Caroline sat by the library window, her chin in her hand, drearily watching the sleet as it beat against the panes, and the tops of the Park trees lashing in the wind. Below, in the street, the trolleys passed in their never-ending procession, the limousines and cabs whizzed forlornly by, and the few pedestrians pushed dripping umbrellas against the gale. A wet, depressing afternoon, as hopeless as her thoughts, and growing darker and more miserable hourly.
Stephen, standing by the fire, kicked the logs together and sent a shower of sparks flying.
“Oh, say something, Caro, do!” he snapped testily. “Don’t sit there glowering; you give me the horrors.”
She roused from her reverie, turned, and tried to smile.
“What shall I say?” she asked.
“I don’t know. But say something, for heaven’s sake! Talk about the weather, if you can’t think of anything more original.”
“The weather isn’t a very bright subject just now.”
“I didn’t say it was; but it’sasubject. I hope to goodness it doesn’t prevent Sylvester’s keeping his appointment. He’s late, as it is.”
“Is he?” wearily. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Of course you hadn’t. You don’t notice anything. It doesn’t help matters to pull a long face and go moping around wiping your eyes. You’ve got to use philosophy in times like this. It’s just as hard for me as it is for you; and I try to make the best of it, don’t I?”
She might have reminded him that his philosophy was a very recent acquisition. When the news of their poverty first came he was the one who raved and sobbed and refused to contemplate anything less direful than slow starvation or quick suicide. She had soothed and comforted then. Since the previous evening, when he had gone out, in spite of her protestations, and left her alone, his manner had changed. He was still nervous and irritable, but no longer threatened self-destruction, and seemed, for some unexplained reason, more hopeful and less desperate. Sylvester had ’phoned, saying that he would call at the apartment at two, and since Stephen had received the message he had been in a state of suppressed excitement, scarcely keeping still for five minutes at a time.
“It is just as hard for me as it is for you, isn’t it?” he repeated.
“Yes, Steve, I suppose it is.”
“You suppose? Don’t you know? Oh, do quit thinking about Mal Dunn and pay attention to me.”
She did not answer. He regarded her with disgust.
“You are thinking of Mal, of course,” he declared. “What’s the use? You know whatIthink: you were a fool to write him that letter.”
“Don’t, Steve; please don’t.”
“Ugh!”
“Don’t you know he didn’t get the letter? I was so nervous and over-wrought that I misdirected it.”
“Pooh! Has he ever stayed away from you so long before? Or his precious mother, either? Why doesn’t she come to see you? She scarcely missed a day before this happened. Nonsense! I guess he got it all right.”
“Steve, stop! stop! Don’t dare speak like that. Do you realize what you are insinuating? You don’t believeit! You know you don’t! Shame on you! I’m ashamed of my brother! No! not another word of that kind, or I shall leave the room.”
She had risen to her feet. He looked at her determined face and turned away.
“Oh, well,” he muttered, sullenly, “maybe you’re right. I don’t say you’re not. Perhaps he didn’t get the letter. You sent it to his office, and he may have been called out of town. But his mother—”
“Mrs. Dunn was not well when I last saw her. She may be ill.”
“Perhaps. But if you’re so sure about them, why not let it go at that? What’s the use of fretting?”
“I was not thinking of them—then.”
As a matter of fact, she had been thinking of her uncle, Elisha Warren. As the time dragged by, she thought of him more and more—not as the uncouth countryman whose unwelcome presence had been forced into her life; nor as the hypocrite whose insult to her father’s memory she never could forgive or whose double-dealing had been, as she thought, revealed; but as the man who, with the choke in his voice and the tears in his eyes, bade her remember that, whenever she needed help, he was ready and glad to give it.
She did not doubt Malcolm’s loyalty. Her brother’s hints and insinuations found no echo in her thoughts. In the note which she had written her fiancé she told of the loss of their fortune, though not of her father’s shame. That she could not tell; nor did she ask Malcolm to come to her—her pride would not permit that. She wrote simply of her great trouble and trusted the rest to him. That he had not come was due—so she kept repeating to herself—solely to the fact that hehad not received her letter. She knew that was it—she knew it. And yet—and yet he did not come.
So, in her loneliness and misery, her guardian’s words returned again and again to her memory: “Sometimes when things look all right they turn out to be all wrong. If ever there comes a time like that to you and Steve, remember you’ve got me to turn to.” The time had come when she must turn to someone.
She would never go to him; she vowed it. She would not accept his help if he came to her. But, if he was sincere, if he meant what he said, why did he not come again to proffer it? Because he was not sincere, of course. That had been proven long before. She despised him. But his face, as she last saw it, refused to be banished from her mind. It looked so strong, and yet gentle and loving, like the face of a protector, one to be trusted through good times and bad. Oh, this wicked, wicked world, and the shams and sorrows in it! “Malcolm, why don’t you come to me?”
Stephen uttered an exclamation. Looking up, she saw him hurrying toward the hall.
“Someone’s at the door,” he explained. “It’s Sylvester, of course. I’ll let him in.”
It was not the lawyer but a messenger boy with a note. Stephen returned to the library with the missive in his hand.
“He couldn’t get here, Caro,” he said, excitedly. “Wants us to come right down to his office. Hurry up! Get your things on. The cab’s waiting. Come! Rush! It may be important.”
The cab, an electric vehicle, made good time, and they soon reached the Pine Street offices, where they were ushered at once into the senior partner’s presence.
“Step into the other room,” said Mr. Sylvester, “and wait there, please. I’ll join you shortly.”
The room was the large one where the momentous conference between Captain Elisha and the three lawyers had so recently taken place. Caroline seated herself in one of the chairs. Stephen walked the floor.
“Hope he doesn’t keep us waiting long,” he fumed. “I thought of course he was ready or he wouldn’t have sent for us.”
“Ready?” his sister looked at him, questioningly. “Ready for what?” she repeated, with sudden suspicion. “Steve, do you know what Mr. Sylvester wishes to see us about?”
Her brother colored and seemed a bit disconcerted. “How should I know?” he muttered.
“Is it something new about the estate or that man who owns it? You do know something! I can see it in your face. What is it?”
“Nothing. How should I know what it is?”
“But you do. I believe you do. Look at me! What does Mr. Sylvester want of us?”
The boy hesitated; then whirled and faced her. “See here, Caro,” he said, “maybe I do know something—or I can guess. Now, whatever happens, you’ve got to be a sensible girl. Certain things have to be dealt with in a practical way, and we’re practical people. Sentiment—and pride—and all that sort of stuff, are well enough, but business is business and an engagement is an engagement. Now it’s right up to you and—”
“Steve, what are you talking about?”
“That’s all right. I know what I’m talking about. Somebody in the family must use common sense, and when it comes to holding a person to a promise, then—Confound it, Sis, we can’t starve, can we?”
“What do you mean?” She rose and advanced toward him. “What do you mean by a promise? What have you been doing?”
His confusion increased. He avoided her eyes and moved sullenly toward the other side of the table.
“I haven’t done anything,” he grumbled, “that is, I’ve done what any reasonable fellow would do. I’m not the only one who thinks.... Look here! We’ve got a guardian, haven’t we?”
“A guardian! aguardian! Stephen Warren, have you been to him? Have you—Wasthatwhere you were last night?”
“Well, I—”
“Answer me!”
“What if I have? Whom else am I to go to? Isn’t he—”
“But why did you go to him? What did you say?”
“I said—I said—Never mind what I said. He agrees with me, I can tell you that. You’ll thank your stars I did go, before very long. I.... S-sh! Here’s Sylvester.”
The door of the room opened. The person who entered, however, was not the lawyer, but the very man of whom they had been speaking, Captain Elisha himself. He closed the door behind him.
“Hello, Stevie,” he said, with a nod to the boy. Then, turning to his niece, he stepped forward and held out his hand. “Caroline,” he began, “I don’t doubt you’re some surprised to see me here; but I.... Why, what’s the matter?”
The faces of the pair led him to ask the question. Stephen’s was red and he looked embarrassed and guilty. Caroline’s was white, and she glanced from her brother to her guardian and back again, with flashing eyes.
“What’s the matter?” repeated the captain. “Steve,” sharply, “have you been making a fool of yourself again? What is it?”
“Nothing,” was the sulky answer; “nothing of consequence. Caro is—well, I happened to mention that I called on you last night and—and she doesn’t seem to like it, that’s all. As I told her, somebody in the family had to use common sense, and you were our guardian and naturally, under the circumstances.... Why, I’ll leave it to anyone!” with a burst of righteous indignation. “Youareour guardian.”
He proclaimed it as if he expected a denial. Captain Elisha frowned. “Humph!” he grunted. “That ain’t exactly news, is it, Steve? Seems to me we’ve taken up that p’int afore; though, as I remember, you didn’t used to be sot on all hands knowin’ it,” with dry sarcasm. “I don’t need even your common sense to remind me of it just at this minute. Caroline, your brother did come to see me last night. I was glad he did.”
She ignored him. “Steve,” she demanded, still facing the young man, “was this, too, a part of your plan? Did you bring me here to meet—him?”
“No, I didn’t. Sylvester was to come to see us. You know that; he telephoned. I didn’t know—”
The captain interrupted. “There, there, son!” he exclaimed, “let me say a word. No, Caroline, Stevie didn’t know I was to meet you here. But I thought it was necessary that I should. Set down, please. I know you must be worn out, poor girl.”
“I don’t wish to sit. I want to know what my brother called to see you about.”
“Well, there was some matters he wanted to talk over.”
“What were they? Concerning the estate?”
“Partly that.”
“Partly? What else? Captain Warren, my brother has hinted—he has said—What does he mean by holding someone to a promise? Answer me truthfully.”
“I shouldn’t answer you any other way, Caroline. Steve seems to be worried about—now you mustn’t mind my speakin’ plain, Caroline; the time’s come when I’ve got to—Steve seems to be worried about the young man you’re engaged to. He seems to cal’late that Mr. Dunn may want to slip out of that engagement.”
His niece looked at him. Then she turned to her brother. “You went tohimand.... Oh, howcouldyou!”
Stephen would not meet her gaze. “Well,” he muttered rebelliously, “why wouldn’t I? You know yourself that Mal hasn’t been near you since it happened. If he wasn’t after—if he was straight, he would have come, wouldn’t he? Mind, I don’t say he isn’t—perhaps he doesn’t know. But, at any rate, something must be done. We had to face possibilities, and you wouldn’t listen to me. I tried—”
“Stop!” she cut him short, imperiously. “Don’t make me hate you. And you,” turning to her uncle, “didyoulisten and believe such things? Did you encourage him to believe them? Oh, I know what you think of my friends! I heard it from your own lips. And I know why you think it. Because they know what you are; because they exposed you and—”
“There, there! Caroline, you needn’t go on. I’ve heard your opinion of my character afore. Never mind me for the minute. And, if you’ll remember,Iain’t said that I doubted your young man. You told me that you thought the world and all of him and that he did of you.That’s enough—or ought to be. But your brother says you wrote him two days ago and he ain’t been near you.”
“I misdirected the letter. He didn’t receive it.”
“Um-hm. I see. That would explain.”
“Of course it would. Thatmustbe the reason.”
“Yes, seem’s if it must.”
“It is. What right have you to doubt it? Oh, how can you think such things? Can you suppose the man I am to marry is so despicable—someanas to—as to—I’m ashamed to say it. Why do you presume that money has any part in our engagement? Such trouble as mine only makes it more binding. Do you suppose ifhewere poor as—as I am, that I would deserthim? You know I wouldn’t. I should be glad—yes, almost happy, because then I could show him—could—”
Her voice failed her. She put her handkerchief to her eyes for an instant and then snatched it away and faced them, her head erect. The pride in her face was reflected in Captain Elisha’s as he regarded her.
“No, no,” he said gently, “I never supposed you’d act but in one way, Caroline. I knewyou. And, as Steve’ll tell you, I said to him almost the same words you’ve been sayin’. If Malcolm’s what he’d ought to be, I said, he’ll be glad of the chance to prove how much he cares for your sister. But Steve appeared to have some misgivin’s, and so—”
He paused, turned toward the door, and seemed to be listening. Caroline flashed an indignant glance at her brother.
“And so?” she asked, scornfully.
“And so,” continued the captain, with a slight change in his tone, “it seemed to me that his doubts ought to be settled. And,” rising, as there came a tap at the door, “I cal’late they’re goin’ to be.”
He walked briskly over and opened the door. Sylvester was standing without.
“Come, have they?” inquired Captain Elisha.
“Yes.”
“Fetch ’em right in here. Steve, stand over nigher that corner. This way, Caroline, if you please.”
He took his niece by the arm and led her to the side of the room not visible from the doorway. She was too astonished to resist, but asked an agitated question.
“What is it?” she cried. “Who is coming?”
“Some friends of yours,” was the quiet reply. “Nothin’ to be frightened about. Steve, stay where you are.”
The boy was greatly excited. “Is it they?” he demanded. “Is it? By gad! Now, Sis, be a sensible girl. If he should try to hedge, you hold him. Hold him! Understand?”
“Steve, be quiet,” ordered the captain.... “Ah, Mrs. Dunn, good afternoon, ma’am. Mr. Dunn, good afternoon, sir.”
For the pair who, followed by Sylvester, now entered the room were Mrs. Corcoran Dunn and Malcolm.
They were past the sill before Captain Elisha’s greeting caused them to turn and see the three already there. Mrs. Dunn, who was in the lead, stopped short in her majestic though creaking march of entrance, and her florid face turned a brighter crimson. Her son, strolling languidly at her heels, started violently and dropped his hat. The lawyer, bringing up in the rear, closed the door and remained standing near it. Caroline uttered an exclamation of surprise. Her brother drew himself haughtily erect. Captain Elisha remained unperturbed and smiling.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he repeated. “It’s beensome time since you and I run across each other. I hope you’re feelin’ pretty smart.”
Mrs. Dunn had faced some unpleasant situations in her life and had proved equal to them. Usually, however, she had been prepared beforehand. For this she had not been prepared—as yet. She had come to the offices of Sylvester, Kuhn, and Graves, at the senior partner’s request, to be told, as she supposed, the full and final details of the financial disaster threatening the Warren family. If those details should prove the disaster as overwhelming as it appeared, then—well, then, certain disagreeable duties must be performed. But to meet the girl to whom her son was engaged, and whom she and he had carefully avoided meeting until the lawyers should acquaint them with the whole truth—to meet this girl, and her brother, and her guardian, thus unexpectedly and unprepared, was enough to shake the composure and nerve of even such a veteran campaigner as Mrs. M. Corcoran Dunn.
But of the three to whom the meeting was an absolute surprise,—Caroline, Malcolm and herself—she was characteristically the first to regain outward serenity. For a moment she stood nonplused and speechless, but only for a moment. Then she hastened, with outstretched arms, to Caroline and clasped her in affectionate embrace.
“My dear child!” she cried; “my dear girl! I’msoglad to see you! I’ve thought of you so much! And I pity you so. Poor Malcolm has—Malcolm,” sharply, “come here! Don’t you see Caroline?”
Malcolm was groping nervously for his hat. He picked it up and obeyed his mother’s summons, though with no great eagerness.
“How d’ye do, Caroline,” he stammered, confusedly.“I—I—It’s a deuce of a surprise to see you down here. The mater and I didn’t expect—that is, we scarcely hoped to meet anyone but Sylvester. He sent for us, you know.”
He extended his hand. She did not take it.
“Did you get my letter?” she asked, quickly. Mrs. Dunn answered for him.
“Yes, dear, he got it,” she said. “The poor fellow was almost crazy. I began to fear for his sanity; I did, indeed. I did not dare trust him out of my sight. Oh, if you could but know how we feel for you and pity you!”
Pity was not what Caroline wanted just then. The word jarred upon her. She avoided the lady’s embrace and once more faced the embarrassed Malcolm.
“You got my letter?” she cried. “Youdid?”
“Yes—er—yes, I got it, Caroline. I—by Jove, you know—”
He hesitated, stammered, and looked thoroughly uncomfortable. His mother regarded him wrathfully.
“Well,” she snapped, “why don’t you go on? Caroline, dear, you really must excuse him. The dear boy is quite overcome.”
Captain Elisha stepped forward.
“Excuse me for interruptin’, ma’am,” he said, addressing the ruffled matron; “but I know you’re sort of surprised to see us all here and maybe I’d better explain. Mr. Sylvester told me you and your son had an appointment with him for this afternoon. Now there was something we—or I, anyhow—wanted to talk with you about, so I thought we might as well make one job of it. Sylvester’s a pretty busy man, and I know he has other things to attend to; so why not let him go ahead and tell you what you come to hear, and then we can takeup the other part by ourselves. He’s told me what you wanted to see him about, and it’s somethin’ we’re all interested in, bein’ as we’re one family—or goin’ to be pretty soon. So suppose he just tells you now. Ain’t that a good idea?”
Mrs. Dunn looked at the speaker, and then at the lawyer, and seemed to have caught some of her son’s embarrassment.
“I—we did have an appointment with Mr. Sylvester,” she admitted, reluctantly; “but the business was not important. And,” haughtily, “I do not care to discuss it here.”
The captain opened his eyes. “Hey?” he exclaimed. “Not important? You surprise me, ma’am. I judged ’twas mighty important. ’Twas about the real size of your father’s estate, Caroline,” turning to the girl. “I thought Mrs. Dunn and Mr. Malcolm must think ’twas important, for I understand they’ve been telephonin’ and askin’ for appointments for the last two days. Why, yes! and they come way down here in all this storm on purpose to talk it over with him. Am I wrong? Ain’t that so, ma’am?”
It was so, and Mrs. Dunn could not well deny it. Therefore, she took refuge in a contemptuous silence. The captain nodded.
“As to discussin’ it here,” he went on with bland innocence, “why, we’re all family folks, same as I said, and there ain’t any secrets between us onthatsubject. So suppose we all listen while Mr. Sylvester tells just what he’d have told you and Mr. Malcolm. It’s pretty hard to hear; but bad news is soon told. Heave ahead, Mr. Sylvester.”
Mrs. Dunn made one more attempt to avoid the crisis she saw was approaching.
“Surely, Caroline,” she said testily, “you don’t wish your private affairs treated in this public manner. Come, let us go.”
She laid a hand on the girl’s arm. Captain Elisha quietly interposed.
“No, no,” he said. “We’ll all stay here. There’s nothin’ public about it.”
Caroline, crimson with mortification, protested indignantly.
“Mr. Sylvester,” she said, “it is not necessary to—”
“Excuse me;” her uncle’s tone was sharper and more stern; “I think it is. Go on, Sylvester.”
The lawyer looked far from comfortable, but he spoke at once and to the point.
“I should have told you and your son just this, Mrs. Dunn,” he said. “I intimated it before, and Miss Warren had already written you the essential facts. A new and unexpected development, the nature of which I am not at liberty to disclose now or later, makes Abijah Warren’s estate absolutely bankrupt. Not only that, but many thousand dollars in debt. His heirs are left penniless. That is the plain truth, I’m very sorry to say. There is no hope of anything better. You’ll forgive me, Miss Warren, I hope, for putting it so bluntly; but I thought it best to avoid every possible misunderstanding.”
It was blunt, beyond doubt. Even Captain Elisha winced at the word “penniless.” Stephen muttered under his breath and turned his back. Caroline, swaying, put a hand on the table to steady herself. The Dunns looked at each other.
“Thank you, Mr. Sylvester,” said the captain, quietly. “I’ll see you again in a few moments.”
The lawyer bowed and left the room, evidently glad to escape. Captain Elisha turned to Mrs. Dunn.
“And now, ma’am,” he observed, “that part of the business is over. The next part’s even more in the family, so I thought we didn’t need legal advice. You see just how matters stand. My niece is a poor girl. She needs somebody to support her and look out for her. She’s got that somebody, we’re all thankful to say. She’s engaged to Mr. Malcolm here. And, as you’re his ma, Mrs. Dunn, and I’m Caroline’s guardian, us old folks’ll take our affairs in hand; they needn’t listen, if they don’t want to. I understand from Steve that Malcolm’s been mighty anxious to have the weddin’ day hurried along. I can’t say as I blame him. AndIthink the sooner they’re married the better. Now, how soon can we make it, Mrs. Dunn?”
This unexpected and matter-of-fact query was variously received. Mrs. Dunn frowned and flushed. Malcolm frowned, also. Steve nodded emphatic approval. As for Caroline, she gazed at her guardian in horrified amazement.
“Why!” she cried. “You—you—What do you mean by such—”
“Don’t be an idiot, Caro!” cut in her brother. “I told you to be sensible. Captain Warren’s dead right.”
“Stevie, you stay out of this.” There was no misunderstanding the captain’s tone. “When I want your opinion I’ll ask for it. And, Caroline, I want you to stay out, too. This is my trick at the wheel. Mrs. Dunn, what d’you say? Never mind the young folks. You and me know that marriage is business, same as everything else. How soon can we have the weddin’?”
Mrs. Dunn had, apparently, nothing to say—to him. She addressed her next remark to Caroline.
“My dear,” she said, in great agitation, “this is really too dreadful. This—er—guardian of yours appearsto think he is in some barbarous country—ordering the savages about. Come! Malcolm, take her away.”
“No,” Captain Elisha stepped in front of the door. “She ain’t goin’; and I’d rather you wouldn’t go yet. Let’s settle this up now. I ain’t askin’ anything unreasonable. Caroline’s under my charge, and I’ve got to plan for her. Your boy’s just crazy to marry her; he’s been beggin’ for her to name the day. Let’s name it. It needn’t be to-morrow. I cal’late you’ll want to get out invitations and such. It needn’t be next week. But just say about when it can be; then I’ll know how to plan. That ain’t much to ask, sartin.”
Much or little, neither Mrs. Dunn nor her son appeared ready to answer. Malcolm fidgeted with his hat and gloves; his mother fanned herself with her handkerchief. Caroline, frantic with humiliation and shame, would have protested again, but her guardian’s stern shake of the head silenced her.
“Well, Mr. Dunn,” turning to the groom-to-be; “you’re one of the interested parties—what do you say?”
Malcolm ground his heel into the rug. “I don’t consider it your business,” he declared. “You’re butting in where—”
“No, no, I ain’t. It’s my business, and business is justwhatit is. Your ma knows that. She and I had a real confidential up and down talk on love and marriage, and she’s the one that proved to me that marryin’ in high society, like yours and the kind Caroline’s been circulatin’ in, was business and mighty little else. There’s a business contract between you and my niece. We want to know how soon it can be carried out, that’s all.”
The young man looked desperately at the door; butthe captain’s broad shoulders blocked the way towards it. He hesitated, scowled, and then, with a shrug of his shoulders, surrendered.
“How can I marry?” he demanded sullenly. “Confound it! my salary isn’t large enough to pay my own way, decently.”
“Malcolm!” cried his mother, warningly.
“Well, Mater, what the devil’s the use of all this? You know.... By Jove! yououghtto!”
“Hold on, young feller! I don’t understand. Your wages ain’t large enough, you say? What do you mean? You wasgoin’to be married, wasn’t you?”
Mrs. Dunn plunged to the rescue, a forlorn hope, but desperate, and fighting to the end.
“An outrage!” she blurted. “Malcolm, I forbid you to continue this disgusting conversation. Caroline, my poor child, I don’t blame you for this, but I call on you to stop it at once. My dear, I—”
She advanced toward the girl with outstretched arms. Caroline recoiled.
“Don’t! don’t!” she gasped. Captain Elisha spoke up sharp and stern.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, “but I’ll be obliged if you’ll wait a minute. Caroline, don’t you say a word. You say—you—” addressing Malcolm, “that you can’t support a wife on your wages. You surprise me some, considerin’ the swath you’ve been cuttin’ on ’em—but never mind that. Maybe they won’t keep automobiles and—er—other things I’ve heard you was interested in, but if you cut them out and economize a little, same as young married folks I’ve known have been glad to do, you could scrape along, couldn’t you? Hey? Couldn’t you?”
Malcolm’s answer was another scornful shrug. “Youbelong on Cape Cod,” he sneered. “Mater, let’s get out of this.”
“Wait! Put it plain now. Do I understand that you cal’late to break the engagement because my niece has lost her money? Is that it?”
Mrs. Dunn realized that the inevitable was upon them. After all, it might as well be faced now as later.
“This is ridiculous,” she proclaimed. “Every sane person knows—thoughbarbariansmay not—” with a venomous glare at the captain—“that, in engagements of the kind in which my son shared, a certain amount of—er—financial—er—that is, the bride is supposed to have some money. It is expected. Of course it is! Love in a cottage is—well—a bitpassé. My son and I pity your niece from the bottom of our hearts, but—there! under the circumstances the whole affair becomes impossible. Caroline, my dear, I’m dreadfully sorry, dreadfully! I love you like my own child. And poor Malcolm will be heartbroken—but—yousee.”
She extended her hand in a gesture of utter helplessness. Stephen, who had been fuming and repressing his rage with difficulty during the scene, leaped forward with brandished fist.
“By gad!” he shouted. “Mal Dunn, you cad—”
His uncle pushed him back with a sweep of his arm.
“Steve,” he ordered, “I’m runnin’ this ship.” He gave a quick glance at his niece, and then added, speaking rapidly and addressing the head of the Dunn family, “I see, ma’am. Yes, yes, I see. Well, you’ve forgot one thing, I guess. Caroline’s lived in high society, too. And I’ve been in it a spell, myself. And Steve’s a boy, but he’s got a business head. If there’s nothin’ in marriage but business, then an engagement is what I just called it, a business contract, and it can’t be broke withoutthe consent of both sides. You wanted Caroline’s money; maybe she wants yours now. If she does, and there’s such a thing as law, why, perhaps she can get it.”
“That’s the talk!” cried Stephen exultingly.
“Yup; perhaps she can. She may be a business woman, too, you know. If money and style and social position’s what counts and she wants to force you to keep your promise, why, I’m her guardian and she can count on me to back her up. What do you say, Caroline? I’m at your service. I—”
But Caroline interrupted him.
“Stop!” she cried wildly. “Oh, stop! Do you think—do you suppose I would marry him now?Now, after I’ve seen what he is? Oh,” with a shudder of disgust, “when I think what I might have done, I.... Thank God that the money has gone! I’m glad I’m poor! I’mglad!”
“Caro, you fool!” shrieked Stephen. She did not heed him.
“Let me go!” she cried. “Let me get away from him; from this room! I never want to see him or think of him again. Please!pleaselet me go! Oh, take me home! Captain Warren,pleaselet me go home!”
Her uncle was at her side in a moment. “Yes, yes, dearie,” he said, “I’ll take you home. Don’t give way now! I’ll—”
He would have taken her arm, but she shrank from him.
“Not you!” she begged. “Steve!”
The captain’s face clouded, but he answered promptly.
“Of course—Steve,” he agreed. “Steve, take your sister home. Mr. Sylvester’s got a carriage waitin’, and he’ll go with you, I don’t doubt. Do as I tell you, boy—and behave yourself. Don’t wait; go!”
He held the door open until the hysterical girl and her brother had departed. Then he turned to the Dunns.
“Well, ma’am,” he said, dryly. “I don’t know’s there’s anything more to be said. All the questions seem to be settled. Our acquaintance wa’n’t so awful long, but it was interestin’. Knowin’ you has been, as the feller said, a liberal education. Don’t let me keep you any longer. Good afternoon.”
He stepped away from the door. Malcolm and his mother remained standing, for an instant, where they were when Caroline left.
The young man looked as if he would enjoy choking someone, the captain preferably, but said nothing. Then Mrs. Dunn bethought herself of a way to make their exit less awkward and embarrassing.
“My heart!” she said, gasping, and with a clutch at her breast. “My poor heart! I—I fear I’m going to have one of my attacks. Malcolm, your arm—quick!”
With an expression of intense but patient suffering, and leaning heavily upon her son’s arm, she moved past Captain Elisha and from the room.
That evening the captain stood in the lower hall of the apartment house at Central Park West, undecided what to do next. He wished more than anything else in the world to go to his niece. He would have gone to her before—had been dying to go, to soothe, to comfort, to tell her of his love—but he was afraid. His conscience troubled him. Perhaps he had been too brutal. Perhaps he shouldn’t have acted as he did. Maybe forcing the Dunn fleet to show its colors could have been done more diplomatically. He had wanted her to see those colors for herself, to actually see them. But he might have overdone it. He remembered how sheshrank from him and turned to her brother. She might hate him more than ever now. If so, then the whole scheme under which he was working fell to pieces.
He was worried about Steve, too. That young man would, naturally, be furious with his sister for what he would consider her romantic foolishness. He had been warned to behave himself; but would he? Captain Elisha paced up and down the marble floor before the elevator cage and wondered whether his visiting the apartment would be a wise move or a foolish one.
The elevator descended, the door of the cage opened, and Stephen himself darted out. His face was red, he was scowling fiercely, and he strode toward the street without looking in his guardian’s direction.
The captain caught him as he passed.
“Here, boy!” he exclaimed; “where’s the fire? Where are you bound?”
His nephew, brought thus unexpectedly to a halt, stared at him.
“Oh, it’s you!” he exclaimed. “Humph! I’m bound—I don’t know where I’m bound!”
“You don’t, hey? Well, you can cruise a long ways on a v’yage like that. What do you mean?”
“Aw, let me alone! I’m going to the club, I guess, or somewhere. Anyhow, I won’t stay with her. I told her so. Silly little idiot! By gad, she understands what I think of her conduct. I’ll never speak to her again. I told her so. She—”
“Here! Belay! Stop! Who are you talking about?”
“Caro, of course. She—”
“You’ve run off and left her alone—to-night? Where is she?”
“Upstairs—and crying, I suppose. She doesn’t doanything else. It’s all she’s good for. Selfish, romantic—”
He got no further, for Captain Elisha sent him reeling with a push and ran to the elevator.
“Eighth floor,” he commanded.
The door of the apartment was not latched. Stephen, in his rage and hurry, had neglected such trifles. The captain opened it quietly and walked in. He entered the library. Caroline was lying on the couch, her head buried in the pillows. She did not hear him cross the room. He leaned over and touched her shoulder. She started, looked, and sat up, gazing at him as though not certain whether he was a dream or reality.
And he looked at her, at her pretty face, now so white and careworn, at her eyes, at the tear-stains on her cheeks, and his whole heart went out to her.
“Caroline, dearie,” he faltered, “forgive me for comin’ here, won’t you? I had to come. I couldn’t leave you alone; I couldn’t rest, thinkin’ of you alone in your trouble. I know you must feel harder than ever towards me for this afternoon’s doin’s, but I meant it for the best. Ihadto show you—don’t you see? Can you forgive me? Won’t you try to forgive the old feller that loves you more’n all the world? Won’t you try?”
She looked at him, wide-eyed, clasping and unclasping her hands.
“Iforgiveyou?” she repeated, incredulously.
“Yes. Try to, dearie. Oh, if you would only believe I meant it for your good, and nothin’ else! If you could only just trust me and come to me and let me help you. I want you, my girl, I want you!”
She leaned forward. “Do you really mean it?” she cried. “How can you? after all I’ve done? after the way I’ve treated you? and the things I’ve said? Youmusthateme! Everyone does. I hate myself! You can’t forgive me! You can’t!”
His answer was to hold out his arms. Another moment and she was in them, clinging to his wet coat, sobbing, holding him fast, and begging him not to leave her, to take her away, that she would work, that she would not be a burden to him—only take her with him and try to forgive her, for he was real and honest and the only friend she had.
And Captain Elisha, soothing her, stroking her hair, and murmuring words of love and tenderness, realized that his labor and sacrifice had not been in vain, that here was his recompense; she would never misunderstand him again; she was his at last.
And yet, in the midst of his joy, his conscience troubled him more than ever.
It was April; and May was close at hand. The weather was all that late April weather should be, and so often is not. Trees, bushes, and vines were in bud; the green of the new grass was showing everywhere above the dead brown of the old; a pair of bluebirds were inspecting the hollow of the old apple tree, with an eye toward spring housekeeping; the sun was warm and bright, and the water of the Sound sparkled in the distance. Caroline, sitting by the living-room window, was waiting for her uncle to return from the city.
In the kitchen Annie Moriarty was preparing dinner. Annie was now cook as well as chamber-maid, for, of all the Warren servants, she was the only one remaining. Edwards, the “Commodore,” had been dismissed, had departed, not without reluctance but philosophically, to seek other employment. “Yes, miss,” observed Edwards, when notified that his services were no longer required; “I understand. I’ve been expecting it. I was in a family before that met with financial difficulties, and I know the signs. All I can say is that I hope you and Mr. Stephen will get on all right, miss. If there’s anything I can do to help you, by way of friendship, please let me know. I’d be glad, for old times’ sake. And the cook wanted me to tell you that, being as she’s got another job in sight and was paid up to date, she wouldn’t wait for notice, but was leaving immediate. She’s gone already, miss.”
The second maid went also. But Annie, Irish and grateful, refused to go. Her mother came to back her in the refusal.
“Indeed she’ll not leave you, Miss Caroline—you nor Captain Warren neither. Lord love him! Sure, d’ye think we’ll ever forget what you and him done for me and my Pat and the childer? You’ve got to have somebody, ain’t you? And Annie’s cookin’ ain’t so bad that it’ll kill yez; and I’ll learn her more. Never mind what the wages is, they’re big enough. She’ll stay! If she didn’t, I’d break her back.”
So, when the apartment was given up, and Captain Elisha and his wards moved to the little house in Westchester County, Annie came with them. And her cooking, though not by any means equal to that at Delmonico’s, had not killed them yet. Mrs. Moriarty came once a week to do the laundry work. Caroline acted as a sort of inexperienced but willing supervising housekeeper.
The house itself had been procured through the kind interest of Sylvester. Keeping the apartment was, under the circumstances, out of the question, and Caroline hated it and was only too anxious to give it up. She had no suggestions to make. She would go anywhere, anywhere that her guardian deemed best; but might they not please go at once? She expected that he would suggest South Denboro, and she would have gone there without a complaint. To get away from the place where she had been so miserable was her sole wish. And trusting and believing in her uncle as she now did, realizing that he had been right always and had worked for her interest throughout, and having been shown the falseness and insincerity of the others whom she had once trusted implicitly, she clung to him with an appeal almostpiteous. Her pride was, for the time, broken. She was humble and grateful. She surrendered to him unconditionally, and hoped only for his forgiveness and love.
The captain did not suggest South Denboro. He did, however, tell Sylvester that he believed a little place out of the city would be the better refuge for the present.
“Poor Caroline’s switched clear around,” he said to the lawyer, “and you can’t blame her much. She cal’lates New York’s nothin’ but a sham from stern to stern, manned by liars and swindlers and hypocrites and officered by thieves. ’Tain’t no use to tell her ’tain’t, though she might pretend to believe it, ifItold her, for just now the poor girl thinks I’m Solomon and Saint Peter rolled into one. The way she agrees to whatever I say and the way she looks at me and sort of holds on to me, as if I was her only anchor in a gale, I declare it makes me feel meaner than poorhouse tea—and that’s made of blackberry leaves steeped in memories of better things, so I’ve heard say.AmI a low down scamp, playin’ a dirty mean trick on a couple of orphans? What do you think, Sylvester?”
“You know what I think, Captain Warren,” replied the lawyer. “You’re handling the whole matter better than any other man could handle it. No one else would have thought of it, to begin with; and the results so far prove that you’re right.”
“Yup. Maybe. I wish you was around to say that to me when I wake up nights and get to thinkin’. However, as I said, Caroline believes New York is like a sailors’ dance hall, a place for decent folks to steer clear of. And when the feller you’ve been engaged to is shown up as a sneak and your own dad as a crook—well, you can’t blame a green hand for holdin’ prejudiceagainst the town that raised ’em. She’ll get over it; but just now I cal’late some little flat, or, better still, a little home out where the back yards ain’t made of concrete, would be a first-class port for us to make for. Don’t know of such a place at a reasonable rent, do you?”
“I might find one. And you may be right; your niece might like it better, though it will be somewhat of a change. But how about your nephew? He has no objection to the metropolis, I should judge. What will he say?”
“Nothin’, I guess—unless he says it to himself. Steve’s goin’ back to New Haven with things on his mind. He and I had a mornin’ service, and I was the parson. He listened, because when you ain’t got a cent except what the society allows you, it ain’t good orthodoxy to dodge the charity sermon. Steve’ll behave, and what he don’t like he’ll lump. If he starts to open his mouth his ear’ll ache, I cal’late. I talked turkey to that young man. Ye-es,” with a slight smile, “I’m sort of afraid I lost patience with Stevie.”
When Caroline first saw the little house, with its shingled sides, the dead vines over the porch, and the dry stalks of last year’s flowers in the yard, her heart sank. With the wind blowing and the bare branches of the old apple tree scraping the roof and whining dolefully, it looked bleak and forsaken. It was so different, so unhomelike, and so, to her eyes, small and poverty-stricken. She made believe that she liked it, exclaimed over the view—which, on the particular day, was desolate enough—and declared the Dutch front door was “old-fashioned and dear.” But Captain Elisha, watching her closely, knew that she was only waiting to be alone to give way to wretchedness and tears. He understood, had expected that she would feel thus, but hewas disappointed, nevertheless. However, after the front door was passed and they were inside the house, Caroline looked about her in delighted amazement. The living room was small, but bright and warm and cheery. On its walls, hiding the rather vivid paper, were hung some of the best of Rodgers Warren’s pictures—the Corot, the codfisher, and others. The furniture and rugs were those which had been in the library of the apartment, those she had been familiar with all her life. The books, many of them, were there, also. And the dining room, except for size, looked like home. So did the bedrooms; and, in the kitchen, Annie grinned a welcome.
“But how could you?” asked Caroline. “How could you keep all these things, Uncle Elisha? I thought, of course, they must all be sold. I cried when they took them away that day when we were leaving to go to the hotel. I was sure I should never see them again. And here they all are! How could you do it?”
The captain’s grin was as wide as Annie’s. “Oh,” he explained, “I couldn’t let ’em all go. Never intended to. That five thousand dollar codder up there seemed like own folks, pretty nigh. I’d have kepthim, if we had to live in one room and a trunk. And we ain’t got to that—yet. I tell you, dearie, I thought they’d make you feel more to home. And they do, don’t they?”
The look she gave him was answer sufficient.
“But the creditors?” she asked. “That man who—they belong to him, don’t they? I supposed of course they must go with the rest.”
Captain Elisha winked. “There’s times,” he answered, “when I believe in cheatin’ my creditors. This is one of ’em. Never you mind that feller you mentioned. He’s got enough, confound him! He didn’thave the face to ask for any more. Sylvester looked out for that. Five hundred thousand, droppin’ in, as you might say, unexpected, ought to soften anybody’s heart; and I judge even that feller’s got some bowels of mercy.”
He changed the subject hastily, but Caroline asked no more questions. She never alluded to the lost estate, never expressed any regrets, nor asked to know who it was that had seized her all. The captain had expected her to ask, had been ready with the same answer he had given Stephen, but when he hinted she herself had forbade his continuing. “Don’t tell me about it,” she begged. “I don’t want to know any more. Father did wrong, but—but I know he did not mean to. He was a good, kind father to me, and I loved him. This man whose money he took had a right to it, and now it is his. He doesn’t wish us to know who he is, so Steve says, and I’m glad. I don’t want to know, because if I did I might hate him. And,” with a shudder, “I am trying so hard not to hate anybody.”
Her make-believe liking for the little home became more and more real as spring drew near. She began to take an interest in it, in the flower garden, in the beds beside the porch, where the peonies and daffodils were beginning to show green heads above the loam, and in the household affairs. And she had plans of her own, not connected with these. She broached them to her uncle, and they surprised and delighted him, although he would not give his consent to them entirely.
“You mustn’t think,” she said, “that, because I have been willing to live on your money since mine went, that I mean to continue doing it. I don’t. I’ve been thinking a great deal, and I realize that I must earn my own way just as soon as I can. I’m not fitted for anythingnow; but I can be and I shall. I’ve thought perhaps I might learn stenography or—or something like that. Girls do.”
He looked at her serious face and choked back his laugh.
“Why, yes,” he admitted, “they do, that’s a fact. About four hundred thousand of ’em do, and four hundred thousand more try to and then try to make business men think that they have. I heard Sylvester sputterin’ about a couple in his office t’other day; said they was no good and not worth the seven dollars a week he paid ’em.”
“Seven dollars aweek!” she repeated.
“Yes. Course some make three times that and more; but they’re the experienced ones, the good ones. And there’s heaps that don’t. What makes you so sot on earnin’ a livin’, Caroline? Ain’t you satisfied with the kind I’m tryin’ to give you?”
She regarded him reproachfully. “Please don’t say that,” she protested. “You always treat your kindness as a joke, but to me it—it—”
“There! there!” quickly. “Don’t let’s talk foolish. I see what you mean, dearie. It ain’t the livin’ but because I’m givin’ it to you that troubles you. I know. Well,Iain’t complainin’ but I understand your feelin’s and respect ’em. However, I shouldn’t study type-writin’, if I was you. There’s too much competition in it to be comfortable, as the fat man said about runnin’ races. I’ve got a suggestion, if you want to listen to it.”
“I do, indeed. What is it?”
“Why, just this. I’ve been about everythin’ aboard ship, but I’ve never been a steward. Now I’ll say this much for Annie, she tried hard. She tumbled into general housekeepin’ the way Asa Foster said he fell intothe cucumber frame—with a jolt and a jingle; and she’s doin’ her best accordin’ to her lights. But sometimes her lights need ile or trimmin’ or somethin’. I’ve had the feelin’ that we need a good housekeeper here. If Annie’s intelligence was as broad and liberal as her shoes, we wouldn’t; as ’tis, we do. I’ll hire you, Caroline, for that job, if you say so.”
“I? Uncle Elisha, you’re joking!”
“No, I ain’t. Course I realize you ain’t had much experience in runnin’ a house, and I hope you understand I don’t want to hire you as a cook. But I’ve had a scheme in the back of my head for a fortni’t or more. Somethin’ Sylvester said about a young lady cousin of his made me think of it. Seems over here at the female college—you know where I mean—they’re teachin’ a new course that they’ve christened Domestic Science. Nigh’s I can find out it is about what our great gran’marms larned at home; that, with up-to-date trimmin’s. All about runnin’ a house, it is; how to superintend servants, and what kind of things to have to eat, and how they ought to be cooked, and takin’ care of children—Humph! we don’t need that, do we?—and, well, everything that a home woman, rich or poor, ought to know. At least, she ought to ’cordin’ to my old-fashioned notions. Sylvester’s cousin goes there, and likes it; and I judge she ain’t figgerin’ to be anybody’s hired help, either. My idea was about this: If you’d like to take this course, Caroline, you could do it afternoons. Mornin’s and the days you had off, you could apply your science here at home, on Annie. Truly it would save me hirin’ somebody else, and—well, maybe you’d enjoy it, you can’t tell.”
His niece seemed interested.
“I know of the Domestic Science course,” she said.“Several of my friends—my former friends, were studying it. But I’m afraid, Uncle, that I don’t see where earning my living has any part in it. It seems to me that it means your spending more money for me, paying my tuition.”
“No more’n I’d spend for a competent housekeeper. Honest, Caroline, I’d like to do it. You think it over a spell.”
She did, visiting the University and making inquiries. What she was told there decided her. She took up the course and enjoyed it. It occupied her mind and prevented her brooding over the past. She might have made many friends among the other students, but she was careful to treat them only as acquaintances. Her recent experience with “friends” was too fresh in her mind. She studied hard and applied her knowledge at home. She and Annie made some odd and funny mistakes at first, but they were not made twice, and Captain Elisha noticed a great improvement in the housekeeping. Also, Caroline’s spirits improved, though more slowly.
Most evenings they spent together in the living room. She read aloud to her uncle, who smoked his cigar and listened, commenting on the doings of the story folk with characteristic originality and aptitude. Each night, after the reading was over, he wrote his customary note to Abbie Baker at South Denboro. He made one flying trip to that village: “Just to prove to ’em that I’m still alive,” as he explained it. “Some of those folks down there at the postoffice must have pretty nigh forgot to gossip about me by this time. They’ve had me eloped and married and a millionaire and a pauper long ago, I don’t doubt. And now they’ve probably forgot me altogether. I’ll just run down and stir ’em up. Good subjectsfor yarns are scurce at that postoffice, and they ought to be thankful.”
On his return he told his niece that he found everything much as usual. “Thoph Kenney’s raised a beard ’cause shavin’s so expensive; and the Come-Outer minister called the place the other denominations are bound for ‘Hades,’ and his congregation are thinkin’ of firin’ him for turnin’ Free-Thinker. That’s about all the sensations,” he said. “I couldn’t get around town much on account of Abbie. She kept me in bed most of the time, while she sewed on buttons and mended. Said she never saw a body’s clothes in such a state inherlife.”
A few of the neighbors called occasionally. And there were other callers. Captain Elisha’s unexpected departure from Mrs. Hepton’s boarding house had caused a sensation and much regret to that select establishment. The landlady, aided and abetted by Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles, would have given a farewell tea in his honor, but he declined. “Don’t you do it,” he said. “I like my tea pretty strong, and farewells are watery sort of things, the best of ’em. And this ain’t a real farewell, anyhow.”
“‘Sayau revoir, but not good-by,’” sang Miss Sherborne sentimentally.
“That’s it. Everybody knows what good-by means. We’ll say the other thing—as well as we can—and change it to ‘Hello’ the very first time any of you come out to see us.”
They were curious to know his reason for leaving. He explained that his niece was sort of lonesome and needed country air; he was going to live with her, for the present. Consequently Mrs. Ruggles, on the trail of aristocracy, was the first to call. Hers was a stately and ceremonious visit. They were glad when it was over. Lawton, the bookseller and his wife, came and were persuadedto remain and dine. Caroline liked them at sight. The most impressive call, however, was that of Mr. and Mrs. “C.” Dickens. The great man made it a point to dress in the style of bygone years, and his conversation was a treat. His literary labors were fatiguing and confining, he admitted, and the “little breath of rural ozone” which this trip to Westchester County gave him, was like a tonic—yes, as one might say, a tonic prescribed and administered by Dame Nature herself.
“I formerly resided in the country,” he told Caroline.
“Yes,” put in his wife, “we used to live at Bayonne, New Jersey. We had such a pretty house there, that is, half a house; you see it was a double one, and—”
“Maria,” her husband waved his hand, “why trouble our friends with unnecessary details.”
“But itwasa pretty house, ‘C.,’ dear,” with a pathetic little sigh. “I’ve missed it a great deal since, Miss Warren. ‘C.’ had a joke about it—he’s such a joker! He used to call it ‘Gad’s Hill, Junior.’”
“Named after some of David B.’s folks?” asked Captain Elisha innocently. The answer, delivered by Mr. Dickens, was condescending and explanatory.
Caroline laughed, actually laughed aloud, when the visit was over. Her uncle was immensely pleased.
“Hooray!” he cried. “I’ll invite ’em up to stay a week. That’s the fust time I’ve heard you laugh for I don’t know when.”
She laughed again. “I can’t help it,” she said; “they are so funny.”
The captain chuckled. “Yes,” he said, “and they don’t know it. I cal’late a person’s skull has got room for just about so much in it and no more. Cornelius Charles’s head is so jammed with self-satisfaction that his sense of humor was crowded out of door long ago.”
One boarder at Mrs. Hepton’s did not call, nor did Captain Elisha allude to him. Caroline noticed the latter fact and understood the reason. Also, when the captain went to the city, as he frequently did, and remained longer than usual, she noticed that his explanations of the way in which he spent his time were sometimes vague and hurried. She understood and was troubled. Yet she thought a great deal on the subject before she mentioned it.
On the April afternoon when Caroline sat at the window of the living room awaiting her uncle’s return she was thinking of that subject. But, at last, her mind was made up. It was a hard thing to do; it was humiliating, in a way; it might—though she sincerely hoped not—be misconstrued as to motive; but it was right. Captain Elisha had been so unselfish, so glad to give up every personal inclination in order to please her, that she would no longer permit her pride to stand in the way of his gratification, even in little things. At least, she would speak to him on the matter.
He came on a later than his usual train, and at dinner, when she asked where he had been, replied, “Oh, to see Sylvester, and—er—around.” She asked him no more, but, when they were together in the living room, she moved her chair over beside his and said without looking at him:
“Uncle Elisha, I know where you’ve been this afternoon. You’ve been to see Mr. Pearson.”
“Hey?” He started, leaned back and regarded her with astonishment and some alarm.
“You’ve been to see Mr. Pearson,” she repeated, “haven’t you?”
“Why—why, yes, Caroline, I have—to tell you the truth. I don’t see how you knew, but,” nervously, “Ihope you don’t feel bad ’cause I did. I go to see him pretty often. You see, I think a good deal of him—a whole lot of him.Ithink he’s a fine young feller. Course I know you don’t, and so I never mention him to you. But I do hope you ain’t goin’ to ask me not to see him.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I would have no right to ask that, even if I wished to. And I do not wish it. Uncle Elisha, if you were alone here, he would come to see you; I know he would. Invite him to come, please.”