She is beautiful and therefore to be woo’d.—_1 Henry VI_, v, 3.
The horse had seen better days—better in the sense that he had been in
his earlier youth a better horse. Grown old in the service of a livery
stable in the town of Farmington—the next one to Whitfield on the left
as you go from Utica—he still maintained a sort of dignity and absolute
safety which made him a valuable asset when his owner had a request from
timid women for what is technically known as a “rig.”
He drew a phaeton of the type built on the lines of Central New York
styles of carriage building—distinctly unattractive and ungraceful.
Driving the horse was a young woman whose impetuosity urged her steed to
greater efforts in the matter of speed. The horse wore no “blinders,”
and when his driver told him to get up, and beat him gingerly with a
whip, he glanced casually back at her over his shoulder, as who should
say, “If I go faster I may be very dangerous.” So he strolled on, and
Julia Fowler’s efforts, directed toward swifter locomotion, met with no
response from him. He knew his business. He was a safe horse, and he did
not propose to risk his reputation by any undue exertion.
Miss Fowler herself was of a type distinctly different from that
represented by her equipage. She could by no chance have been the
product of Central New York. Possibly her ancestors might have been, but
she was urban to her finger tips. Suburbanity had no accent on her
appearance. Her beauty was of a spectacular order. She was the type of
the twentieth century—its best expression—and she had come to
Farmington to rest at the boarding-house of one Mrs. Moore. She had
tired of it in a week, and her excursion to Whitfield was for the
purpose of finding a place which might prove more attractive to her
exacting demands.
She had been told that a certain Mrs. Hemingway in Whitfield conducted a
boarding-house, and she was in search of this establishment when she
caught sight of the Adams house. This seemed an ideal place to spend a
few weeks, and being by no means timid, Miss Fowler concluded to make
the attempt to induce the owner of the place to take her in for a time.
She turned in at the gate, and when she saw Miss Esther on the veranda
she was quite positive that she had found exactly what she was looking
for.
Miss Esther watched the stranger as she jumped out of the phaeton, ran
up the steps, and without invitation seated herself in one of the large
rocking-chairs.
“Don’t mind me,” she said, pleasantly. “I always come in like that. I am
Julia Fowler, and I am staying over in Farmington, but I don’t like it
there, and somebody told me that Whitfield was lovely, and that Mrs.
Hemingway kept a very nice boarding-house. I was on my way there when I
noticed this house, and I thought I should like it here a great deal
better. So won’t you please take me for a couple of weeks? I’m awfully
good-natured and I won’t make a bit of trouble.”
Miss Esther looked at her visitor and came to the conclusion that she
was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.
It was not only a beauty of feature and coloring; but the vivacity and
charm of Julia Fowler were of a degree which exceeded anything Miss
Esther had ever known. Though her manner was gay and informal to the
verge of sauciness, yet it was tinged with a delightful deference, and
Miss Esther proved herself no exception to the rule that whoever met
Julia Fowler fell immediately under the spell of her wonderful charm.
“Nonsense, child,” said Miss Esther, smiling at her pretty visitor; “I
don’t take boarders, but you will like it at Mrs. Hemingway’s, I’m sure.
She can make you very comfortable.”
“But I like this house so much better,” said Julia, coaxingly; “and I’m
sure you have room enough.”
“Yes, of course, there are rooms enough in the Adams house, but we never
take boarders.”
“Oh, is this the Adams house?” asked Julia; “and are you Miss Adams,
Miss Esther Adams? I have often heard of you in Farmington.”
“Yes, I am the one,” and Miss Esther smiled graciously. Somehow people
always smiled graciously on Miss Fowler.
“Oh, then do let me stay. I have heard so much about your house and your
library; and I’ll keep to myself when you don’t want me around, and I’ll
be jolly good company when you do. You live alone, don’t you?”
Like a flash Miss Esther realized what it would be to have a young woman
with such compelling attractions in her house, or, indeed, for that
matter, in Whitfield at all. The three affairs which she was managing
seemed to be complicated enough as it was, without an additional
disturbing element. Putnam, she knew, would rave over her. Lincoln Dodd
would flirt desperately, and she felt sure that Winthrop Brewster must
also inevitably succumb to this bewitching beauty. It was apparent,
then, to Miss Esther that it would never do to have Miss Fowler remain
in Whitfield.
Miss Esther’s three girls were sweet and attractive, but she well knew
that they would not shine by comparison with this exquisite and
experienced woman of the world. Though probably not older in years, Miss
Fowler was far more sophisticated than the Whitfield girls, and her own
personality, helped by her social training, gave her a fascination which
could not otherwise be attained.
The imminent danger of this catastrophe almost stunned Miss Esther.
Something must be done, and that quickly, to prevent Miss Fowler’s
staying in Whitfield. In consequence her attitude towards her visitor
changed instantly.
“Yes, I live alone,” she said, “and it is from preference. I have small
need for company, for I am never lonely, and I could not think of taking
a boarder even for a short time. Pray do not ask me again.”
“Indeed, I shall ask you again,” said Julia, with one of her most
ingratiating smiles. “I shall keep on coaxing until I persuade you to
say yes.”
Had circumstances been otherwise, nothing would have pleased Miss Esther
better than to have granted the request and taken this most attractive
young woman into her house for a fortnight. This fact made it difficult
for her to continue her refusals; but, awake to the seriousness of the
situation, she answered decidedly, “No, I shall never say yes. I am not
of a vacillating nature, and rarely change my mind. It is quite
impossible for me to take you. Now that I think of it, I don’t believe
that you would be satisfied at Mrs. Hemingway’s, either. They are plain
people, and live very plainly.”
“That would just suit me,” said Julia. “I came up here for rest and
quiet, and I love a simple country home.”
“But it is very dull in Whitfield,” continued Miss Esther. “There are no
gayeties of any sort.”
“That would just suit me, too. I have a surfeit of gayety at home in the
winter.”
Baffled at every turn, and determined to accomplish her end, Miss Esther
deliberately drew upon her imagination. “There are five little children
at Mrs. Hemingway’s, and they are a most spoiled, disagreeable lot. I am
sure they’d make your life a burden there.”
“That alters the case,” said Julia, decidedly. “I detest spoiled
children. How old are they?”
“I don’t know,” said Miss Esther, a little vaguely, which was only
natural, considering the fact that there were really no children at the
Hemingway house. “About four or five years old, I think.”
“Oh, I don’t mind such little children,” said Julia, airily; “but I
dislike them when they get to be about ten years old.”
“Oh, there are several as old as that, too,” declared Miss Esther, whose
imagination was equal to juveniles of any age.
“Then I won’t go there,” said Julia. “I’m surprised that she has any
boarders. I think you might let me stay here.”
“I asked you not to mention that again,” said Miss Esther, with a sudden
exhibition of the Adams dignity; “but if you really want country home
life, there is a very delightful place at Westfield that I am sure would
please you.”
“Where is Westfield?”
“About eight miles the other side of Farmington.”
“I’ll drive over there to-morrow,” said Julia, “and look at the place,
and if I don’t like it I’ll come back here.”
This bit of bravado was accompanied by such a winning smile that Miss
Esther could not respond as sternly as she would have liked to do.
“Will you have tea on the veranda or on Lieutenant Adams’s porch?” asked
Nora, appearing at the door.
“On the East porch,” said Miss Esther, shortly.
“Oh, mayn’t I stay to tea?” exclaimed Julia. “Please let me. I’ll be
very good, and go away immediately after.”
“Excuse me one moment,” said Miss Esther, without answering her guest’s
question.
She went to the East porch where she knew Lincoln Dodd was reading. He
was the only one of her guests at home.
“Lincoln,” she exclaimed, “come to my rescue, and come quick. What under
the sun am I going to do?”
“What in the world’s the matter?” asked Dodd.
“Oh, it’s dreadful. The most beautiful girl in the world is on the front
veranda.”
“Command my services,” said Lincoln, rising with alacrity. “What makes
her so dreadful? Is she a maniac?”
“No, indeed. I only wish she were. She’s perfectly charming.”
“What am I to do for you? Do you want me to marry her?”
“Don’t be foolish. But don’t you see I expect the people home to tea at
any minute now, and if any of those men see that raving beauty, they’ll
fall in love with her on the spot.”
“Of course they will,” said Dodd. “Give her to me. I’ll take her off to
a desert island.”
“No, but I want you to take her home in your automobile. That’s the only
way I can get rid of her.”
“Where is her home? How did she come?”
“She came in a forlorn old gig, but I can let Michael take that home for
her. And mind, now, you’re not to make yourself too entertaining, or ask
her to come again, or let her know that I have any young men staying
here. She’s the most dangerous thing I’ve ever seen. You get your
machine and come around in front just as if you were going out for a
drive, and I’ll do the rest.”
“All right,” said Dodd. “I’ll go, but I don’t know when I’ll be back.
Don’t wait tea for me.”
[Illustration: “_Suppose you take Miss Fowler home._”]
“Now don’t go scouring all over the country with her. She lives in
Farmington, and you can go there and back in an hour.”
“Perhaps I can and perhaps I can’t,” said Dodd, as he ran down the
steps.
“And hurry,” called Miss Esther after him. “There’s no time to be lost.”
Miss Esther returned to the veranda, and in a few moments Lincoln came
whirling up from the stables.
“Ah, Mr. Dodd,” called Miss Esther, “are you going anywhere in
particular?”
“No,” said Lincoln, pleasantly; “just out for a little spin.”
“Well, then, suppose you take Miss Fowler home. My dear,” she said,
turning to the young lady, “you’d like to drive over with Mr. Dodd,
wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, ever so much,” cried Julia, showing her most engaging dimples and
laughing down at Dodd. “But what will become of my fractious steed?”
“Michael can drive him home for you,” said Miss Esther. “Run along
quick, now. Mr. Dodd doesn’t like to wait.”
As the pair disappeared, Miss Esther drew a long breath of relief. Her
manœuvre had been accomplished none too quickly, for they were hardly
out of sight before Brewster, Putnam, and George Washington Dodd came
strolling in to tea.
“That was a narrow escape,” she thought. “The times would have been very
much out of joint if I had not set them right. I have rescued the
Matrimonial Bureau from the jaws of one more danger.”