This chamber was her sanctuary; she was born in this room, she had lived
in it ever since; her little battles had been fought on this consecrated
ground, her angry tears, her wilful tears, and the few later grateful
tears had fallen while kneeling at the side of the white-draped bed or
sitting at the window with her head in her hands or on the window-sill.
A stranger would have thought it a plain, low room with its cottage set
of pale green and gold trimmings, its ingrain carpet of oak leaves on a
green ground, its gray paper with scarlet border, and three white shades
with scarlet tassels.
The high mantel was piled with books, the gifts of her father, Mr.
Hammerton, and Miss Jewett; on the walls were photographs in oval
black-walnut frames of Miss Jewett, sitting at a table with her elbow
upon it and one hand resting on a book in her lap, of her father and
mother, she sitting and he standing behind her, and one of herself and
Dinah, taken when they were fifteen and twenty-one; there were also a
large photograph taken from a painting of the Mater Dolorosa, which Mr.
Hammerton had given her on her fourteenth birthday and a chromo of Red
Riding Hood that he had given to Dinah upon her fourteenth birthday.
Upon the table at which she was writing, books were piled, and a package
of old letters that she had been sorting, and choosing some to burn,
among which were two from Felix Harrison. The package contained several
from Mr. Hammerton, but his were never worth burning; they were only
worth keeping because they were so like himself. Pages of manuscript
were scattered among the books, and a long envelope contained two
rejected articles that she had planned to rewrite after a consultation
with Mr. Hammerton and to send elsewhere. She had cried over her first
rejected article (when she was eighteen), and two years afterward had
revised it, changed the title, and her father had been proud of it in
print.
She was writing and thinking of Sue when a noisy entrance below
announced her presence.
"Go right up," said Mrs. Wadsworth's voice. "Tessa is star-gazing in her
room. Don't stay if you are chilly. Tessa likes to be cold."
Tessa met her at the head of the stairs.
"I've come to stay all night. Do you want me?"
"I want you more than I want any one in the world."
"That's refreshing. I wanted to see you and that's why I came. Norah
Bird said that Dine was to stay all night with her and I knew I should
have you all to myself. Dr. Lake brought me. I believe that he wanted me
to come. What do you stay up here for? It's lovely down-stairs with your
father and mother; she is sewing and he is reading to her. Put away that
great pile of foolscap and talk to me; I'm as full of talk as an egg is
full of meat."
"Must I break the shell?"
"Your room always looks pretty and there isn't much in it, either."
"Of course not, after Old Place."
"Old Place _is_ enchanting!" Sue tossed her gloves and hat to the bed.
"I'll keep on my sacque; I want to stay up here."
Tessa had reseated herself at the table. Sue dropped down on the carpet
at her feet.
"Have they gone?"
"Oh, yes! I stayed to see them off and drove to the depot with them. We
called for Nan Gerard. What a flirt that girl is! Any one would think
that she had known Mr. Ralph all his life."
Sue leaned backward against Tessa; her face was feverish and excited,
her thin cheeks would have looked hollow but for their high color, her
eyes as she raised them revealed something new; something new and not
altogether pleasant.
Tessa touched her hair and then bent over and kissed her. It was so
seldom that Sue was kissed.
"You know that night--" Sue began with an effort, "the night before New
Years. Mr. Ralph found me in his den, I was arranging one of his tables,
and he said that he wanted to talk to me. And I should think he _did_! I
didn't know that he had so much tongue in his head. His mother calls him
Ralph the Silent. Grace Geer calls him Ralph the Wily when nobody hears.
He is Ralph the Hateful when he wants to be. How he went on! Fury!
There! I promised him not to talk slang or to use 'unlady-like
exclamations.' I was as high and mighty as he was, but I wanted to cry
all the time. He said that I ought to live for something, that I am not
a child but a woman. And I promised him that I wouldn't read novels
until he says that I may! He said that I didn't know what trouble is!
_He_ has had trouble, Grace Geer says. I don't see how. Some girl I
suppose. Perhaps she flirted with him. I hope she did. But I have had
trouble. Did _he_ ever wait and wait and wait for a thing till he almost
died with waiting, and then find that he didn't get it and never
_could_? Did you ever feel so?"
The appealing eyes were looking into hers; she could not speak
instantly.
"I don't believe that you ever did. You are quiet. You have a nice home
and people to love you; your mother and father are so proud of you; your
mother is always talking to people about you as if she couldn't live
without you! And you don't have beaux and such horrid things! I
shouldn't think that you would like Dine to have a lover before you have
one."
"Dine?" said Tessa, looking perplexed.
"Why, yes, Mr. Hammerton."
"Oh, I forgot him," replied Tessa, almost laughing.
"I wish that I had _never_ seen Old Place. I never should have thought
any thing if it hadn't been for Grace Geer. Before I went to Old Place I
expected to marry Stacey. She put things into my head. She used to call
me Mrs. Ralph, and tell me how splendidly I could dress after I was
married! And she used to ask me what he said to me and explain that it
meant something. I didn't know that it meant any thing. He was so old
and so wise that I thought he could never think of me. Once she went
home with me and she told father and Aunt Jane and Dr. Lake that they
were going to lose me. He told me himself that night that he was more
interested in me than in any body."
"Did he say that?" asked Tessa, startled.
"Yes, he did."
"So am I interested in your life. I want to see what becomes of you."
"Oh, he didn't mean _that_. He meant in me. But I suppose he didn't mean
any thing, or he wouldn't have told his mother not to take me to St.
Louis. You think I like him because he's rich and handsome, but I don't.
I like him because he was so kind to me; nobody was ever so kind to me
before; I can love any one who is kind to me. He gave me his photograph
a year ago. It's elegant. I'll show it to you some time. I know he had
six taken, for I saw them and counted them; he didn't know it, though.
And I heard him tell his mother that he had _five_ taken. I never could
find out where that sixth one went to. I know that his mother had one,
and Grace Geer, and Miss Sarepta Towne, that's three! And mine was four,
and Philip Towne's was five. I asked him where the other was."
"What did he say?" asked Tessa, gravely.
"He said nothing. I know that Aunt Jane thinks my not going the queerest
thing in nature, and father looked rather nonplussed and asked me what I
had been doing. I am as ashamed as I can be."
Tessa arranged her papers thoughtfully; she was pondering Grace Geer's
name for Mr. Towne.
"Perhaps he will change his mind and come home and like me," said Sue,
brightening.
"O, Sue, Sue, don't make a disappointment for yourself! When there are
so many good and beautiful things in the world, why do you see only this
that is being withheld?"
"Because--" with a drooping head, "I want it so."
"There are good men and good women in the world, Sue; men and women
whose word is pure gold."
"Whose, I'd like to know?"
"Miss Jewett's."
"Oh, of course!"
"And Gus Hammerton's."
"Oh, he's as wise and stupid as an owl!"
"Dr. Johnson could think in Latin and I should not wonder if Gus could."
"But he's awkward and never talks nonsense, and he wears spectacles and
has a tiny bald spot on the top of his head, the place where the wool
ought to grow! The girls don't run after him."
"They are not wise enough."
"He's so old, too."
"He's younger than Mr. Towne."
"He doesn't look so. And he's poor."
"He has a good salary in the bank."
"Mr. Ralph has the pure gold, but it is not in his word. I only wish it
was. I always pray over my love affairs; they ought to come out all
right."
"How do you know what 'all right' is?"
"I know what I want."
"I'll say to you what Miss Jewett always says _Wait_."
"What for? I don't know what I'm waiting for. Do you?"
"Yes."
"What? Tell me."
"_The will of God_."
"Oh!" Sue drew nearer as if she were frightened. After a while she
spoke: "I'm so sorry for dear Mrs. Towne. She has every thing in the
world but the thing she wants most. She said one day that she would be
willing to be the poorest woman in Dunellen if she might have a
daughter. She said it one day after we had passed you; you were alone,
picking up leaves near the corner by the brook. 'A daughter like that,'
she said, and she turned to look back at you; you were standing still
with the leaves in your hand. Mr. Ralph didn't say anything, but he
looked back, too. I said, 'That's Tessa Wadsworth.' Mrs. Towne said, 'Do
you know her, Ralph?' and he said, 'I have met her several times.'"
Tessa had wiped her gold pen and slipped it into its morocco case; she
closed her writing-desk as she said cheerily: "Now about this winter,
Sue; what do you intend to do?"
"You don't know how horrid it is at home! Father always has his pockets
full of bottles and he doesn't care for the things that interest me; all
he talks about is his 'cases,' and all Aunt Jane cares for is house-work
and the murders in the newspapers; Dr. Lake is splendid, but he's so
poor and he's low-spirited when he isn't full of fun; and when his
engagement with father is ended he'll set up for himself, and it will
take him a century to afford to be married."
"Sue, look up at me and listen."
Sue looked up and listened.
"I pray you don't flirt with Dr. Lake."
Sue laughed a conscious laugh.
"Men flirt; they haven't any hearts."
"He has. You do not know the influence for evil that you may become in
his life."
Sue's eyes grew wild, she clung to Tessa with both hands. "You sha'n't
talk so to me. You sha'n't. You make me afraid. I'll try to be good. I
_will_ try."
"How will you try?"
"I won't try to make him like me. I am sure that he would if I should
try a little. I'll tell him about Stacey. Tessa, _I don't want to be an
old maid._"
Tessa's eyes and lips kept themselves grave.
"I wouldn't think about that. I'd do good and be good; I'd help Aunt
Jane, and go with your father on his long drives--"
"I'd rather go with Dr. Lake."
"Let your father see what a delightful daughter you can be. My father
and I can talk for hours about books and places and people."
"Hateful! I hate books. And I don't know about places and book-people."
"And don't wait for Dr. Lake to come in at night."
"I do. I made him a cup of coffee last night."
"Who makes coffee for your father?"
"Oh father thought that I made it for him. But Dr. Lake knew!"
"I will read history with you this winter. Dine and I intend to study
German with Gus Hammerton; you can study with us, if you will."
"Ugh!" groaned Sue, "as if that were as much fun as getting married."
"It may help along. Who knows?" laughed Tessa.
"I'm going to make Miss Gesner a visit next month. She asked me to-day.
But they are such old men? Mr. John Gesner is an old beau! Mr. Lewis is
lovely, so kind and polite. And Miss Gesner is charming when she doesn't
try to educate me. Their house is grander than Old Place and they keep
more servants. I'll forget all about Old Place before spring. Mr. John
Gesner likes girls."
"Sue."
"Well! Don't be so solemn."
"If I were to die and leave a little girl in the world as your mother
left you, I would hope that some one would watch over her, and if the
time came, through her own foolishness, or in the way of God's
discipline, for a disappointment to come to her, I would hope that this
friend would love her as I love you to-night. She would warn her, advise
her, and encourage her! Don't go to visit Miss Gesner; she is selfish to
ask you; you are bright and lively and she likes to have you to help
entertain her friends--but you will not be so good a daughter to your
father if your heart is drawn away from his home; the best home that he
can afford to give you."
"There's danger at home and danger abroad," laughed Sue. "Don't you wish
that you could put me in a glass case?"
"I don't know what to do with you."
"Oh, something will happen to me before long. I'll get married or die or
something. I'm glad I had my things ready to go with the Townes, for now
I have them ready to go to Miss Gesner's. I wish I had a mother and my
little brother hadn't died. I'd like to have a _real_ home like yours! I
wouldn't mind if it were as plain as this; but I'd rather have it like
Old Place. Won't Nan Gerard have a lovely time? Such a long journey, and
Mr. Ralph will be so attentive, and she'll be so proud to be with such a
handsome fellow! Don't you like to be proud of people that belong to
you? I am always proud enough to go out with Mr. Ralph."
"There is some one else to be proud of somewhere! Sue, can't you be
brave?"
"Somebody will have what I want," said Sue. "I can't bear to think of
that. I shall have to drive past Old Place in father's chaise with one
horse, and I hate to drive with one horse! and see somebody in _my_
place in silks and velvets and diamonds and emeralds! And _she_ will
have visitors from all over and Old Place will be full of good times and
Mr. Ralph will let her do it all and be so kind to her! And she will be
so proud and happy and handsome. Would _you_ like that? You know you
wouldn't. Do you think that I really must give him up?"
Sue did not see the distressed face above her; she felt that the fingers
that touched her hair and forehead were loving and pitiful.
"Don't talk so; don't _think_ so! Forget all about Old Place. Do you not
remember Mrs. Towne's kindness? That is a happier thing to think of than
the grounds and the house and handsome furniture."
"I wish I had told you about it before," sobbed Sue. "You would have
made it right for me; then I wouldn't have thought and thought about it
until it was _real_. And now I can't believe that it isn't true and the
house is shut up with only Mr. and Mrs. Ryerson and the boy to look
after things and Mr. Ralph gone not to come back--ever, perhaps. If Mrs.
Towne should die, perhaps he won't come back but go off and be a doctor;
for he doesn't want to be married, he said so; he told his mother so. I
don't want him to be a doctor and have bottles in all his pockets and
smell of medicine like father and Dr. Lake. He wouldn't be Mr. Ralph any
more."
"So much the better for you."
"Then you don't think that he's so grand."
She answered quietly, surprising herself with the truth that she had not
dared to confess to herself, "No. I do not think he is so grand."
"Who is?"
"Who is? George Macdonald and George Eliot and Shakespeare and St. Paul
and my father and your father," laughed Tessa.
"Hark. They are singing over the way."
"There's a child's party there to-night."
Tessa went to the window.
Loud and merry were the voices:
"Little Sally Waters sitting in the sun,
Weeping and crying for a man."