The party at Broadstone was not in what might be called a congenial condition. There were among them elements of unrest which prevented that assimilation which is necessary to social enjoyment. Even the ordinarily placid Mr. Fox was dissatisfied. The trouble with him was—although he did not admit it—that he missed the company of Miss Asher. He had found her most agreeable and inspiriting, but now things had changed, and he did not seem to have any opportunity for the lively chats of a few days before. He remarked to his wife that he thought Broadstone was getting very dull, and he should be rather glad when the time came for them to leave. Mrs. Fox was not of his opinion; she enjoyed the state of affairs more than she had done when her husband had been better pleased. There was something going on which she did not understand, and she wanted to find out what it was. It concerned Miss Asher and one of the young men, but which one she could not decide. In any case it troubled Mrs. Easterfield, and that was interesting.
Claude Locker seemed to be a changed man; he no longer made jokes or performed absurdities. He had become wonderfully vigilant, and seemed to be one who continually bided his time. He bided it so much that he was of very little use as a member of the social circle.
Mr. Du Brant was also biding his time, but he did not make the fact evident. He was very vigilant also, but was very quiet, and kept himself in the background. He had seen Olive and Mr. Hemphill go out in the boat, but he determined totally to ignore that interesting occurrence. The moment he had an opportunity he would speak to Olive again, and the existence of other people did not concern him.
Mr. Hemphill was walking by the river; Olive had not allowed him to come to the house with her, for his face was so radiant with the ecstasy of not having been discarded by her that she did not wish him to be seen. From her window Mrs. Easterfield saw this young man on his return from his promenade, and she knew it would not be many minutes before he would reach the house. She also saw the diplomat, who was glaring across the grounds at some one, probably Mr. Locker, who, not unlikely, was glaring back at him. She had come up-stairs to do some writing, but now she put down her pen and called to her secretary.
"Miss Raleigh," said she, "it has been a good while since you have done anything for me."
"Indeed it has," said the other with a sigh.
"But I want you to do something this minute. It is strictly confidential business. I want you to go down on the lawn, or any other place where Miss Asher may be, and make yourselfmal à propos. I am busy now, but I will relieve you before very long. Can you do that? Do you understand?"
The aspect of the secretary underwent a total change. From a dull, heavy-eyed woman she became an intent, an eager emissary. Her hands trembled with the intensity of her desire to meddle with the affairs of others.
"Of course I understand," she exclaimed, "and I can do it. You mean you don't want any of those young men to get a chance to speak to Miss Asher. Do you include Mr. Lancaster? Or shall I only keep off the others?"
"I include all of them," said Mrs. Easterfield. "Don't let any of them have a chance to speak to her until I can come down. And hurry! Here is one coming now."
Hurrying down-stairs, the secretary glanced into the library. There she saw Mrs. Fox in one armchair, and Olive in another, both reading. In the hall were the two little girls, busily engaged in harnessing two small chairs to a large armchair by means of a ball of pink yarn. Outside, about a hundred yards away, she saw Mr. Hemphill irresolutely approaching the house. Miss Raleigh's mind, frequently dormant, was very brisk and lively when she had occasion to waken it. She made a dive toward the children.
"Dear little ones," she cried, "don't you want to come out under the trees and have the good Mr. Hemphill tell you a story? I know he wants to tell you one, and it is about a witch and two pussy-cats and a kangaroo. Come along. He is out there waiting for us." Down dropped the ball of yarn, and with exultant cries each little girl seized an outstretched hand of the secretary, and together they ran over the grass to meet the good Mr. Hemphill.
Of course he was obliged to want to tell them a story; they expected it of him, and they were his employer's children. To be sure he had on mind something very practical and sensible he wished to say to Miss Olive, which had come to him during his solitary walk, and which he did not believe she would object to hearing, although he had said so much to her quite recently. As soon as he should begin to speak she would know that this was something she ought to know. It was about his mother, who had an income of her own, and did not in the least depend upon her son. Miss Olive would certainly agree with him that it was proper for him to tell her this.
But the little girls seized his hands and led him away to a bench, where, having seated him almost forcibly, each climbed upon a knee. The good Mr. Hemphill sent a furtive glare after Miss Raleigh, who, with that smile of gentle gratification which comes to one after having just done a good deed to another, sauntered slowly away.
"Don't come back again," cried out the older of the little girls. "He was put out in the last story, and we want this to be a long one. And remember, Mr, Rupert, it is to be about a witch and two pussy-cats—"
"And a kangaroo," added the other.
At the front door the secretary met Miss Asher, just emerging. "Isn't that a pretty picture" she said, pointing to the group under the trees.
Olive looked at them and smiled. "It is beautiful," she said; "a regular family composition. I wish I had a kodak."
"Oh, that would never do!" exclaimed Miss Raleigh. "He is just as sensitive as he can be, and, of course, it's natural. And the dear little things are so glad to get him to themselves so that they can have one of the long, long stories they like so much. May I ask what that is you are working, Miss Asher?"
"It is going to be what they call a nucleus," said Olive, showing a little piece of fancy work. "You first crochet this, and then its ultimate character depends on what you may put around it. It may be a shawl, or a table cover, or even an apron, if you like crocheted aprons. I learned the stitch last winter. Would you like me to show it to you?"
"I should like it above all things," said the secretary. And together they walked to a rustic bench quite away from the story-telling group. "So far I have done nothing but nucleuses," said Olive, as they sat down. "I put them away when they are finished, and then I suppose some time I shall take up one and make it into something."
"Like those pastry shells," said Miss Raleigh, "which can be laid away and which you can fill up with preserves or jam whenever you want a pie. How many of these have you, Miss Asher?"
"When this is finished there will be four," said Olive.
At some distance, and near the garden, Dick Lancaster, strolling eastward, encountered Claude Locker, strolling westward.
"Hello!" cried Locker. "I am glad to see you. Brought your baggage with you this time, I see. That means you are going to stay, of course."
"A couple of days," replied Dick.
"Well, a man can do a lot in that time, and you may have something to do, but I am not sure. No, sir," continued Locker, "I am not sure. I am on the point of making a demonstration in force. But the enemy is always presenting some new force. By enemy you understand me to mean that which I adore above all else in the world, but which must be attacked, and that right soon if her defenses are to be carried. Step this way a little, and look over there. Do you see that Raleigh woman sitting on a bench with her? Well, now, if I had not had such a beastly generous disposition I might be sitting on that bench this minute. I was deceived by a feint of the opposing forces this morning. I don't mean she deceived me. I did it myself. Although I had the right by treaty to march in upon her, I myself offered to establish a truce in order that she might bury her dead. I did not know who had been killed, but it looked as if there were losses of some kind. But it was a false alarm. The dead must have turned up only missing, and she was as lively as a cricket at luncheon, and went out in a boat with that tailor's model—sixteen dollars and forty-eight cents for the entire suit ready-made; or twenty-three dollars made to order."
Dick smiled a little, but his soul rebelled within him. He regretted that he had given his promise to Mrs. Easterfield. What he wanted to do that moment was to go over to Captain Asher's niece and ask her to take a walk with him. What other man had a better right to speak to her than he had? But he respected his word; it would be very hard to break a promise made to Mrs. Easterfield; and he stood with his hands in his pockets, and his brows knit.
"Now, I tell you what I am going to do," said Locker. "I am going to wait a little while—a very little while—and then I shall bounce over my earthworks, and rush her position. It is the only way to do it, and I shall be up and at her with cold steel. And now I will tell you what you must do. Just you hold yourself in reserve; and, if I am routed, you charge. You'd better do it if you know what's good for you, for that Austrian's over there pulverizing his teeth and swearing in French because that Raleigh woman doesn't get up and go. Now, I won't keep you any longer, but don't go far away. I can't talk any more, for I've got to have every eye fixed upon the point of attack."
Dick looked at the animated face of his companion, and began to ask himself if the moment had not arrived when even a promise made to Mrs. Easterfield might be disregarded. Should he consent to allow his fate to depend upon the fortunes of Mr. Locker? He scorned the notion. It would be impossible for the girl who had talked so sweetly, so earnestly, so straight from her heart, when he had met her on the shunpike, to marry such a mountebank as this fellow, generous as he might be with that which could never belong to him. As to the diplomat, he did not condescend to bestow a thought upon such a black-pointed little foreigner.
Miss Raleigh was very attentive to the instructions given her by Miss Asher, and while she exhibited the fashion of the new stitch Olive reflected.
"I wonder," she said to herself, "if Mrs. Easterfield has done this. It looks very much like it, and if she did I am truly obliged to her. There is nothing I want so much now as a rest, and I didn't want to stay in the house either. Miss Raleigh," said she, suddenly changing the subject, "were you ever in love?"
The secretary started. "What do you mean by that?" she asked.
"I don't mean anything," said Olive. "I simply wanted to know."
"It is a queer question," said Miss Raleigh, her face changing to another shade of sallowness.
"I know that," said Olive quickly, "but the answers to queer questions are always so much more interesting than those to any others. Don't you think so?"
"Yes, they are," said Miss Raleigh thoughtfully, "but they are generally awfully hard to get. I have tried it myself."
"Then you ought to have a fellow feeling for me," said Olive.
"Well," said the other, looking steadfastly at her companion, "if you will promise to keep it all to yourself forever, I don't mind telling you that I was once in love. Would you like me to tell you who I was in love with?"
"Yes," said Olive, "if you are willing to tell me."
"Oh, I am perfectly willing," said the secretary. "It was Mr. Hemphill."
Olive turned suddenly and looked at her in amazement.
"Yes, it was Mr. Hemphill over there," said the other, speaking very tranquilly, as if the subject were of no importance. "You see, I have been living with the Easterfields for a long time, and in the winter we see a good deal of Mr. Hemphill. He has to come to the house on business, and often takes meals. He is Mr. Easterfield's private and confidential secretary. And, somehow or other, seeing him so often, and sometimes being his partner at cards when two were needed to make up a game, I forgot that I was older than he, and I actually fell in love with him. You see he has a good heart, Miss Asher; anybody could tell that from his way with children; and I have noticed that bachelors are often nicer with children than fathers are."
"And he?" asked Olive.
Miss Raleigh laughed a little laugh. "Oh, I did all the loving," she answered. "He never reciprocated the least little bit, and I often wondered why I adored him as much as I did. He was handsome, and he was good, and he had excellent taste; he was thoroughly trustworthy in his relations to the family, and I believe he would be equally so in all relations of life; but all that did not account for my unconquerable ardor, which was caused by a certain something which you know, Miss Asher, we can't explain."
Olive tried hard not to allow any emotion to show itself in her face, but she did not altogether succeed. "And you still—" said she.
"No, I don't," interrupted Miss Raleigh. "I love him no longer. There came a time when all my fire froze. I discovered that there was—"
"I say, Miss Asher—" it was the voice of Claude Locker.
Olive looked around at him. "Well?" said she.
"Perhaps you have not noticed," said he, "that the tennis ground is now in the shade, and if you don't mind walking that way—" He said a good deal more which Miss Raleigh did not believe, understanding the young man thoroughly, and which Olive did not hear. Her mind was very busy with what she had just heard, which made a great impression on her. She did not know whether she was affronted, or hurt, or merely startled.
Here was a man who loved her, a man she had loved, and one about whom she had been questioning herself as to the possibility of her loving him again. And here was a woman, a dyspeptic, unwholesome spinster, who had just said she had loved him. If Miss Raleigh had loved this man, how could she, Olive, love him? There was something repugnant about it which she did not attempt to understand. It went beyond reason. She felt it to be an actual relief to look up at Claude Locker, and to listen to what he was saying.
"You mean," said she presently, "that you would like Miss Raleigh and me to come with you and play tennis."
"I did not know Miss Raleigh played," he answered, "but I thought perhaps—"
"Oh, no," said Olive. "I would not think of such a thing. In fact, Miss Raleigh and I are engaged. We are very busy about some important work."
Mr. Locker gazed at the crocheted nucleus with an air of the loftiest disdain. "Of course, of course," said he, "but you really oblige me, Miss Asher, to speak very plainly and frankly and to say that I really do not care about playing tennis, but that I want to speak to you on a most important subject, which, for reasons that I will explain, must be spoken of immediately. So, if Miss Raleigh will be kind enough to postpone the little matter you have on hand—"
Olive smiled and shook her head. "No, indeed, sir," she said; "I would not hurt a lady's feelings in that way, and moreover, I would not allow her to hurt her own feelings. It would hurt your feelings, Miss Raleigh, wouldn't it, to be sent away like a child who is not wanted?"
"Yes," said the secretary, "I think it would."
Mr. Locker listened in amazement. He had not thought the mature maiden had the nerve to say that.
"Then again," said Olive, "this isn't the time for you to talk business with me, and you should not disturb me at this hour."
"Oh," said Locker, bringing down the forefinger of his right hand upon the palm of his left, "that is a point, a very essential point. I voluntarily surrendered the period of discourse which you assigned to me for a reason which I now believe did not exist, and this is only an assertion of the rights vested in me by you."
Miss Raleigh listened very attentively to these remarks, but could not imagine what they meant.
Olive looked at him graciously. "Yes," she said, "you are very generous, but your period for discourse, as you call it, will have to be postponed."
"But it can't be postponed," he answered. "If I could see you alone I could soon explain that to you. There are certain reasons why I must speak now."
"I can't help it," said Olive. "I am not going to leave Miss Raleigh, and I am sure she does not want to leave me, so if you are obliged to speak you must speak before her."
Mr. Locker gazed from one to the other of the two ladies who sat before him; each of them wore a gentle but determined expression. He addressed the secretary.
"Miss Raleigh," said he, "if you understood the reason for my strong desire to speak in private with Miss Asher, perhaps you would respect it and give me the opportunity I ask for. I am here to make a proposition of marriage to this lady, and it is absolutely necessary that I make it without loss of time. Do you desire me to make it in your presence?"
"I should like it very much," said Miss Raleigh.
Mr. Locker gave her a look of despair, and turned to Olive. "Would you permit that?" he asked.
"If it is absolutely necessary," she said, "I suppose I shall have to permit it."
Mr. Locker had the soul of a lion in his somewhat circumscribed body, and he was not to be recklessly dared to action.
"Very well, then," said he, "I shall proceed as if we were alone, and I hope, Miss Raleigh, you will at least see fit to consider yourself in a strictly confidential position."
"Indeed I shall," she replied; "not one word shall ever—"
"I hope not," interrupted Claude, "and I will add that if I should ever be accidentally present when a gentleman is about to propose to you, Miss Raleigh, I shall heap coals of fire upon your head by instantaneously withdrawing."
The secretary was about to thank him, but Olive interrupted. "Now, Claude Locker," said she, "what can you possibly have to say to me that you have not said before?"
"A good deal, Miss Asher, a good deal, although I don't wonder you suppose that no man could say more to you of his undying affection than I have already said. But, since I last spoke on the subject, I have been greatly impressed by the fact that I have not said enough about myself; that I have not made you understand me as I really am. I know very well that most people, and I suppose that at some time you have been among them, look upon me as a very frivolous young man, and not one to whom the right sort of a girl should give herself in marriage. But that is a mistake. I am as much to be depended upon as anybody you ever met. My apparently whimsical aspect is merely the outside—my shell, marked off in queer designs with variegated colors—but within that shell I am as domestic, as sober, and as surely to be found where I am expected to be as any turtle. This may seem a queer figure, but it strikes me as a very good one. When I am wanted I am there. You can always depend upon me."
There was not a smile upon the face of either woman as he spoke. They were listening earnestly, and with the deepest interest. Miss Raleigh's eyes sparkled, and Olive seemed to be most seriously considering this new aspect in which Mr. Locker was endeavoring to place himself.
"Perhaps you may think," Claude continued, "that you would not desire turtle-like qualities in a husband, you who are so bright, so bounding, so much like a hare, but I assure you, that is just the companion who would suit you. All day you might skip among the flowers, and in the fields, and wherever you were, you would always know where I was—making a steady bee-line for home; and you would know that I would be there to welcome you when you arrived."
"That is very pretty!" said Miss Raleigh. And then she quickly added: "Excuse me for making a remark."
"Now, Miss Asher," continued Locker, "I have tried, very imperfectly, I know, to make you see me as I really am, and I do hope you can put an end to this suspense which is keeping me in a nervous tingle. I can not sleep at night, and all day I am thinking what you will say when you do decide. You need not be afraid to speak out before Miss Raleigh. She is in with us now, and she can't get out. I would not press you for an answer at this moment, but there are reasons which I can not say anything about without meddling with other people's business. But my business with you is the happiness of my life, and I feel that I can not longer endure having it momentarily jeopardized."
At the conclusion of this speech a faint color actually stole into Miss Raleigh's face, and she clasped her thin hands in the intensity of her approval.
"Mr. Locker," said Olive, speaking very pleasantly, "if you had come to me to-day and had asked me for a decision based upon what you had already said to me, I think I might have settled the matter. But after what you have just told me, I can not answer you now. You give me things to think about, and I must wait."
"Heavens" exclaimed Mr. Locker, clasping his hands. "Am I not yet to know whether I am to rise into paradise, or to sink into the infernal regions?"
Olive smiled. "Don't do either, Mr. Locker," she said. "This earth is a very pleasant place. Stay where you are."
He folded his arms and gazed at her. "It is a pleasant place," said he, "and I am mighty glad I got in my few remarks before you made your decision. I leave my love with you on approbation, and you may be sure I shall come to-morrow before luncheon to hear what you say about it."
"I shall expect you," said Olive. And as she spoke her eyes were full of kind consideration.
"Now, that's genuine," said Miss Raleigh, when Locker had departed. "If he had not felt every word he said he could not have said it before me."
"No doubt you are right," said Olive. "He is very brave. And now you see this new line, which begins an entirely different kind of stitch!"
In the middle distance Mr. Du Brant still strolled backward and forward, pulverizing his teeth and swearing in French. He seldom removed his eyes from Miss Asher, but still she sat on that bench and crocheted, and talked, and talked, and crocheted, with that everlasting Miss Raleigh! He had seen Locker with her, and he had seen him go; and now he hoped that the woman would soon depart. Then it would be his chance.
The young Austrian had become most eager to make Olive his wife. He earnestly loved her; and, beyond that, he had come to see that a marriage with her would be most advantageous to his prospects. This beautiful and brilliant American girl, familiar with foreign life and foreign countries, would give him a position in diplomatic society which would be most desirable. She might not bring him much money; although he believed that all American girls had some money; but she would bring him favor, distinction, and, most likely, advancement. With such a wife he would be a welcome envoy at any court. And, besides, he loved her. But, alas, Miss Raleigh would not go away.
About half an hour after Claude Locker left Olive he encountered Dick Lancaster.
"Well," said he, "I charged. I was not routed, I can't say that I was even repulsed. But I was obliged to withdraw my forces. I shall go into camp, and renew the attack to-morrow. So, my friend, you will have to wait. I wish I could say that there is no use of your waiting, but I am a truthful person and can't do that."
Lancaster was not pleased. "It seems to me," he said, "that you trifle with the most important affairs of life."
"Trifle!" exclaimed Locker. "Would you call it trifling if I fail, and then to save her from a worse fate, were to back you up with all my heart and soul?"
Dick could not help smiling. "By a worse fate," he said, "I suppose you mean—"
"The Austrian," interrupted Locker. "Mrs. Easterfield has told me something about him. He may have a title some day, and he is about as dangerous as they make them. Instead of accusing me of trifling, you ought to go down on your knees and thank me for still standing between him and her."
"That is a duty I would like to perform myself," said Dick.
"Perhaps you may have a chance," sighed Locker, "but I most earnestly hope not. Look over there at that he-nurse. Those children have made him take them walking, and he is just coming back to the house."
Mrs. Easterfield worked steadily at her letter, feeling confident all the time that her secretary was attending conscientiously to the task which had been assigned to her, and which could not fail to be a most congenial one. One of the greatest joys of Miss Raleigh's life was to interfere in other people's business; and to do it under approval and with the feeling that it was her duty was a rare joy.
The letter was to her husband, and Mrs. Easterfield was writing it because she was greatly troubled, and even frightened. In the indulgence of a good-humored and romantic curiosity to know whether or not a grown-up young woman would return to a sentimental attachment of her girlhood, she had brought her husband's secretary to the house with consequences which were appalling. If this navy girl she had on hand had been a mere flirt, Mrs. Easterfield, an experienced woman of society, might not have been very much troubled, but Olive seemed to her to be much more than a flirt; she would trifle until she made up her mind, but when she should come to a decision Mrs. Easterfield believed she would act fairly and squarely. She wanted to marry; and, in her heart, Mrs. Easterfield commended her; without a mother; now more than ever without a father; her only near relative about to marry a woman who was certainly a most undesirable connection; Olive was surely right in wishing to settle in life. And, if piqued and affronted by her father's intended marriage, she wished immediately to declare her independence, the girl could not be blamed. And, from what she had said of Mr. Hemphill, Mrs. Easterfield could not in her own mind dissent. He was a good young man; he had an excellent position; he fervently loved Olive; she had loved him, and might do it again. What was there to which she could object? Only this: it angered and frightened her to think of Olive Asher throwing herself away upon Rupert Hemphill. So she wrote a very strong letter to her husband, representing to him that the danger was very great and imminent, and that he was needed at Broadstone just as soon as he could get there. Business could be set aside; his wife's happiness was at stake; for if this unfortunate match should be made, it would be her doing, and it would cloud her whole life. Of herself she did not know what to do, and if she had known, she could not have done it. But if he came he would not only know everything, but could do anything. This indicated her general opinion of Mr. Tom Easterfield.
"Now," said she to herself, as she fixed an immediate-delivery stamp upon the letter, "that ought to bring him here before lunch to-morrow."
When Olive saw fit to go to her room Miss Raleigh felt relieved from guard, and went to Mrs. Easterfield to report. She told that lady everything that had happened, even including her own emotions at various points of the interview. The amazed Mrs. Easterfield listened with the greatest interest.
"I knew Claude Locker was capable of almost any wild proceeding," she said, "but I did not think he would do that!"
"There is one thing I forgot," said the secretary, "and that is that I promised Mr. Locker not to mention a word of what happened."
"I am very glad," replied Mrs. Easterfield, "that you remembered that promise after you told me everything, and not before. You have done admirably so far."
"And if I have any other opportunities of interpolating myself, so to speak," said Miss Raleigh, "shall I embrace them?"
Mrs. Easterfield laughed. "I don't want you to be too obviously zealous," she answered. "I think for the present we may relax our efforts to relieve Miss Asher of annoyance." Mrs. Easterfield believed this. She had faith in Olive; and if that young woman had promised to give Claude Locker another hearing the next day she did not believe that the girl would give anybody else a positive answer before that time.
Miss Raleigh went away not altogether satisfied. She did not believe in relaxed vigilance; for one thing, it was not interesting.
Olive was surprised when she found that Mr. Lancaster was to stay to dinner, and afterward when she was informed that he had been invited to spend a few days, she reflected. It looked like some sort of a plan, and what did Mrs. Easterfield mean by it? She knew the lady of the house had a very good opinion of the young professor, and that might explain the invitation at this particular moment, but still it did look like a plan, and as Olive had no sympathy with plans of this sort she determined not to trouble her head about it. And to show her non-concern, she was very gracious to Mr. Lancaster, and received her reward in an extremely interesting conversation.
Still Olive reflected, and was not in her usual lively spirits. Mr. Fox said to Mrs. Fox that it was an abominable shame to allow a crowd of incongruous young men to swarm in upon a country house party, and interfere seriously with the pleasures of intelligent and self-respecting people.
That night, after Mrs. Easterfield had gone to bed, and before she slept, she heard something which instantly excited her attention; it was the sound of a guitar, and it came from the lawn in front of the house. Jumping up, and throwing a dressing-gown about her, she cautiously approached the open window. But the night was dark, and she could see nothing. Pushing an armchair to one side of the window, she seated herself, and listened. Words now began to mingle with the music, and these words were French. Now she understood everything perfectly. Mr. Du Brant was a musician, and had helped himself to the guitar in the library.
From the position in which she sat Mrs. Easterfield could look upon a second-story window in a projecting wing of the house, and upon this window, which belonged to Olive's room, and which was barely perceptible in the gloom, she now fixed her eyes. The song and the thrumming went on, but no signs of life could be seen in the black square of that open window.
Mrs. Easterfield was not a bad French scholar, and she caught enough of the meaning of the words to understand that they belonged to a very pretty love song in which the flowers looked up to the sky to see if it were blue, because they knew if it were the fair one smiled, and then their tender buds might ope; and, if she smiled, his heart implored that she might smile on him. There was a second verse, much resembling the first, except that the flowers feared that clouds might sweep the sky; and they lamented accordingly.
Now, Mrs. Easterfield imagined that she saw something white in the depths of the darkness of Olive's room, but it did not come to the front, and she was very uncertain about it. Suddenly, however, something happened about which she could not be in the least uncertain. Above Olive's room was a chamber appropriated to the use of bachelor visitors, and from the window of this room now burst upon the night a wild, unearthly chant. It was a song with words but without music, and the voice in which it was shot out into the darkness was harsh, was shrill, was insolently blatant. And thus the clamorous singer sang:
"My angel maid—ahoy!If aught should you annoy,By act or sound,From sky or ground,I then pray theeTo call on meMy angel maid—ahoy,My ange—my ange—l maidAhoy! Ahoy! Ahoy!"
"My angel maid—ahoy!If aught should you annoy,By act or sound,From sky or ground,I then pray theeTo call on meMy angel maid—ahoy,My ange—my ange—l maidAhoy! Ahoy! Ahoy!"
The music of the guitar now ceased, and no French words were heard. No ditty of Latin origin, be it ever so melodious and fervid, could stand against such a wild storm of Anglo-Saxon vociferation. Every ahoy rang out as if sea captains were hailing each other in a gale!
"What lungs he has" thought Mrs. Easterfield, as she put her hand over her mouth so that no one should hear her laugh. At the open window, at which she still steadily gazed, she now felt sure she saw something white which moved, but it did not come to the front.
A wave of half-smothered objurgation now rolled up from below; it was not to be readily caught, but its tone indicated rage and disappointment. But the guitar had ceased to sound, and the French love song was heard no more. A little irrepressible laugh came from somewhere, but who heard it beside herself Mrs. Easterfield could not know. Then all was still, and the insects of the night, and the tree frogs, had the stage to themselves.
Early in the morning Miss Raleigh presented herself before Mrs. Easterfield to make a report. "There was a serenade last night," she said, "not far from Miss Asher's window. In fact, there were two, but one of them came from Mr. Locker's room, and was simply awful. Mr. Du Brant was the gentleman who sang from the lawn, and I was very sorry when he felt himself obliged to stop. I do not think very much of him, but he certainly has a pleasant voice, and plays well on the guitar. I think he must have been a good deal cut up by being interrupted in that dreadful way, for he grumbled and growled, and did not go into the house for some time. I am sure he would have been very glad to fight if any one had come down."
"You mean," said Mrs. Easterfield, "if Mr. Locker had come."
"Well," said the secretary, "if Mr. Hemphill had appeared I have no doubt he would have answered. Mr. Du Brant seemed to me ready to fight anybody."
"How do you know so much about him?" asked Mrs. Easterfield. "And why did you think of Mr. Hemphill?"
"Oh, he was looking out of his window," said Miss Raleigh. "He could not see, but he could hear."
"I ask you again," said Mrs. Easterfield, "how do you know all this?"
"Oh, I had not gone to bed, and, at the first sound of the guitar, I slipped on a waterproof with a hood, and went out. Of course, I wanted to know everything that was happening."
"I had not the least idea you were such an energetic person," remarked Mrs. Easterfield, "and I think you were entirely too rash. But how about Mr. Lancaster? Do you know if he was listening?"
Miss Raleigh stood silent for a moment, then she exclaimed: "There now, it is too bad! I entirely forgot him! I have not the slightest idea whether he was asleep or awake, and it would have been just as easy—"
"Well, you need not regret it," said Mrs. Easterfield. "I think you did quite enough, and if anything of the kind occurs again I positively forbid you to go out of the house."
"There is one thing we've got to look after," said Miss Raleigh, without heeding the last remark, "this may result in bloodshed."
"Nonsense," said Mrs. Easterfield; "nothing of that kind is to be feared from the gentlemen who visit Broadstone."
"Still," said Miss Raleigh, "don't you think it would be well for me to keep an eye on them?"
"Oh, you may keep both eyes on them if you want to," said Mrs. Easterfield. Then she began to talk about something else, but, although she dismissed the matter so lightly, she was very glad at heart that she had sent for her husband. Things were getting themselves into unpleasant complications, and she needed Tom.
There was a certain constraint at the breakfast table. Mr. Fox had heard the serenades, although his consort had slept soundly through the turmoil; and, while carefully avoiding any reference to the incidents of the night, he was anxiously hoping that somebody would say something about them. Mrs. Easterfield saw that Mr. Du Brant was in a bad humor, and she hoped he was angry enough to announce his early departure. But he contented himself with being angry, and said nothing about going away.
Mr. Hemphill was serious, and looked often in the direction of Olive. As for Dick Lancaster, Miss Raleigh, whose eye was fixed upon him whenever it could be spared from the exigencies of her meal, decided that if there should be a fight he would be one of the fighters; his brow was dark and his glance was sharp; in fact, she was of the opinion that he glared. Claude Locker did not come to breakfast until nearly everybody had finished. His dreams had been so pleasant that he had overslept himself.
In the eyes of Mrs. Easterfield Olive's conduct was positively charming. No one could have supposed that during the night she had heard anything louder than the ripple of the river. She talked more to Mr. Du Brant than to any one else, although she managed to draw most of the others into the conversation; and, with the assistance of the hostess, who gave her most good-humored help, the talk never flagged, although it did not become of the slightest interest to any one who engaged in it. They were all thinking about the conflict of serenades, and what might happen next.
Shortly after breakfast Miss Raleigh came to Mrs. Easterfield. "Mr. Du Brant is with her," she said quickly, "and they are walking away. Shall I interpolate?"
"No," said the other with a smile, "you can let them alone. Nothing will happen this morning, unless, indeed, he should come to ask for a carriage to take him to the station."
Mrs. Easterfield was busy in her garden when Dick Lancaster came to her. "What a wonderfully determined expression you have!" said she. "You look as if you were going to jump on a street-car without stopping it!"
"You are right," said he, "I am determined, and I came to tell you so. I can't stand this sort of thing any longer. I feel like a child who is told he must eat at the second table, and who can not get his meals until every one else is finished."
"And I suppose," she said, "you feel there will be nothing left for you."
"That is it," he answered, "and I don't want to wait. My soul rebels! I can't stand it!"
"Therefore," she said, "you wish to appear before the meal is ready, and in that case you will get nothing." He looked at her inquiringly. "I mean," said she, "that if you propose to Miss Asher now you will be before your time, and she will decline your proposition without the slightest hesitation."
"I do not quite understand that," said Dick. "Would she decline all others?"
"I am afraid not."
"But why do you except me?" asked Dick. "Surely she is not engaged. I know you would tell me at once if that were so."
"It is not so," said Mrs. Easterfield.
"Then I shall take my chances. With all this serenading and love-making going on around me and around the woman I love with all my heart. I can not stand and wait until I am told my time has come. The intensity and the ardor of my feelings for her give me the right to speak to her. Unless I know that some one else has stepped in before me and taken the place I crave, I have decided to speak to her just as soon as I can. But I thought it was due to you to come first and tell you."
"Mr. Lancaster," said Mrs. Easterfield, speaking very quietly, "if you decide to go to Miss Asher and ask her to marry you, I know you will do it, for I believe you are a man who keeps his word to himself, but I assure you that if you do it you will never marry her. So you really need not bother yourself about going to her; you can simply decide to do it, and that will be quite sufficient; and you can stay here and hold these long-stemmed dahlias for me as I cut them."
A troubled wistfulness showed itself upon the young man's face. "You speak so confidently," he said, "that I almost feel I ought to believe you. Why do you tell me that I am the only one of her suitors who would certainly be rejected if he offered himself?"
Mrs. Easterfield dropped the long-stemmed dahlias she had been holding; and, turning her eyes full upon Lancaster, she said, "Because you are the only one of them toward whom she has no predilections whatever. More than that, you are the only one toward whom she has a positive objection. You are the only one who is an intimate friend of her uncle, and who would be likely, by means of that intimate friendship, to bring her into connection with the woman she hates, as well as with a relative she despises on account of his intended marriage with that woman."
"All that should not count at all," cried Dick. "In such a matter as this I have nothing to do with Captain Asher! I stand for myself and speak for myself. What is his intended wife to me? Or what should she be to her?"
"Of course," said Mrs. Easterfield, "all that would not count at all if Olive Asher loved you. But you see she doesn't. I have had it from her own lips that her uncle's intended marriage is, and must always be, an effectual barrier between you and her."
"What" cried Dick. "Have you spoken to her of me? And in that way?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Easterfield, "I have. I did not intend to tell you, but you have forced me to do it. You see, she is a young woman of extraordinary good sense. She believes she ought to marry, and she is going to try to make the very best marriage that she possibly can. She has suitors who have very strong claims upon her consideration—I am not going to tell you those claims, but I know them. Now, you have no claim—special claim, I mean—but for all this, I believe, as I have told you before, that you are the man she ought to marry, and I have been doing everything I can to make her cease considering them, and to consider you. And this is the way she came to give me her reasons for not considering you at all. Now the state of the case is plain before you."
Dick bowed his head and fixed his eyes upon the dahlias on the ground.
"Don't tread on the poor things," she said, "and don't despair. All you have to do is to let me put a curbed bit on you, and for you to consent to wear it for a little while. See," said she, moving her hands in the air, as if they were engaged upon the bridle of a horse, "I fasten this chain rather closely, and buckle the ends of the reins in the lowest curb. Now, you must have a steady hand and a resolute will until the time comes when the curb is no longer needed."
"And do you believe that time will come?" he asked.
"It will come," she said, "when two things happen; when she has reason to love you, and has no reason to object to you; and, in my opinion, that happy combination may arrive if you act sensibly."
"But—" said Dick.
At this moment a quick step was heard on the garden-path and they both turned. It was Olive.
"Mr. Lancaster," she cried, "I want you; that is, if Mrs. Easterfield can spare you. We are making up a game of tennis. Mr. Du Brant and Mr. Hemphill are there, but I can not find Mr. Locker."
Mrs. Easterfield could spare him, and Dick Lancaster, with the curbed chain pressing him very hard, walked away with Olive Asher.