it is anything about the gentlemen who are paying their addresses

to me, you may as well begin at once, for that will save time, and

really an introduction is not necessary."

Mr. Easterfield's admiration for this young lady, which had been

steadily growing, was not decreased by this remark. "This girl," said he

to himself, "deserves a nimble-witted husband. Hemphill would never do

for her. It seems to me," he said aloud, "that we are already well

enough acquainted for me to proceed with the remarks which you have

correctly assumed I came here to make."

"Yes," said she, "I have always thought that some people are born to

become acquainted, and when they meet they instantly perceive the fact,

and the thing is accomplished. They can then proceed."

"Very well," said he, "we will proceed."

"I suppose," said Olive, "that Mrs. Easterfield has explained

everything, and that you agree with her and with me that it is a

sensible thing for a girl in my position to marry, and, having no one to

attend wisely to such a matter for me, that I should endeavor to attend

to it myself as wisely as I can. Also, that a little bit of pique,

caused by the fact that I am to have an old schoolfellow for a

stepmother, is excusable."

"And it is this pique which puts you in such a hurry? I did not exactly

understand that."

"Yes, it does," said she. "I very much wish to announce my own

engagement, if not my marriage, before any arrangements shall be made

which may include me. Do you think me wrong in this?"

"No, I don't," said Mr. Easterfield. "If I were a girl in your place I

think I would do the same thing myself."

Olive's face expressed her gratitude. "And now," said she, "what do you

think of the young men? I feel so well acquainted with you through Mrs.

Easterfield that I shall give a great deal of weight to your opinion.

But first let me ask you one thing: After what you have heard of me do

you think I am a flirt?"

Mr. Tom knitted his brows a little, then he smiled, and then he looked

out over the flower-beds without saying anything.

"Don't be afraid to say so if you think so," said she. "You must be

perfectly plain and frank with me, or our acquaintanceship will wither

away."

Under the influence of this threat he spoke. "Well," said he, "I should

not feel warranted in calling you a flirt, but it does seem to me that

you have been flirting."

"I think you are wrong, Mr. Easterfield," said Olive, speaking very

gravely. "I never saw any one of these young men before I came here

except Mr. Hemphill, and he was an entirely different person when I knew

him before, and I have given no one of them any special encouragement.

If Mr. Locker were not such an impetuous young man, I think the others

would have been more deliberate, but as it was easy to see the state of

his mind, and as we are all making but a temporary stay here, these

other young men saw that they must act quickly, or not at all. This,

while it was very amusing, was also a little annoying, and I should

greatly have preferred slower and more deliberate movements on the part

of these young men. But all my feelings changed when my father's letter

came to me. I was glad then that they had proposed already."

"That is certainly honest," said Mr. Tom.

"Of course it is honest," replied Olive. "I am here to speak honestly if

I speak at all. Now, don't you see that if under these peculiar

circumstances one eligible young man had proposed to me I ought to have

considered myself fortunate? Now here are three to choose from. Do you

not agree with me that it is my duty to try to choose the best one of

them, and not to discourage any until I feel very certain about my

choice?"

"That is business-like," said Mr. Easterfield; "but do you love any one

of them?"

"No, I don't," answered Olive, "except that there is a feeling in that

direction in the case of Mr. Hemphill. I suppose Mrs. Easterfield has

told you that when I was a schoolgirl I was deeply in love with him; and

now, when I think of those old times, I believe it would not be

impossible for those old sentiments to return. So there really is a tie

between him and me; even though it be a slight one; which does not exist

at all between me and any one of the others."

For a moment neither of them spoke. "That is very bad, young woman,"

thought Mr. Tom. "A slight tie like that is apt to grow thick and strong

suddenly." But he could not discourse about Mr. Hemphill; he knew that

would be very dangerous. He would have to be considered, however, and

much more seriously than he had supposed.

"Well," said he, "I will tell you this: if I were a young man,

unmarried, and on a visit to Broadstone at this time, I should not like

to be treated as you are treating the young men who are here. It is all

very well for a young woman to look after herself and her own interests,

but I should be very sorry to have my fate depend upon the merits of

other people. I may not be correct, but I am afraid I should feel I was

being flirted with."

"Well, then," said Olive, giving a quick, forward motion on the bench,

"you think I ought to settle this matter immediately, and relieve myself

at once from the imputation of trifling with earnest affection?"

"Oh, no, no, no!" cried Mrs. Easterfield. "Not at all! Don't do anything

rash!"

Olive leaned back on the bench, and laughed heartily. "There is so much

excellent advice in this world," she said, "which is not intended to be

used. However, it is valuable all the same. And now, sir, what is it you

would like me to do? Something plain; intended for every-day use."

Mr. Tom leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "It does not appear to

me," he said, "that you have told me very much I did not know before,

for Mrs. Easterfield put the matter very plainly before me."

"And it does not seem to me," said Olive, "that you have given me any

definite counsel, and I know that is what you came here to do."

"You are mistaken there," he said. "I came here to find out what sort of

a girl you are; my counsels must depend on my discoveries. But there is

one thing I want to ask you; you are all the time talking about three

young men. Now, there are four of them here."

"Yes," she answered quickly. "But only three of them have proposed;

and, besides, if the other were to do so, he would have to be set aside

for what I may call family reasons. I don't want to go into particulars

because the subject is very painful to me."

For a moment Mr. Tom did not speak. Then, determined to go through with

what he had come to do, which was to make himself acquainted with this

girl, he said: "I do not wish to discuss anything that is painful to

you, but Mrs. Easterfield and I are very much disturbed for fear that in

some way your visit to Broadstone created some misunderstanding or

disagreeable feeling between you and your uncle. Now, would you mind

telling me whether this is so, or not?"

She looked at him steadily. "There is an unpleasant feeling between me

and my uncle, but this visit has nothing to do with it. And I am going

to tell you all about it. I hate to feel so much alone in the world that

I can't talk to anybody about what makes me unhappy. I might have spoken

to Mrs. Easterfield, but she didn't ask me. But you have asked me, and

that makes me feel that I am really better acquainted with you than with

her."

This remark pleased Mr. Tom, but he did not think it would be necessary

to put it into his report to his wife. He had promised to be very

circumspect; and circumspection should act in every direction.

"It is very hard for a girl such as I am," she continued, "to be alone

in the world, and that is a very good reason for getting married as soon

as I can."

"And for being very careful whom you marry," interrupted Mr.

Easterfield.

"Of course," said she, "and I am trying very hard to be that. A little

while ago I had a father with whom I expected to live and be happy, but

that dream is over now. And then I thought I had an uncle who was going

to be more of a father to me than my own father had ever been. But that

dream is over, too."

"And why?" asked Mr. Easterfield.

"He is going to marry a woman," said Olive, "that is perfectly horrible,

and with whom I could not live. And the worst of it all is that he never

told me a word about it."

As she said this Olive looked very solemn; and Mr. Tom, not knowing on

the instant what would be proper to say, looked solemn also.

"You may think it strange," said she, "that I talk in this way to you,

but you came here to find out what sort of girl I am, and I am perfectly

willing to help you do it. Besides, in a case like this, I would rather

talk to a man than to a woman."

Mr. Tom believed her, but he did not know at this stage of the

proceedings what it would be wise to say. He was also fully aware that

if he said the wrong thing it would be very bad, indeed.

"Now, you see," said she, "there is another reason why I should marry as

soon as possible. In my case most girls would take up some pursuit which

would make them independent, but I don't like business. I want to be at

the head of a household; and, what is more, I want to have something to

do--I mean a great deal to do--with the selection of a husband."

The conversation was taking a direction which frightened Mr. Tom. In the

next moment she might be asking advice about the choice of a husband.

It was plain enough that love had nothing to do with the matter, and Mr.

Tom did not wish to act the part of a practical-minded Cupid. "And now

let me ask a favor of you," said he. "Won't you give me time to think

over this matter a little?"

"That is exactly what I say to my suitors," said Olive, smiling.

Mr. Tom smiled also. "But won't you promise me not to do anything

definite until I see you again?" he asked earnestly.

"That is not very unlike what some of my suitors say to me," she

replied. "But I will promise you that when you see me again I shall

still be heart-free."

"There can be no doubt of that," Mr. Tom said to himself as they arose

to leave the garden. "And, my young woman, you may deny being a flirt,

but you permitted the addresses of two young men before you were upset

by your father's letter. But I think I like flirts. At any rate, I can

not help liking her, and I believe she has got a heart somewhere, and

will find it some day."

When Mr. Tom returned to the house he did not find his wife, for that

lady was occupied somewhere in entertaining her guests. Now, although it

might have been considered his duty to go and help her in her hospitable

work, he very much preferred to attend to the business which she had

sent for him to do. And walking to the stables, he was soon mounted on a

good horse, and riding away southward on the smooth gray turnpike.

_CHAPTER XXV_

_The Captain and Mr. Tom._

Captain Asher was standing at the door of the tollhouse when he saw Mr.

Easterfield approaching. He recognized him, although he had had but one

brief interview with him one day at the toll-gate some time before. Mr.

Easterfield was a man absorbed in business, and the first summer Mrs.

Easterfield was at Broadstone he was in Europe engaged in large and

important affairs, and had not been at the summer home at all. And so

far this summer, he had been there but once before, and then for only a

couple of days. Now, as the captain saw the gentleman coming toward the

toll-gate he had no reason for supposing that he would not go through

it. Nevertheless, his mind was disturbed. Any one coming from Broadstone

disturbed his mind. He had not quite decided whether or not to ask any

questions concerning the late members of his household, when the

horseman stopped at the gate, and handed him the toll.

"Good morning, captain," said Mr. Easterfield cheerily, for he had heard

much in praise of the toll-gate keeper from his wife.

"Good morning, Mr. Easterfield," said the captain gravely.

"I am glad I do not have to introduce myself," said Mr. Easterfield,

"for I am only going through your gate as far as that tree to tie my

horse. Then, if convenient to you, I should like to have a little talk

with you."

The captain's mind, which had been relieved when Mr. Easterfield paid

his toll, now sank again. But he could not say a talk would be

inconvenient. "If I had known that you were not going on," he said, "you

need not have paid."

"Like most people in this life," said Mr. Easterfield, "I pay for what I

have already done, and not for what I am going to do. And now have you

leisure, sir, for a short conversation?"

The captain looked very glum. He felt not the slightest desire now to

ask questions, and still less desire to be interrogated. However, he was

not afraid of anything any one might say to him; and if a certain

subject was broached, he had something to say himself.

"Yes," said he; "do you prefer indoors or out of doors?"

"Out of doors, if it suits," replied the visitor, "for I would like to

take a smoke."

"I am with you there," said the captain, as he led the way to the little

arbor.

Here Mr. Easterfield lighted a cigar, and the captain a pipe.

"Now, sir," said the latter, when the tobacco in his bowl was in a

satisfactory glow, "what is it you want to talk about?" He spoke as if

he were behind entrenchments, and ready for an attack.

"We have two of your guests with us," answered Mr. Easterfield,

"Professor Lancaster, and your niece."

"Oh," said the captain, evidently relieved. "I thought perhaps you had

come to ask questions about some reports you may have heard in regard to

me."

"Not at all, not at all," said Mr. Easterfield. "I would not think of

mentioning your private affairs, about which I have not the slightest

right or wish to speak. But as we have apparently appropriated two of

your young people, I think, and Mrs. Easterfield agrees with me, that it

is but right you should be informed as to their health, and what they

are doing."

The captain puffed vigorously. "When is Dick Lancaster coming back" he

asked.

"I can't say anything about that," replied Mr. Easterfield, "for I am

not master of ceremonies. We would like to keep him as long as we can,

but, of course, your claims must be considered."

"I should think so," remarked the captain.

"Professor Lancaster is a remarkably fine young man," said the other,

"and as he is a friend of yours, and as I should like him to be a friend

of mine, it would give me pleasure to talk to you more about him. But I

may as well confess that my real object in coming here is to talk about

your niece. Of course, as I said before, it might appear that I have no

right to meddle with your family affairs, but in this case I certainly

think I am justified; for, as Mrs. Easterfield invited the young lady to

leave you and to come to her, and as all that has happened to her has

happened at our house, and in consequence of that invitation, I think

that you, as her nearest accessible relative, should be told of what has

occurred."

The captain made no answer, but gazed steadily into the face of the

speaker.

"Therefore," continued Mr. Easterfield, "I will simply state that my

wife and I have very good reason to believe that your niece is about to

engage herself in marriage; and I will only add that we are very sorry,

indeed, that this should have occurred under our roof."

A sudden and curious change came over the face of the captain; a light

sparkled in his eye, and a faint flush, as if of pleasure, was visible

under his swarthy skin. He leaned toward his companion.

"Is it Dick Lancaster?" he asked quickly.

Mr. Easterfield answered gravely: "I wish it were, but I am very sorry

to say it is not."

The light went out of the captain's eye. He leaned back on his bench and

the little flush in his cheeks was succeeded by a somber coldness. "Very

good," said he; "I don't want to hear anything more about it, and, what

is more, it would not be right for you to tell me, even if I did want to

know. It is none of my business."

"Now, really, Captain Asher," began Mr. Easterfield.

"No, sir," the captain interrupted. "It is none of my business, and I

don't want to hear anything about it. And now, sir, I would like to tell

you something. It is something I thought you came here to ask about, and

I did not like it, but now I want to tell you of my own free will, in

confidence. That is to say, I don't want you to speak of it to anybody

in your house. I suppose you have heard something about my intending to

marry a woman in town?"

"Yes," said Mr. Easterfield, "I can not deny that I have, but I

considered it was entirely your own affair, and I had not--"

"Of course," interrupted the captain, "and I want to tell you--but I

don't want my niece to hear it as coming from me--that that whole thing

is a most abominable lie! That woman has been trying to make people

believe I am going to marry her, and she has made a good many believe

it, but I would rather cut my throat than marry her. But I have told her

what I think of her in a way she can not mistake. And that ends her! I

tell you this, Mr. Easterfield, because I believe you are a good man,

and you certainly seem to be a friendly man, and I would like you to

know it. I would have liked very much to tell everybody, especially my

own flesh and blood, but now I assure you, sir, I am too proud to have

her know it through me. Let her go on and marry anybody she pleases, and

let her think anything she pleases about me. She has been satisfied with

her own opinion of me without giving me a chance to explain to her, or

to tell her the truth, and now she can stay satisfied with it until

somebody else sets her straight."

"But this is very hard, captain," said Mr. Easterfield; "hard on you,

hard on her, and hard on all of us, I may say."

The captain made no answer to these words, and did not appear to hear

them. "I tell you, Mr. Easterfield," he said presently, "that I did not

know until now how much I cared for that girl. I don't mind saying this

to you because you come to me like a friend, and I believe in you. Yes,

sir, I did not know how much I cared for her, and it is pretty hard on

me to find out how little she cares for me."

"You are wrong there," said Mr. Easterfield. "My wife tells me that Miss

Asher has frequently talked to her about you and her life here, and it

is certain she has--"

"Oh, that does not make any difference," interrupted the captain. "I am

talking about things as they are now. It was all very well as long as

things seemed to be going right, but I believe in people who stand by

you when things seem to be going wrong, and who keep on standing by you

until they know how they are going, and that is exactly what she did not

do. Now, there was Dick Lancaster; he came to me and asked me squarely

about that affair. To be sure, I cut him off short, for it angered me to

think that he, or anybody else, should have such an idea of me, and,

besides, it was none of his business. But it should have been her

business; she ought to have made it her business; and, even if the thing

had stood differently, I would have told her exactly how it did stand;

and then she could have said to me what she thought about it, and what

she was going to do. But instead of that, she just made up her mind

about me, and away went everything. Yes, sir, everything. I can't tell

you the plans I had made for her and for myself, and, I may say, for

Dick Lancaster. If it suited her, I wanted her to marry him, and if it

suited her I wanted to go and live with them in his college town, or

any other place they might want to go. Again and again, after I knew

Dick, have I gone over this thing and planned it out this way, and that

way, but always with us three in the middle of everything. Do you see

that?" continued the captain after a slight pause, as he drew from his

pocket a dainty little pearl paper-cutter. "That belongs to her. She

used to sit out here, and cut the leaves of books as she read them. I

can see her little hand now as it went sliding along the edges of the

pages. When she went away she left it on the bench, and I took it. And

I've kept it in my pocket to take out when I sit here, and cut books

with it when I have 'em. I haven't many books that ain't cut, but I've

sat here and cut 'em till there wasn't any left. And then I cut a lot of

old volumes of Coast Survey Reports. It is a foolish thing for an old

man to do, but then--but then--well, you see, I did it."

There was a choke in the captain's voice as he leaned over to put the

paper-cutter in his pocket and to pick up his pipe, which he had laid on

the bench beside him. Mr. Easterfield was touched and surprised. He

would not have supposed the captain to be a man of such tender

sentiment. And he took him at once to his heart. "It is a shame," his

thoughts ran, "for this man to be separated from the niece he so loves.

She is a cold-hearted girl, or she does not understand him. It must not

be."

Had he been a woman he would have said all this, but, being a man, he

found it difficult to break the silence which followed the captain's

last words. He did not know what to say, although he had no hesitation

in making up his mind what he was going to do about it all. He arose.

"Captain Asher," he said, "I have now told you what I thought you should

know, and I must take my departure. I would not presume for a moment to

offer you any advice in regard to your family affairs, but there is one

thing Mrs. Easterfield and I will interfere with, if we can, for we feel

that we have a right to do it, and that is any definite and immediate

engagement of your niece. If she should promise herself in marriage at

our house we shall feel that we are responsible for it, and that, in

fact, we brought it about. Whether the match shall seem desirable to you

or not, we do not wish to be answerable for it."

"Oh, I need not be counted in at all," said the captain, who had

recovered his composure. "It is her own affair. I suppose it was the

news of her father's intended marriage that put her in such a hurry."

"You are right," said Mr. Easterfield.

"Just like her" the captain exclaimed. "And I don't blame her. I'm with

her there"

When Mr. Tom reached Broadstone he dismounted at the stable, and walked

to the house. Nobody was to be seen on the grounds. It was a warm

afternoon when those whose hearts were undisturbed by the turmoils of

love were apt to be napping, and those who were in the tumultuous state

of mind referred to, preferred to separate themselves from each other

and the rest of the world until the cause of their inquietude should

consider the heat of the summer day as sufficiently mitigated for her to

appear again among her fellow beings.

Mr. Easterfield did not care to meet any of his guests, and hoped to

find his wife in her room, that he might report, and consult. But, as he

approached the house, he saw at an upper window a female head. It stayed

there just long enough for him to see that it was Olive's head; then it

disappeared. When he reached the hall door there stood Olive.

Mr. Tom was a little disappointed. He wanted to see his wife

immediately, and then to see Olive. But he could not say so.

"Well," said the girl, coming down the steps, "it looks as if we had

arranged to meet. But although we didn't, let's take a little walk. I

have something I want to say to you."

Mr. Easterfield turned, and walked away from the house. He was a

masterful man, and did not like to have his plans interfered with.

Therefore he made a dash, and had the first word. "Miss Asher," said he,

"I am glad to hear anything you have to say, but first you must really

listen to me."

Olive looked at him with surprise. She also was a masterful person, and

not accustomed to be treated in this way. But he gave her no chance.

"Miss Asher," said he, "I have come to you to speak for one of your

lovers, the truest, best lover you ever had, and I believe, ever will

have."

Olive looked at him steadfastly, and her face grew hard. "Mr.

Easterfield," she said, "this will not do. I have told you I will not

have it. Mrs. Easterfield and you have been very good and kind, and I

have told you everything, but you do not seem to remember one thing I

have said. I will not have anybody forced upon me; no matter if he

happens to be an angel from heaven, or no matter how much better he may

be than anybody else on earth. I have my reasons for this determination.

They are good reasons, and, above all, they are my reasons. I don't want

you to think me rude, but if you persist in forcing that gentleman upon

my attention, I shall have to request that the whole subject be dropped

between us."

"Who in the name of common sense do you think I am talking about?"

exclaimed Mr. Tom. "Do you think I refer to Mr. Lancaster?"

"I do," she said. "You know you would not come to plead the cause of any

one of the others."

He looked down at her half doubtfully, wondering a little how she would

take what he was going to say. "You are mistaken," he said quietly. "I

have nothing whatever to say about Mr. Lancaster. The lover I speak of

is your uncle."

Then her face turned red. "Why do you use that expression? Did he send

you to say it?"

"Not at all. I came of my own free will. I went to see Captain Asher

immediately after I left you. Perhaps you are thinking that I have no

right to intrude in your family affairs, but I do not mind your thinking

that. I had a long talk with your uncle. I found that the uppermost

sentiment of his soul was his love for you. You had come into his life

like the break of day. Every little thing you had owned or touched was

dear to him because it had been yours, or you had used it. All his plans

in life had been remade in reference to you."

They had stopped and were standing facing each other. They could not

walk and talk as they were talking.

"Yet, but," she exclaimed, her face pale and her eyes fixed steadfastly

upon him, "but what of that--"

"There are no yets and buts," he exclaimed, half angry with her that she

hesitated. "I know what you were going to say, but that woman you have

heard of is nothing to him. He hates her worse than you hate her. She

has imposed upon you; how I know not; but she is an impostor."

At this instant she seized him by the arm. "Mr. Easterfield," she cried,

and as she spoke the tears were running down her cheeks, "please let me

have a carriage--something covered! I would go on my wheel, for that

would be quicker, but I don't want anybody to speak to me or see me!

Will you have it brought to the back door, Mr. Easterfield, please? I

will run to the house, and be waiting when it comes."

She did not wait for him to answer. He did not ask her where she was

going. He knew very well. She ran to the house, and he hurried to the

stable.

Having given his orders, Mr. Tom went in search of his wife. The moment

had arrived when it was absolutely necessary to let her know what was

going on.

He found her in her own room. "Where on earth have you been?" she

exclaimed. "I have been looking everywhere for you."

In as few words as possible he told her where he had been, and what he

had done.

"And where are you going now?" she asked.

"I am going to change my coat," said the good Mr. Tom. "After my ride

to the toll-gate and back this jacket is too dusty for me to drive with

her."

"Drive with her" exclaimed Mrs. Easterfield. "It will be very well for

you to get rid of some of that dust, but when the carriage comes I will

drive with Olive to see her uncle."

And thus it happened that Mr. Tom stayed at home with the house party

while the close carriage, containing his wife and that dear girl, Olive

Asher, rolled swiftly southward over the smooth turnpike road.

_CHAPTER XXVI_

_A Stop at the Toll-gate._

The four lovers at Broadstone walked, and wandered, and waited, after

breakfast that morning, but only one of them knew definitely what he was

waiting for, and that was Mr. Locker. He was waiting for half-past

twelve o'clock, when he would join Miss Asher, if she gave him an

opportunity; and he was sure she would give him one, for she was always

to be trusted. He intended this interview to be decisive. It would not

do for him to wait any longer; yes or no must be her word. She had been

walking down by the river with the best clothes on the premises, and he

now feared the owner of those clothes more than anybody else. He was a

keen-sighted young man, for otherwise how could he have been a poet, and

he assured himself that Miss Asher was taking Hemphill seriously.

So Mr. Locker determined to charge the works of the enemy that day

before luncheon. When the conflict was over his flag might float high

and free or it might lie trampled in the dust, but the battle should be

fought, and no quarter would be asked or given.

As for Mr. Hemphill and Mr. Du Brant, they simply wandered, and waited,

and bored the rest of the company. They did not care to do anything, for

that might embarrass them in case Miss Asher appeared and wished to do

something else; they did not want to stay in the house because she might

show herself somewhere out of doors; they did not want to stay on the

grounds because at any moment she might seat herself in the library with

a book; above all things, they wanted to keep away from each other; and

their indeterminate peregrinations made sick the souls of Mr. and Mrs.

Fox.

The diplomat did not know what he was going to do when he saw Miss Asher

alone; everything would depend upon surrounding circumstances, for he

was quick as well as wary, and could make up his mind on the instant.

But good Rupert Hemphill had not even as much decision of purpose as

this. He had already spent half an hour with the lady of his love, and

he had not been very happy. Delighted that she had permitted him to join

her, he had at once begun to speak of the one great object which

dominated his existence, but she had earnestly entreated him not to do

so.

"It is such a pity," she had said, "for us never to talk of anything but

that. There are so many things I like to talk about, especially the

things of which I read. I am now reading Charles Lamb--that is, whenever

I get a chance--and I don't believe anybody in these days ever does read

the works of that dear old man. There is a complete set of his books in

the library, and they do not look as if they had ever been opened. Did

you ever read his little essays on Popular Fallacies? Some of them are

just as true as they can be, although they seem like making fun,

especially the one about the angry man being always in the wrong. I am

inclined to side with the angry man. I know I am generally right when I

am angry."

Mr. Hemphill had not read these little essays, nor had he admitted that

he had never read anything else by Mr. Lamb; but he had agreed that it

was very common to be both angry and right. Then Olive had talked to him

about other books, and his way had become very rough and exceedingly

thorny, and he had wished he knew how to bring up the subject of some

new figures in the German. But he had not succeeded in doing this. She

had been in a bookish mood, and the mood had lasted until she had left

him.

Now he began to think that it would be better for him to give up

wandering and waiting and go into the library and prepare himself for

another talk with Olive, but he did not go; she might see him and

suspect his design. He would wait until later. He took some books to his

room.

Dick Lancaster wandered and waited, but he was full of a purpose,

although it was not exactly definite; he wanted to find Mrs. Easterfield

and ask her to release him from his promise. He could not remain much

longer at Broadstone, and Olive's morning walk with Hemphill had made

him very nervous. She knew that these young men were in love with her,

and he had a right to let her know that he was also. It might be

imprudent for him to do this, but he could not see why it would not be

as imprudent at any other time as now. Moreover, there might come no

other time, and he had control of now.

Mrs. Easterfield had not joined her guests because of her anxiety about

Olive. Mr. Easterfield did not appear. For a time he was very

particularly engaged in the garden. Mr. Fox grew very much irritated.

"I tell you, my dear," said he, "every one who comes here makes this

place more stupid and dull. I can't see exactly any reason for it, but

these lovers are at the bottom of it. I hate lovers."

"You should be very glad, my dear," replied Mrs. Fox, "that I was not of

your opinion in my early life."

But things changed for the better after a time. It is true that Mrs.

Easterfield and Olive did not appear, but Mr. Easterfield showed

himself, and did it with great advantage. The simple statement that his

wife and Miss Asher had gone to make a call caused a feeling of relief

to spread over the whole party. Until the callers returned there was no

reason why they should not all enjoy themselves, and Mr. Easterfield was

there to show them how to do it.

As the Broadstone carriage rolled swiftly on there was not much

conversation between its occupants. To the somewhat sensitive mind of

Mrs. Easterfield it seemed that Olive was a little disappointed at the

change of companions, but this may have been a mere fancy. The girl was

so wrapped up in self-concentrated thought that it was not likely that

she would have talked much to any one. Suddenly, however, Olive broke

out:

"Mr. Easterfield must be a thoroughly good man" she said.

"He is," assented the other.

"And you have always been entirely satisfied with him?"

"Entirely," was the reply, without a smile.

Now Olive turned her face toward her companion and laid her hand upon

her arm. "You ought to be a happy woman," she said.

"Now, what is this girl thinking of?" asked Mrs. Easterfield to herself.

"Is she imagining that any one of the young fellows who are now

besieging her can ever be to her what Tom is to me? Or is she making an

ideal of my husband to the disparagement of her own lovers? Whichever

way she thinks, she would better give up thinking."

But the somewhat sensitive Mrs. Easterfield need not have troubled

herself. The girl had already forgotten the good Mr. Tom, and her mind

was intent upon getting to her uncle.

"Will you please ask the man to stop," she said, "before he gets to the

gate, and let me out? Then perhaps you will kindly drive on to the

tollhouse and wait for me. I will not keep you waiting long."

The carriage stopped, and Olive slipped out, and, before Mrs.

Easterfield had any idea of what she was going to do, the girl climbed

the rail fence which separated the road from the captain's pasture

field. Between this field and the garden was a picket fence, not very

high; and, toward a point about midway between the little tollhouse and

the dwelling, Olive now ran swiftly. When she had nearly reached the

fence she gave a great bound; put one foot on the upper rail to which

the pickets were nailed; and then went over. What would have happened if

the sharp pales had caught her skirts might well be imagined. But

nothing happened.

"That was a fine spring" said Mrs. Easterfield to herself. "She has

seen him in the house, and wants to get there before he hears the

carriage."

Olive walked quietly through the garden to the house. She knew that her

uncle was not at the gate, for from afar she had seen that the little

piazza on which he was wont to sit was empty. She went noiselessly into

the hall, and looked into the parlor. By a window in the back of the

room she saw her uncle writing at a little table. With a rush of air she

was at his side before he knew she was in the room. As he turned his

head her arms were around his neck, and the pen in his hand made a great

splotch of ink upon her white summer dress.

"Now, uncle," she exclaimed, looking into his astonished face, "here I

am and here I am going to stay! And if you want to know anything more

about it, you will have to wait, for I am not going to make any

explanations now. I am too happy to know that I have a dear uncle left

to me in this world, and to know that we two are going to live together

always to want to talk about whys and wherefores."

"But, Olive" exclaimed the captain.

"There are no buts," she interrupted. "Not a single but, my dear Uncle

John! I have come back to stay with you, and that is all there is about

it. Mrs. Easterfield is outside in her carriage, and I must go and send

her away. But don't you come out, Uncle John; I have some things to say

to her, and I will let you know when she is going."

As Olive sped out of the room Captain Asher turned around in his chair

and looked after her. Tears were running down his swarthy cheeks. He

did not know how or why it had all happened. He only knew that Olive was

coming back to live with him!

Meantime old Jane was entertaining Mrs. Easterfield at the toll-gate,

where no money was paid, but a great deal of information gained. The old

woman had seen Miss Olive run into the house, and she was elated and

excited, and consequently voluble. Mrs. Easterfield got the full account

of the one-sided courtship of the captain and Miss Port. Even the

concluding episode of Maria having been put to bed had somehow reached

the ears of old Jane. It is really wonderful how secret things do become

known, for not one of the three actors in that scene would have told it

on any account. But old Jane knew it, and told it with great glee, to

Mrs. Easterfield's intense enjoyment. Then she proceeded to praise Olive

for the spirit she had shown under these trying circumstances; and, in

this connection, naturally there came into the recital the spirit the

old woman herself had shown under these same trying circumstances, and

how she had got all ready to leave the minute the nuptial knot was tied

and before that Maria Port could reach the toll-gate, although it was

like tearing herself apart to leave the spot where she had lived so many

years. "But," she concluded, "it is all right now. The captain tells me

it's all a lie of her own makin'. She's good at that business, and if

lies was salable she'd be rich."

Just as the old woman reached this, what seemed to her unsophisticated

mind, impossible business proposition, Olive appeared. Mrs. Easterfield

was surprised to see her so soon, and, to tell the truth, a little

disappointed. She had been greatly interested and amused by the old

woman's rapid tale, which she would not interrupt, but had put aside in

her mind several questions to ask, and one of them was in relation to

her husband's late visit to the captain. She had had no detailed account

from him, and she wondered how much this old body knew about it. She

seemed to know pretty much everything. But Olive's appearance put an end

to this absorbing conversation.

"Has you come to stay, dearie?" eagerly asked old Jane, as Olive grasped

her hand.

"To be sure I have, Jane! I have come to stay forever!"

"Thank goodness!" exclaimed the old woman. "How the captain will

brighten up! But my! I must go and alter the supper!"

"Mrs. Easterfield," said Olive, when the old woman had departed, "you

will have to go back without me. I can not leave my uncle, and I am

going to stay here right along. You must not think I am ungrateful to

you, or unmindful of Mr. Easterfield's great kindness, but this is my

place for the present. Some day I know you will be good enough to let me

pay you another visit."

"And what am I to do with all those young men?" asked Mrs. Easterfield

mischievously. She would have added, "And one of them your future

husband?" But she remembered the coachman.

Olive laughed. "They will annoy you less when I am not there. If you

will be so good as to ask your maid to pack up my belongings, I will

send for my trunk." She glanced at the coachman. "Would you mind taking

a little walk with me along the road?"

"I shall be glad to do so," said Mrs. Easterfield, getting out of the

carriage.

"Now, my dear Mrs. Easterfield," said Olive when they were some distance

from the toll-gate and the house, "I am going to ask you to add to all

your kindness one more favor for me."

"That has such an ominous sound," said Mrs. Easterfield, "that I am not

disposed to promise beforehand."

"It is about those three young men you mentioned."

"I mentioned no number, and there are four."

"In what I am going to ask of you one of them can be counted out. He is

not in the affair. Only three are in this business. Won't you be so good

as to decline them all for me? I know that you can do it better than I

can. You have so much tact. And you must have done the thing many a

time, and I have not done it once. I am very awkward; I don't know how;

and, to confess the truth, I have put myself into a pretty bad fix."

"Upon my word," cried Mrs. Easterfield, "that is a pretty thing for one

woman to ask of another!

"I know it is," said Olive, "and I would not ask it of anybody but the

truest friend--of no one but you. But you see how difficult it is for me

to attend to it. And it must be done. I have given up all idea of

marrying, I am going to stay here, and when my father comes with his

young lady he will find me settled and fixed, and he and she will have

nothing to do with making plans for me. Now, dear Mrs. Easterfield, I

know you will do this favor for me, and let me say that I wish you would

be particularly gentle and pleasant in speaking to Mr. Locker. I think

he is really a very kind and considerate young man. He certainly showed

himself that way. I know you can talk so nicely to him that perhaps he

will not mind very much. As for Mr. Du Brant, you can tell him plainly

that I have carefully considered his proposition--and that is the exact

truth--and that I find it will be wise for me not to accept it. He is a

man of affairs, and will understand that I have given him a

straightforward, practical answer, and he will be satisfied. You must

not be sharp with Mr. Hemphill, as I know you will be inclined to be.

Please remember that I was once in love with him, and respect my

feelings as well as his. Besides, he is good, and he is in earnest, and

he deserves fair treatment. I am sorry that I have worried you about

him, and I will tell you now that I have found out he would not do at

all. I found it out this morning when I was talking to him about books.

His mind is neither broad nor cultivated."

"I could have told you that," said Mrs. Easterfield, "and saved you all

the trouble of taking that walk by the river."

"And then there is one more thing," continued Olive; "it is about

Professor Lancaster. I am sure you will agree with me that it will not

do for him to come back here. I am just going to start housekeeping

again. I've got the supper on my mind this minute. You can't imagine how

everything has turned topsy-turvy since I left. I suppose he will be

wanting to go North, anyway. In fact, he told me so."

Mrs. Easterfield laughed. She did not believe that Mr. Lancaster would

want to go North, or West, or East, although South might suit him. But

she saw the point of Olive's request; it would be awkward to have him at

the tollhouse.

"Oh, I will take care of him," she said, "and he shall continue his

vacation trip just as soon as Mr. Easterfield and I choose to give him

up."

"You see," said Olive in an explanatory way, "I have not anything in the

world to do with him, but I thought he might want to come back to see

uncle again. And, really," she added, speaking with a great deal of

earnestness, "I don't want to be bothered with any more young men! And

now I will call uncle. You know I had to say all these things to you

immediately."

Mrs. Easterfield walked quickly back to her carriage, but she did not

wait to see Captain Asher. As a hostess it was necessary for her to

hurry back home; and as a quick-witted, sensible woman she saw that it

would be well to leave these two happy people to themselves. This was

not the time for them to talk to her. So, when the captain, unwilling to

wait any longer, appeared at the door of the house, these two dear

friends had kissed and parted, and the carriage was speeding away.

On her way home Mrs. Easterfield forgot her slight chagrin at what her

husband had not done, in her joy at what he had accomplished. He had

neglected to take her fully into his confidence, and had acted very much

as if he had been a naval commander, who had cut his telegraphic

connections in order not to be embarrassed by orders from the home

government. But, on the other hand, he had saved her from the terrible

shock of hearing Olive declare that she had just engaged herself to

Rupert Hemphill. If it had not been for the extraordinary promptness of

her good Tom--a style of action he had acquired in the railroad

business--it would have been just as likely as not that Olive would have

accepted that young man before she had had an opportunity of finding out

his want of breadth and cultivation.

_CHAPTER XXVII_

_By Proxy._

About half-past twelve Claude Locker made his appearance in the spacious

hall. He looked out of the front door; he looked out of the back door;

he peered into the parlor; he glanced up the stairway; and then he

peeped into the library. He had not seen the lady of the house since her

return, and he was waiting for Olive. This morning his fate was to be

positively decided; he would take a position that would allow of no

postponement; he would tell her plainly that a statement that she was

not prepared to give him an answer that day would be considered by him

as a final rejection. She must haul down her flag or he would surrender

and present to her his sword.

Claude Locker saw nothing of Miss Asher, but it was not long before the

lady of the house came down-stairs.

"Oh, Mr. Locker," she exclaimed, "I am so glad to see you! Come into the

library, please."

He hesitated a minute. "I beg your pardon," said he, "but I have an

appointment--"

"I know that," said she, "and you may be surprised to hear that it is

with me and not with Miss Asher. Come in and I will tell you about it."

Claude Locker actually ran after his hostess into the library, both of

his eyes wide open.

"And now," said she, "please sit down, and hear what I have to say."

Locker seated himself on the edge of a chair; he did not feel happy; he

suspected something was wrong.

"Is she sick?" he asked. "Can't she come down?"

"She is very well," was the reply, "but she is not here. She is with her

uncle."

"Then I am due at her uncle's house before one o'clock," said he.

"No," she answered, "you are due here."

He fixed upon her a questioning glance.

"Miss Asher," she continued, "has deputed me to give you her answer. She

can not come herself, but she does not forget her agreement with you."

The young man still gazed steadfastly. "If it is to be a favorable

decision," said he, "I hope you will be able to excuse any exuberance of

demeanor on my part."

Mrs. Easterfield smiled. "In that case," she said, "I do not suppose I

should have been sent as an envoy."

His brow darkened, and instinctively he struck one hand with the other.

"That is exactly what I expected!" he exclaimed. "The signs all pointed

that way. But until this moment, my dear madam, I hoped. Yes, I had

presumed to hope that I might kindle in her heart a little nickering

flame. I had tried to do this, and I had left but one small match head,

which I intended to strike this day. But now I see I had a piece of the

wrong end of the match. After this I must be content forever to stay in

the cold."

"I am glad you view the matter so philosophically," said Mrs.

Easterfield, "and Olive particularly desired me to say--"

"Don't call her Olive, if you please," he interrupted. "It is like

speaking to me through the partly open door of paradise, through which I

can not enter. Slam it shut, I beg of you, and talk over the top of the

wall."

"Miss Asher wants you to know," continued Mrs. Easterfield, "that while

she has decided to decline your addresses, she is deeply grateful to you

for the considerate way in which you have borne yourself toward her. I

know she has a high regard for you, and that she will not forget your

kindness."

Mr. Locker put his hands in his pockets. "Do you know," said he, "as

this thing had to be done, I prefer to have you do it than to have her

do it. Well, it is done now! And so am I!"

"You never did truly expect to get her, did you, Mr. Locker?" asked Mrs.

Easterfield.

"Never," he answered; "but I do not flinch at what may be

impossibilities. Nobody, myself included, can imagine that I shall rival

Keats, and yet I am always trying for it."

"Is it Keats you are aiming at?" she said.

"Yes," he replied; "it does not look like it, does it? But it is."

"And you don't feel disheartened when you fail?" said she.

Mr. Locker took his hands from his pockets, and folded his arms. "Yes,

I do," he said; "I feel as thoroughly disheartened as I do now. But I

have one comfort; Keats and Miss Asher dropped me; I did not drop them.

So there is nothing on my conscience. And now tell me, is she going to

take Lancaster? I hope so."

"She could not do that," answered Mrs. Easterfield, "for I know he has

not asked her."

"Then he'd better skip around lively and do it," said Mr. Locker, "not

only for his own sake, but for mine. If I should be cast aside for the

Hemphill clothes I should have no faith in humanity. I would give up

verse, and I would give up woman."

"Don't be afraid of anything like that," said Mrs. Easterfield,

laughing. "It may be somewhat of a breach of confidence, but I am going

to tell you nevertheless; because I think you deserve it; that I am also

deputed to decline the addresses of Mr. Hemphill, and Mr. Du Brant."

"Hurrah!" cried Locker. "Mrs. Easterfield, I envy you; and if you don't

feel like performing the rest of your mission, you can depute it to me.

I don't know anything at this moment that would give me so much joy."

"I would not be so disloyal or so cruel as that," said she. "But I shall

not be in a hurry. I shall let them eat their lunch in peace and hope."

"Not much peace," said he. "Her empty chair will put that to flight. I

know how it feels to look at her empty chair."

"Then you really love her?" said Mrs. Easterfield, much moved.

"With every fiber," said he.

Mrs. Easterfield found herself much embarrassed at the luncheon table.

She had made her husband understand the state of affairs, but had not

had time to enter into particulars with him, and she did not find it

easy satisfactorily to explain to the company the absence of Miss Asher

without calling forth embarrassing questions as to her return, and she

wished carefully to avoid telling them that her guest was not coming

back for the present. If she made this known then she feared there might

be a scene at the table.

Mr. Hemphill turned pale when, that afternoon, his hostess, in an

exceedingly clear and plain manner, made known to him his fate. For a

few moments he did not speak. Then he said very quietly: "If she had

not, of her own accord, told me that she had once loved me, I should

never have dared to say anything like that to her."

"I do not think you need any excuse, Mr. Hemphill," said Mrs.

Easterfield. "In fact, if you loved her, I do not see how you could help

speaking after what she herself said to you."

"That is true," he replied. "And I love her with all my heart!"

"She ought never to have told you of that girlish fancy," said his

hostess. "It was putting you in a very embarrassing position, and I am

bound to say to you, Mr. Hemphill, that I also am very much to blame.

Knowing all this, as I did, I should not have allowed you to meet her."

"Oh, don't say that!" exclaimed Mr. Hemphill. "Don't say that! Not for

the world would I give up the memory of hearing her say she once loved

me! I don't care how many years ago it was. I am glad you let me come

here. I am glad she told me. I shall never forget the happiness I have

had in this house. And now, Mrs. Easterfield, let me ask you one

thing--"

At this moment Mrs. Easterfield, who was facing the door, saw her

husband enter the hall, and by his manner she knew he was looking for

her.

"Excuse me," she said to Hemphill, "I will be back in an instant."

And she ran out. "Tom," she cried, "you must go away. I can not see you

now. I am very busy declining the addresses of a suitor, and can not be

interrupted."

Mr. Tom looked at her in surprise, although it was not often Mrs.

Easterfield could surprise him. He saw that she was very much in

earnest.

"Well," said he, "if you are sure you are going to decline him I won't

interrupt you. And when you have sealed his fate you will find me in my

room. I want particularly to see you."

Mrs. Easterfield went back to the library and Hemphill continued: "You

need not answer if you do not think it is right," said he, "but do you

believe at any time she thought seriously of me?"

Mrs. Easterfield smiled as she answered: "Now, you see the advantage of

an agent in such matters as this. You could not have asked her that

question, or if you did she would not answer you. And now I am going to

tell you that she did have some serious thought of you. Whatever

encouragement she gave you, she treated you fairly. She is a very

practical young woman--"

"Excuse me," said Hemphill hurriedly, "but if you please, I would rather

you did not tell me anything more. Sometimes it is not well to try to

know too much. I can't talk now, Mrs. Easterfield, for I am dreadfully

cut up, but at the same time I am wonderfully proud. I don't know that

you can understand this."

"Yes, I can," she said; "I understand it perfectly."

"You are very kind," he said. As he was about to leave the room he

stopped and turned to Mrs. Easterfield. "Is she going to marry Professor

Lancaster?" he asked.

"Really, Mr. Hemphill," she replied, "I can not say anything about that.

I do not know any more than you do."

"Well, I hope she may," he said. "It would be a burning shame if she

were to accept that Austrian; and as for the other little man, he is too

ugly. You must excuse me for speaking of your friends in this way, Mrs.

Easterfield, but really I should feel dreadfully if I thought I had been

set aside for such a queer customer as he is."

Mrs. Easterfield did not laugh then; but when Hemphill had gone, and she

had joined her husband, they had a good time together.

"And so they all recommend Lancaster," said he.

"So far," she answered; "but I have yet to hear what Mr. Du Brant has to

say."

"I think you have had enough of this discarding business," said Mr.

Tom. "You would better leave Du Brant to me."

"Oh, no," said she; "I promised Olive. And, besides, I think I like it."

"I believe you do," said Mr. Tom. "And now I want to say something

important. It is not right that Broadstone should be given up entirely

to the affairs of Miss Asher and her lovers. I think, for instance, that

our friend Fox looks very much dissatisfied."

"That is because Olive is not here," she replied.

"Not only that," he answered. "He loses her, and does not get anything

else in her place. Now, we must make this house lively, as it ought to

be. Let Du Brant off for to-day and let us make up a party to go out on

the river. We will take two boats, and have some of the men to do the

rowing. Postpone dinner so we can have a long afternoon."

Mr. Du Brant did not go on the river excursion. He had some letters to

write, and begged to be excused. He had not asked when Miss Asher was

expected back, or anything about her return. He did not understand the

state of affairs, and was afraid he might receive some misleading

information. But if she should come that afternoon or the next day he

determined to be on the spot. After that he might not be able to remain

at Broadstone, and it would be a glorious opportunity for him if she

should come back that afternoon.

It was twilight when the boating party returned. Under the genial

influence of Mr. Tom and his wife they had all enjoyed themselves as

much as it was possible for them to do so without Olive.

When Claude Locker, a little behind the others, reached the top of the

hill he perceived, not far away, Mr. Du Brant strolling. These two had

not spoken since the night of the interrupted serenade. Each of them had

desired to avoid words or actions which might disturb the peace of this

hospitable home, and consequently had very successfully succeeded in

avoiding each other. But now Mr. Locker walked straight up to the

secretary of legation, holding out his hand.

"Now, Mr. Du Brant," said he, "since we are both in the same boat, let

us shake hands and let bygones be bygones."

But the young Austrian did not take the proffered hand. For a moment he

looked as though he were about to turn away without taking any notice of

Locker, but he had not the strength of mind to do this. He turned and

remarked with a scowl:

"What do you mean by same boat? I have nothing to do with you on the

water or on the land!"

Mr. Locker shrugged his shoulders. "So you have not been told," said he.

"Told!" exclaimed Du Brant, now very much interested. "Told what?"

"That you will have to find out," said the other. "It is not my business

to tell you. But I don't mind saying that as I have been told I thought

perhaps you might have been."

"Told what?" exclaimed Mr. Du Brant again, stepping up closer to the

other.

"Don't shout so," said Locker; "they will think we are quarreling.

Didn't I say I am not the person to tell you anything, and if you did

not understand me I will say it again."

For some seconds the Austrian looked steadily at his companion. Then he

said, "Have you been refused by Miss Asher?"

"Well," said Locker with a sigh, "as that is my business, I suppose I

can talk about it if I want to. Yes, I have."

Again Du Brant was silent for a time. "Did she tell you herself?" he

asked.

"No, she did not," was the answer. "She kindly sent me word by Mrs.

Easterfield. I suppose your turn has not come yet. I was at the head of

the list." And, fearing that if he stayed longer he might say too much,

Mr. Locker walked slowly away, whistling disjointedly as he went.

That evening Mrs. Easterfield discovered that she had been deprived of

the anticipated pleasure of conveying to Mr. Du Brant the message which

Olive had sent him. That gentleman, unusually polite and soft-spoken,

found her by herself, and thus accosted her: "You must excuse me, madam,

for speaking upon a certain subject without permission from you, but I

have reason to believe that you are the bearer of a message to me from

Miss Asher."

"How in the world did you find that out?" she asked.

"It was the--Locker," he answered. "I do not think it was his intention

to inform me fully; he is not a master of words and expressions; he is a

little blundering; but, from what he said, I supposed you were kind

enough to be the bearer of such a message."

"Yes," said Mrs. Easterfield; "not being able to be here herself, Miss

Asher requested me to say to you that she must decline--"

"Excuse me, madam," he interrupted, "but it is I who decline. I bear

toward you, madam, the greatest homage and respect, but what I had the

honor to say to Miss Asher I said to her alone, and it is only from her

that it is possible for me to receive an answer. Therefore, madam, it is

absolutely necessary that I decline to be a party to the interview you

so graciously propose. It breaks my heart, my dear madam, even to seem

unwilling to listen to anything you might deign to say to me, but in

this case I must be firm, I must decline. Can you pardon me, dear madam,

for speaking as I have been obliged to speak?"

"Oh, of course," said Mrs. Easterfield. "And really, since you know so

much, it is not necessary for me to tell you anything more."

"Ah," said the diplomat, with a little bow and an incredulous

expression, as if the lady could have no idea what he might yet know, "I

am so much obliged to you! I am so thankful!"

_CHAPTER XXVIII_

_Here we go! Lovers Three!_

The three discarded lovers of Broadstone--all discarded, although one of

them would not admit it--would have departed the next day had not that

day been Sunday, when there were no convenient trains. Mr. Du Brant was

due in Washington; Mr. Hemphill was needed very much at his desk,

especially since Mr. Easterfield had decided to spend a few days with

his wife; and Claude Locker wanted to go. When he had finished the thing

he happened to be doing it was his habit immediately to begin something

else. All was at an end between him and Miss Asher. He acknowledged

this, and he did not wish to stay at Broadstone. But, as it could not be

helped, they all stayed over Sunday.

Mr. Easterfield planned an early afternoon expedition to a mission

church in the mountains; it would be a novel experience, and a

delightful trip, and everybody must go.

In the course of the morning Mr. Du Brant strolled in the eastern parts

of the grounds, and Mr. Locker strolled over that portion of the lawn

which lay to the west. Mr. Du Brant did not meet with any one with whom

he cared to talk, but Mr. Locker was fortunate enough to meet Miss

Raleigh.

"I am glad to see you," said he; "you are the person above all other

persons I wish to talk to."

"It delights me to hear that," said the lady, her face showing that she

spoke the truth.

"Let us go over there and sit down," said he. "Now, then," he continued,

"you were present, Miss Raleigh, at a very peculiar moment in my life, a

momentous moment, I may say. You enjoyed a privilege--if you consider it

such--not vouchsafed to many mortals."

"I did consider it a privilege, you may be sure," exclaimed Miss

Raleigh, "and I value it. You do not know how highly I value it!"

"You heard me offer myself, body and soul, to the lady I loved. You were

taken into our confidence, you saw me laid upon the table--"

"Oh, dreadful!" cried the lady. "Don't put it that way."

"Well, then," said he, "you saw me postponed for future consideration.

You promised you would regard everything you heard as confidential; by

so doing you enabled me to speak when otherwise I might not have dared

to do so. I am deeply grateful to you; and, as you already know so much

about my hopes and my aspirations, I think it right you should know all

there is to know."

The conscience of Miss Raleigh stirred itself very vigorously within

her, and her voice was much subdued as she said:

"I am sure you are very good."

"Well, then," said Locker, "the proposal you heard me make has been

declined. I am discarded; and not directly in a face-to-face interview,

but through another by a message. It would have been inconvenient for

Miss Asher personally to communicate the intelligence, so as Mrs.

Easterfield was coming this way she kindly consented to convey the

intelligence."

"I declare," exclaimed Miss Raleigh, "I had not heard of that! Mrs.

Easterfield made me her confidant in the early stages of this affair, or

I should say, these affairs. But she has not told me that."

"She will doubtless give herself that pleasure later," said Locker.

"No," said she, "she will not think any more about it. I am of no

further use. And may I ask if you know anything about the two other

gentlemen?"

"Both turned down," said Locker.

"I might have supposed that," answered the lady; "for if Miss Asher

would not take you she certainly would not be content with either of

them."

"With all my heart I thank you," said Locker warmly. "Such words are

welcome to a wounded heart."

For a moment Miss Raleigh was silent, then she remarked, "It is very

hard to be discarded."

"You are right there!" exclaimed Locker. "But how do you happen to know

anything about it?"

"I have been discarded myself," she answered.

The larger eye of Mr. Locker grew still larger, the other endeavored to

emulate its companion's size; and his mouth became a rounded opening.

"Discarded?" he cried.

"Yes," said she.

The countenance of the young man was now bright with interest and

curiosity. "I don't suppose it would be right to ask you," said he,

"even although I have taken you so completely into my confidence--but,

never mind. Don't think of it. Of course, I would not propose such a

question."

"Of course not," said she, "you are too manly for that." And then she

was silent again. Naturally she hesitated to reveal the secrets of her

heart, and to a gentleman with whom her acquaintance was of such recent

date; but she earnestly wanted to repose confidence in another, as well

as to receive it, and it was so seldom, so very seldom, that such an

opportunity came to her.

"I do not know," she said, "that I ought to, but still--"

"Oh, don't, if you don't want to," said Locker.

"But I think I do want to," she replied. "You are so kind, so good, and

you have confided in me. Yes, I was once discarded, not exactly by word

of mouth, or even by message, but still discarded."

"A stranger to me, of course," said Locker, his whole form twisting

itself into an interrogation-point.

"No," said she, "and as I have begun I will go on. It was Mr. Hemphill."

"What!" he exclaimed. "That--"

"Yes, it was he," said she, speaking slowly, and in a low voice. "He was

Mr. Easterfield's secretary and I was Mrs. Easterfield's secretary, and,

of course, we were thrown much together. He has very good qualities; I

do not hesitate now to say that; and they impressed themselves upon me.

In every possible way I endeavored to make things pleasant for him. I do

not believe that when he was at work he ever wanted a glass of cold

water that he did not find it within reach. I early discovered that he

was very fond of cold water."

"A most commendable dissipation," interrupted Locker.

"He had no dissipations," said Miss Raleigh. "His character was

unimpeachable. In very many ways I was attracted to him, in very many

ways I endeavored to make life pleasant for him; and I am afraid that

sometimes I neglected Mrs. Easterfield's interests so that I might do

little things for him, such as dusting, keeping his ink-pots full,

providing fresh blotting-paper, and many other trifling services which

devotion readily suggested."

Locker heaved a sigh of commiseration which she mistook for one of

sympathy.

"I will not go into particulars," she continued, "but at last he

discovered that--well, I will be plain with you--he discovered that I

loved him. Then, sir--it is humiliating to me to say it, but I will not

flinch--he discarded me. He did not use words, but his manner was

sufficient. Never again did I go near his desk, never did I tender him

the slightest service. It was a terrible blow! It was humiliating"

"I should think so," said Locker, "from him"

"But I will say no more," she remarked with a sigh. "I have told you

what you have heard that you may understand how thoroughly I sympathize

with you, for all is over with me in that direction, as I suppose all

is over with you in your direction. And now I must go, for this long

conference may be remarked. But before I go, I will say that if ever

you--"

"Oh, no, no, no!" interrupted Locker, "it would not do at all! I really

have begun to believe that I was cut out for a bachelor."

"What!" said Miss Raleigh, with great severity. "Do you suppose, sir,

that I--"

"Not at all, not at all" cried Locker. "Not for one moment do I suppose

that you--"

"If for one moment," said she, "I had imagined you would suppose--"

"But I assure you, Miss Raleigh, I never did suppose that you would

imagine I would think--but if you do suppose I thought you imagined I

could possibly conceive--"

"But I really did think," said Miss Raleigh, speaking more gently. "But

if I was wrong--"

"Nay, think no more about it," Locker interrupted, "and let us be

friends again."

He offered her his hand, which she shook warmly, and then departed.

It had been arranged that Lancaster was not to leave Broadstone on the

next day. He had expected to do so, but Mr. Easterfield had planned for

a day's fishing for himself, Mr. Fox, and the professor, and he would

not let the latter off. The ladies had accepted an invitation to

luncheon that day; the next day some new visitors were expected; and in

order not to interfere with Mr. Easterfield's plans, evidently intended

to restore to Broadstone some of the social harmony which had recently

been so disturbed, Dick consented to stay, although he really wanted to

go. He could not forget that his vacation was passing.

"Very well, then," Mrs. Easterfield remarked to him that Sunday evening,

"if you must go on Tuesday, I suppose you must, although I think it

would be better for you if I were to keep my eye on you for a little

while longer."

"Perhaps so," said Lancaster, "but the time has come when curb-bits,

cages, and good advice are not for me. I must burst loose from

everything and go my way, right or wrong, whatever it may be."

"I see that," said she; "but if it had not been for the curbed bit and

all that, you would be leaving this place a discarded lover, like the

rest of them. They depart with their love-affairs finished forever,

ended; you go as free to woo, to win, or to lose as you ever were. And

you owe this entirely to me, so whatever else you do, don't sneer at my

curbs and my cages; to them you owe your liberty."

The professor fully appreciated everything she had done for him, and

told her so earnestly and warmly. But she interrupted his grateful

expressions.

"It would have been very hard on me," she said, "if Olive had asked me

to carry to you the news of your rejection. That is what I did for the

others, I suppose you know."

"Oh, yes," said Lancaster; "Locker told me."

"I might have supposed that," said she. "And now I feel bound to tell

you also, although it is not a message, that Olive does not expect to

see you at her uncle's house. She infers that you are going to continue

your vacation journey."

"I have made my plans for my journey," said he, "and I do not think,

Mrs. Easterfield, that you will care to have me talk them over with

you."

"No, indeed," she replied; "I do not want to hear a word about them, but

I am going to give you one piece of advice, whether you like it or not.

Don't be in a hurry to ask her to marry you. At this moment she does not

want to marry anybody. Her position has entirely changed. She wanted to

marry so that her plans might be settled before her father and his new

wife arrive; and now she considers that they are settled. So be careful.

It is true that the objections she formerly had to you are removed, but

before you ask her to marry you, you should seriously ask yourself what

reason there is she should do so. She does not know you very well; she

is not interested in you; and I am very sure she is not in love with

you. Now you know, for I have told you so, that I would be delighted to

see you two married. I believe you would suit each other admirably, but

although you may agree with me in this opinion, I am quite sure she does

not; at least, not yet. Now, this is all I am going to say, except that

you have my very best wishes that you may get her."

"I shall never forget that," said he, "but I see I am not to be free

from the memory, at least, of the curb and the cage."

After breakfast on Monday the three discarded lovers departed in a

dog-cart, Mr. Du Brant in front with the driver, and Claude Locker and

Hemphill behind. For some minutes the party was silent. If

circumstances had permitted they would have gone separately.

As long as he could see the mansion of Broadstone, Claude Locker spoke

no word. When the time had come to go he had not wanted to go. When

taking leave of Dick Lancaster he had congratulated that favored young

man upon the fact that he had not been rejected, and had assured him

that if he had remained at Broadstone he would have done his best to

back him up as he had said he would.

Hemphill was not inclined to talk. Of course, Locker did not care to

converse with the young diplomat, and consequently he found himself

bored, and to relieve his feelings he burst into song. His words were

impromptu, and although the verse was not very good, it was very

impressive. It began as follows:

"Here we go,

Lovers three,

All steeped deep

In miseree."

At this Mr. Hemphill turned and looked at him, while a deep grunt came

from the front seat, but the singer kept on without much attention to

meter, and none at all to tune.

"This is so,

Here we go,

Flabbergasted,

Hopes all blasted,

Flags half-masted.

While it lasted,

We poor--"

"Look here," cried Du Brant, turning round suddenly, "I beg you desist

that. You are insulting. And what you say is not true, as regards me at

least. You can sing for yourself."

"Not true!" cried Locker. "Oh, ho, oh ho! Perhaps you have forgotten

yourself, kind sir."

This little speech seemed to make Du Brant very angry, and he fairly

shouted at Locker: "No, I haven't forgotten myself, and I have not

forgotten you! You have insulted me before, and I should like to make

you pay for it! I should like to have satisfaction from you, sir"

"That sounds well," cried Locker. "Do you mean to fight?"

"I want the satisfaction due to a gentleman," answered the young

Austrian.

"Good," cried Locker, "that would suit me exactly. It would brighten me

up. Let's do it now. I am not going to stop at Washington, and this is

the only time I can give you. Driver, can we get to the station in time

if we stop a little while?"

The person addressed was a young negro who had become intensely

interested in the conversation.

"Oh, yes, sah," he answered. "We'll git dar twenty minutes before de

train does, and if you takes half an hour I can whip up. That train's

mostly late, anyway."

"All right," cried Locker. "And now, sir, how shall we fight? What have

you got to fight with?"

"This is folly," growled Du Brant. "I have nothing to fight with. I do

not fight with fists, like you Americans."

"Haven't you a penknife" coolly asked Locker. "If not, I daresay Mr.

Hemphill will lend you one."

Du Brant now fairly trembled with anger. "When I fight," said he, "I

fight like a gentleman; with a sword or a pistol."

"I am sorry," said Locker, "but if I remembered to bring my sword and

pistol I must have put them in the bottom of my trunk, and that has gone

on to the station. Have you two pistols or swords with you? Or do you

think you could get sufficient satisfaction out of a couple of piles of

stones that we could hurl at each other?"

Du Brant made no English answer to this, but uttered some savage remarks

in French.

"Do you understand what all that means?" inquired Locker of Hemphill,

who had been quietly listening to what had been going on.

"Yes," said the other, "he is cursing you up hill, and down dale."

"Oh," said Locker, "it sounds to me as if he were calculating his last

week's expenses. But when he gets to French cursing, I drop him. I can't

fight him that way."

The colored boy now showed that he was very much disappointed. He had

expected the pleasure of a fight, and he was afraid he was going to lose

it.

"I tell you, sah," he said to Locker, "why don't you try kick-shins? Do

you know what kick-shins is? You don't know what kick-shins is? Well,

kick-shins is this: one fellow stands in front of the other fellow, and

one takes hold of the collar of the other fellow, and the other fellow

takes hold of his collar, and then they kicks each other's shins, and

the one what squeals fust, he's licked, and the other one gits the gal.

You've got pretty thin shoes, sah," addressing Du Brant, "and your feet

ain't half as big as his'n, but your toes is more p'inted."

"No kick-shins for me," said Locker. "I've got to be economical about my

clothes."

Du Brant's rage now became ungovernable. "Do you apologize," he cried,

"or I take you by the throat, and I strangle you."

Hemphill, who had been smiling mildly at the kick-shin proposition, now

turned himself about. "You will not do that," he said, "and if you don't

sit quiet and keep your mouth shut, I'll toss you out of this cart, and

make you walk the rest of the way to the station."

As Hemphill looked quite big and strong enough to execute this threat,

and as he was too quiet a man to be ignored, Du Brant turned his face to

the horse, and said no more.

"I did not know you were such a trump" cried Locker. "Give me your hand.

I should hate to be strangled by a foreigner!"

When they took the train Du Brant went by himself into the smoking-car,

and Locker and Hemphill had a seat together.

"Do you know," said Locker, "I am beginning to like you, although I must

admit that before this morning I can remember no feeling of the sort."

"That is not surprising," said Hemphill. "A man is not generally fond of

his rival."

"We will let it go at that," said Locker, "we'll let it go at that! I

should not wonder, if we had all stayed at Broadstone; and if the

central object of interest had also remained; and, if I had failed, as

I have failed, to make the proper impression; and if the professor, whom

I promised to back up in case I should find myself out of the combat,

should also have failed; I should not wonder if I had backed up you."

_CHAPTER XXIX_

_Two Pieces of News._

It was nearly two weeks after Mrs. Easterfield drove away from the

captain's toll-gate before she went back there again. There were many

reasons for thus depriving herself of Olive's society. Mr. Tom had

stayed with her for an unusually long time; a house full of visitors,

mostly relatives, had succeeded the departed lovers, and Foxes; and,

besides, Olive was so very busy and so very happy--as she learned from

many little notes--cleaning the house from garret to cellar, and loving

her uncle better every day, that it really would have been a misdemeanor

to interfere with her ardent pursuits.

But now Olive had written that she wanted to tell her a lot of things

which could not go into a letter, and so the Broadstone carriage stopped

again at the toll-gate.

Two great things had Olive to tell, and she was really glad that her

uncle was not at home so that she might get at once to the telling.

In the first place, old Mr. Port was dead, and Captain Asher was in

great trouble about this. Of course, he could not keep away from the

deathbed of his old friend, nor could he neglect to do all honor to his

memory, but it was a terrible thing for him to have to go into the

house where Maria Port lived. After what had happened it was almost too

much for his courage, although he was a brave man. But he had conquered

his feelings, and he was there now. The funeral would be to-morrow.

When Mrs. Easterfield heard all that Olive had to tell her about Maria

Port, her heart went out to that brave man who kept the toll-gate.

The next thing that Olive had to tell was that she had heard from her

father, who wrote that he would soon arrive in this country; that he

would then go West, where he would marry Olive's former schoolmate; and

that, on their wedding tour, he would make a little visit at the

tollhouse so that Olive might see her new mother.

"Now, isn't this enough," cried Olive, "to make any girl spread her

wings and fly to the ends of the earth? But I have no wings; they have

all gone away in a dog-cart. But I don't feel about that as I used to

feel," she continued, a little hardness coming into her face. "I am

settled now just the same as if I were married, and father and Edith

Malcolmsen may come just as soon as they please. They shall make no

plans for me; I am going to stay here with Uncle John. This house is

mine now, and I am seriously thinking of having it painted. I shall stay

here just as if I were one of those trees, and my father and my new

mother--"

Here tears came into Olive's eyes and Mrs. Easterfield stopped her.

"Olive," said she, "I will give you a piece of advice. When your father

and his young wife come here, treat her exactly as if she were your old

friend. If you do so I think you will get along very well. This is

partly selfish advice, for I greatly desire the opportunity to treat

your father hospitably. He was my friend when I was a girl, you

remember, and I looked up to him with very great admiration."

And so these two friends sat and talked, and talked, and talked until it

was positively shameful, considering that the Broadstone horses were

accustomed to be fed and watered at noon, and that the coachman was very

hungry.

When, at last, Mrs. Easterfield drove home, and it must have been three

in the afternoon, she left Olive very much comforted, even in regard to

the unfortunate obligations which had fallen upon her uncle. For now

that her old father had gone, all intercourse with the Port woman would

cease.

But in her own mind Mrs. Easterfield was not so very much comforted. It

was all well enough to talk about Olive and her uncle and the happiness

and safety of the home he had given her, but that sort of thing could

not last very long. He was an elderly man and she was a girl. In the

natural course of events, she would probably be left alone while she was

very young. She would then be alone, for her father's wife could never

be a mother to her when he was at sea, and their home would never be a

home for her when he was on shore. What Olive wanted, in Mrs.

Easterfield's opinion, was a husband. An uncle, such as Captain Asher,

was very charming, but he was not enough.

During this pleasant afternoon, when Captain Asher was in town

attending to some arrangements for the burial of Mr. Port, Miss Maria

was sitting discreetly alone in her darkened chamber. She had a great

many things to think about, and if she had allowed her conscience full

freedom of action, there would have been much more upon her mind. She

might have been troubled by the recollection that since her father's

very determined treatment of her when she had endeavored to fix herself

upon the affections of Captain Asher, she had so conducted herself

toward her venerable parent that she had actually nagged the life out of

him; and that had she been the dutiful daughter she ought to have been

he might have been living yet. But thoughts of this nature were not

common to Maria Port. She had made herself sure that the will was all

right, and he was very old. There was a time for all things, and Maria

was now about to begin life for herself. To her plans for this new life

she now gave almost her sole attention.

She had one great object in view which overshadowed everything else, and

this was to marry Captain Asher. This she could have done before, she

firmly believed, had it not been for her old father and that horrid

girl, the captain's niece. As for the elderly man who kept the toll-gate

she did not mind him. If not interfered with, she was sure she could

make him marry her, and then the great ambition of her life would be

satisfied.

Unpretentious as was her establishment in town, she did not care to

spend the money necessary to keep it up, and although she was often an

unkind woman, she was not cruel enough to think of inflicting herself

as a boarder upon any housewife in the town. No, the toll-gate was the

home for her; and if Captain Asher chose to inflict himself upon her for

a few years longer, she would try to endure it.

One obstacle to her plans was now gone, and she must devote herself to

the work of getting rid of the other one. While Olive Asher remained at

the tollhouse there was no chance for her in that quarter.

The funeral was over, and when the bereaved Miss Port took leave of

Captain Asher she exhibited a quiet gratitude which was very becoming

and suitable. During the short time when he had visited the house every

day she had showed him no resentment on account of what had passed

between them, and had treated him very much as if he had been one of her

father's old friends with whom she was not very well acquainted and to

whom she was indebted for various services connected with the sad

occasion.

When he took final leave of her he shook her hand, and as he did so he

gave her a peculiar grasp which, in his own mind, indicated that he and

she had now nothing more to do with each other, and that the

acquaintance was adjourned without day. She bade him a simple farewell,

and as he left the house she grinned at his broad back. This grin

expressed, to herself at least, that the old and rather faulty

acquaintance was at an end, and that the new connection which she

intended to establish between herself and him would be upon an entirely

different basis.

He did not ask her if there was anything more that he could do for her,

for he did not desire to mix himself up with her affairs, which he knew

she was eminently able to manage for herself, and it was with a deep

breath of relief that he got into his buggy and drove home to his

toll-gate.

_CHAPTER XXX_

_By the Sea._

When Lieutenant Asher and his bride arrived at his brother's toll-gate

they were surprised as well as delighted by the cordiality of their

greeting. Each of them had expected a little stiffness during the first

interview, but there was nothing of the kind, although young Mrs. Asher

was bound to admit, when she took time to think upon the subject, that

Olive treated her exactly as if she had been a dear old schoolmate, and

not at all as her father's wife. This made things very pleasant and easy

at that time, she thought, although it might have to be corrected a

little after a while.

Things were all very pleasant, and there never had been so much talk at

the tollhouse since the first stone of its foundation had been laid. The

day after the arrival of the newly married couple Mrs. Easterfield

called upon them, and invited the whole family to dinner.

"I have never realized how much she must have thought of my parents!"

said Olive to herself, as she gazed upon her father and Mrs.

Easterfield. "They are so very glad to see each other!"

She did not know that Lieutenant Asher had been to the present Mrs.

Easterfield almost as much of a divinity as Mr. Hemphill had been to

her girlish fancy; the difference being that the young cadet was well

aware of the adoration of this child, not yet in long dresses, and

greatly enjoyed and encouraged it. When, a few years later, the child

heard of his marriage, she had outgrown the love with the lengthening of

the skirts. But she had a tender recollection of it which she cherished.

The dinner the next day was a great success, and after it the lieutenant

and Mrs. Easterfield earnestly discussed Olive when they had the

opportunity for a _tête-à-tête_. She was so much to each of them, and he

was grateful that his daughter had fallen under the influence of this

old friend, now a charming woman.

"She is so beautiful," said the lady, "that she ought to be married as

soon as possible to the most suitable bachelor in the United States."

"Not so fast! Not so fast" said the lieutenant. "Edith and I are going

to housekeeping very soon, and then we shall want Olive."

Mrs. Easterfield smiled, but made no reply.

When the lieutenant and his wife, with Olive, came a few days afterward

to make their proper dinner call, he found an occasion to speak to their

hostess.

"Do you know," said he, "that this is a strange girl of mine?" She

positively refuses to come and live with us. We had counted upon having

her, and had made all our arrangements for it. She is as good and nice

as she can be, but we can not move her."

"You ought not to try," said Mrs. Easterfield; "it would be a shame for

her to go away and leave her uncle. You have one young lady, and you

should not ask for both. Olive must marry, and the captain must go and

live with her."

"Have you arranged all that?" said he. "I remember you were a great

schemer when quite a little girl."

"I am as great as ever," said she. "And I have selected the gentleman."

"Oh, ho!" cried the lieutenant. "And is that all settled? Olive should

have told me that."

"She could not do it," said Mrs. Easterfield; "for it is not all

settled. There are some obstacles in the way; and the greatest of them

is that she does not love him."