John Hughson took his rejection rather sullenly, and Mercedes was more
than ever alone in the old house. She never had had intimate
companions among the young women of the neighborhood, and now they put
the stigma of exclusion upon her. They envied her rejection of a
serious suitor such as John. It was rumored the latter was taking to
liquor, and she was blamed for it. Women often like to have others say
yes to the first man who comes, and not leave old love affairs to
cumber the ground. And girls, however loving to their friends, have
but a cold sympathy for their sex in general.
One person profited by it, and that was old Jamie. He urged Mercedes
nearly every day to alter her decision, and she seemed to like him for
it. Always, now, one saw her walking with him; he became her ally
against a disapproving world.
The next thing that happened was, Jamie's mother fell very ill. He had
to sit with her of nights; and she would look at him fondly (she was
too old and weak to speak much), as if he had been any handsome heir.
Mercedes would sit with them sometimes, and then go into her parlor,
where she would try to play a little, and then, as they supposed,
would read. But books, before these realities of life, failed her.
What she really did I hardly know. She wrote one letter to young
Harleston Bowdoin, and he answered it; and then a second, which was
still unanswered.
One night "the mother" spoke to Jamie of the girl: "'Tis a comely
lass. I suppose you're proud you were adopting her?"
Old Jamie's face was always red as a winter apple, but his eyes
blushed. "Anybody'd 'a' done that, mither,--such a lady as she is!"
"What'll ye be doin' of her after I'm gone? The pirate father'll come
a-claimin' of her."
Jamie looked as if the pirate captain then might meet his match.
"Jamie, my son--have ye never thought o' marryin' her your own sel'?
I'd like to see you with a wife before I go."
There was no doubt that Jamie was blushing now.
"Do ye no love the lass enough?"
"I"--Jamie stopped himself. "I am too old, mither, and--and too
queer."
"Too old! too queer! There's not a better son than my Jamie in all the
town. I'd like to see a better, braver boy make claim! And if you seem
old, it's through tending of your old forbears. Whatever would the
lassie want, indeed!"
"Good heavens! I've never asked her, mither," said Jamie.
The old woman looked fondly at her boy. "Ask her, then, Jamie; ask
her, and give her the chance. She's a daft creature, but bonny; and
you love her, I see."
Jamie pinched up his rosy features and squirmed upon his chair. "Can I
do anything for ye, mither? Then I think I'll go out and take a bit o'
pipe in the streets with John Hughson."
"John Hughson, indeed!" snorted the old woman, and set her face to the
wall.
But Jamie did not go near John Hughson. He rambled alone about the
city streets, and it was late at night before he came back. Late as it
was, there was a light behind Mercedes' window-shade, and he walked
across the street and watched it, until a policeman, coming by,
stopped and asked him who he was.--But the virus took possession of
him and spread.
The Bowdoins, father and son, noted that their old clerk's dress was
sprucer. He was more than ever seen with Miss Mercedes, and she seemed
to like him better than before. Women who are to all men fascinating
must have a subtle instinct for perceiving it, a half-conscious liking
for it. Else why do not they stop it sooner?
But Jamie had never admitted it to himself. Perhaps because he loved
her better than himself. He judged his own pretensions solely from her
interest. Marriages were fewer did all men so.
Still a year went by, and no other man seemed near Mercedes. Then the
old mother died. To Mercedes, life seemed always going into mourning
for elderly people. They went on living, she and Jamie, as before. He
had got to be so completely accepted as her adoptive father that to no
one, not even the Bowdoins, had the situation raised a question; to
Mercedes least of all. With such natures as hers, there also goes
instinctive knowledge of how far male natures, most widely different,
may be trusted. But Jamie had thought it over many times.
Until one morning, James Bowdoin and his father, coming to the
counting-room, found Jamie with a face of circumstance. He had on his
newest clothes; his boots were polished; and his hair, already
somewhat gray, was carefully brushed.
"What is it, Jamie? Have you come for a vacation?" said Mr. Bowdoin.
"Vacation!" sniffed Jamie. Once, many years before, he had been given
a week off, and had gone to Nantasket; but his principal diversion had
been to take the morning steamboat thence to the city, and gaze into
the office windows from the wharf.
"It is something about pretty Miss Sadie, I'll be bound."
"You are always right, sir," said Jamie quietly. His eyes were very
bright; he was almost young-looking; and his manner had a certain
dignity. "And I beg you, sir, for leave to ask your judgment."
Mr. Bowdoin motioned Jamie to a chair. And it marked his curious
sense that he was treating as man to man that for the first and only
time within that office Jamie took it.
"Mercedes." Jamie lingered lovingly over the name. "I have tried my
best, sir. I have made her--nay, she was one--like a lady. You would
not let her marry Master Harley."
"I never"--the old gentleman interrupted. Jamie waved his hand.
"They would not, I mean, sir. She will not marry John Hughson. You are
a gentleman, sir, and could tell me if I--would be taking an unfair
advantage--if I asked her--to marry--me. I am sure--I love her
enough."
Jamie dropped his voice quickly on the last words, so that they were
inaudible to Mr. James Bowdoin, who had suddenly laughed.
Old Mr. Bowdoin turned angrily upon his son.
But Jamie's face had turned to white. He rose respectfully. "Don't say
anything, sir. I have had my answer."
"Forgive me, Mr. McMurtagh," said James Bowdoin the younger. "I'm
sure she could not have a kinder husband. But"--
"Don't explain, Mr. James."
"But--after all, why not ask her?"
"Nay, nay," said Jamie, "I'll not ask the child. I would not have her
make a mistake, as I see it would be."
"But, Jamie," said Mr. James kindly, "what will you do? She can hardly
go on living in your home."
"Not in my home? Where else has the child a home?"
There are certain male natures that fight crying. An enemy who looks
straight at you with tears in his eyes is not to be contended with.
And Jamie stood there, blushing fiery red, with flashing eyes, and
tears streaming down his cheeks.
"James Bowdoin, you're a d----d fool!" sputtered his irate sire. "You
talk as your wife might talk. This is an affair of men. Jamie," he
added very gently, "you are quite right. My boy's an ass." He put his
hand on Jamie's shoulder. "You'll find some fine young fellow to marry
her yet, and she'll bring you--grandchildren."
"I may--I need hardly ask you to forget this?" said Jamie timidly,
and making hastily for the door.
"Of course; and she shall stay in her old home where she was bred from
a child, and, d----n 'em, my grandchildren shall go to see her
there"--But the door had closed.
"James Bowdoin, if my son, with his d----d snicker, were one half so
good a gentleman as that old clerk, I'd trust him with--with an earl's
daughter," said the old gentleman inconsequently, and violently
rubbing a tingling nose.
"I think you're right, governor," said James Bowdoin. "Did you notice
how spruced up and young the poor fellow was? I wish to goodness I
hadn't laughed, though. He might have married the girl. Why not? How
old is he?"
"Why not? Ask her. He may be forty, more or less."
"What a strange thing to have come into the old fellow's life! And we
thought it would give him something to care for! I never fancied he
loved her that way."
"I don't believe now he loves her so much _that_ way--as--as he loves
her," said old Mr. Bowdoin, as if vaguely. "She isn't worth him."
"She's really quite beautiful. I never saw a Spanish girl before with
hair of gold."
"Pirate gold," said old Mr. Bowdoin.