The four lovers at Broadstone walked, and wandered, and waited, after breakfast that morning, but only one of them knew definitely what he was waiting for, and that was Mr. Locker. He was waiting for half-past twelve o'clock, when he would join Miss Asher, if she gave him an opportunity; and he was sure she would give him one, for she was always to be trusted. He intended this interview to be decisive. It would not do for him to wait any longer; yes or no must be her word. She had been walking down by the river with the best clothes on the premises, and he now feared the owner of those clothes more than anybody else. He was a keen-sighted young man, for otherwise how could he have been a poet, and he assured himself that Miss Asher was taking Hemphill seriously.
So Mr. Locker determined to charge the works of the enemy that day before luncheon. When the conflict was over his flag might float high and free or it might lie trampled in the dust, but the battle should be fought, and no quarter would be asked or given.
As for Mr. Hemphill and Mr. Du Brant, they simply wandered, and waited, and bored the rest of the company. They did not care to do anything, for that might embarrass them in case Miss Asher appeared and wished to do something else; they did not want to stay in the house because she might show herself somewhere out of doors; they did not want to stay on the grounds because at any moment she might seat herself in the library with a book; above all things, they wanted to keep away from each other; and their indeterminate peregrinations made sick the souls of Mr. and Mrs. Fox.
The diplomat did not know what he was going to do when he saw Miss Asher alone; everything would depend upon surrounding circumstances, for he was quick as well as wary, and could make up his mind on the instant. But good Rupert Hemphill had not even as much decision of purpose as this. He had already spent half an hour with the lady of his love, and he had not been very happy. Delighted that she had permitted him to join her, he had at once begun to speak of the one great object which dominated his existence, but she had earnestly entreated him not to do so.
"It is such a pity," she had said, "for us never to talk of anything but that. There are so many things I like to talk about, especially the things of which I read. I am now reading Charles Lamb—that is, whenever I get a chance—and I don't believe anybody in these days ever does read the works of that dear old man. There is a complete set of his books in the library, and they do not look as if they had ever been opened. Did you ever read his little essays on Popular Fallacies? Some of them are just as true as they can be, although they seem like making fun, especially the one about the angry man being always in the wrong. I am inclined to side with the angry man. I know I am generally right when I am angry."
Mr. Hemphill had not read these little essays, nor had he admitted that he had never read anything else by Mr. Lamb; but he had agreed that it was very common to be both angry and right. Then Olive had talked to him about other books, and his way had become very rough and exceedingly thorny, and he had wished he knew how to bring up the subject of some new figures in the German. But he had not succeeded in doing this. She had been in a bookish mood, and the mood had lasted until she had left him.
Now he began to think that it would be better for him to give up wandering and waiting and go into the library and prepare himself for another talk with Olive, but he did not go; she might see him and suspect his design. He would wait until later. He took some books to his room.
Dick Lancaster wandered and waited, but he was full of a purpose, although it was not exactly definite; he wanted to find Mrs. Easterfield and ask her to release him from his promise. He could not remain much longer at Broadstone, and Olive's morning walk with Hemphill had made him very nervous. She knew that these young men were in love with her, and he had a right to let her know that he was also. It might be imprudent for him to do this, but he could not see why it would not be as imprudent at any other time as now. Moreover, there might come no other time, and he had control of now.
Mrs. Easterfield had not joined her guests because of her anxiety about Olive. Mr. Easterfield did not appear. For a time he was very particularly engaged in the garden. Mr. Fox grew very much irritated.
"I tell you, my dear," said he, "every one who comes here makes this place more stupid and dull. I can't see exactly any reason for it, but these lovers are at the bottom of it. I hate lovers."
"You should be very glad, my dear," replied Mrs. Fox, "that I was not of your opinion in my early life."
But things changed for the better after a time. It is true that Mrs. Easterfield and Olive did not appear, but Mr. Easterfield showed himself, and did it with great advantage. The simple statement that his wife and Miss Asher had gone to make a call caused a feeling of relief to spread over the whole party. Until the callers returned there was no reason why they should not all enjoy themselves, and Mr. Easterfield was there to show them how to do it.
As the Broadstone carriage rolled swiftly on there was not much conversation between its occupants. To the somewhat sensitive mind of Mrs. Easterfield it seemed that Olive was a little disappointed at the change of companions, but this may have been a mere fancy. The girl was so wrapped up in self-concentrated thought that it was not likely that she would have talked much to any one. Suddenly, however, Olive broke out:
"Mr. Easterfield must be a thoroughly good man" she said.
"He is," assented the other.
"And you have always been entirely satisfied with him?"
"Entirely," was the reply, without a smile.
Now Olive turned her face toward her companion and laid her hand upon her arm. "You ought to be a happy woman," she said.
"Now, what is this girl thinking of?" asked Mrs. Easterfield to herself. "Is she imagining that any one of the young fellows who are now besieging her can ever be to her what Tom is to me? Or is she making an ideal of my husband to the disparagement of her own lovers? Whichever way she thinks, she would better give up thinking."
But the somewhat sensitive Mrs. Easterfield need not have troubled herself. The girl had already forgotten the good Mr. Tom, and her mind was intent upon getting to her uncle.
"Will you please ask the man to stop," she said, "before he gets to the gate, and let me out? Then perhaps you will kindly drive on to the tollhouse and wait for me. I will not keep you waiting long."
The carriage stopped, and Olive slipped out, and, before Mrs. Easterfield had any idea of what she was going to do, the girl climbed the rail fence which separated the road from the captain's pasture field. Between this field and the garden was a picket fence, not very high; and, toward a point about midway between the little tollhouse and the dwelling, Olive now ran swiftly. When she had nearly reached the fence she gave a great bound; put one foot on the upper rail to which the pickets were nailed; and then went over. What would have happened if the sharp pales had caught her skirts might well be imagined. But nothing happened.
"That was a fine spring" said Mrs. Easterfield to herself. "She has seen him in the house, and wants to get there before he hears the carriage."
Olive walked quietly through the garden to the house. She knew that her uncle was not at the gate, for from afar she had seen that the little piazza on which he was wont to sit was empty. She went noiselessly into the hall, and looked into the parlor. By a window in the back of the room she saw her uncle writing at a little table. With a rush of air she was at his side before he knew she was in the room. As he turned his head her arms were around his neck, and the pen in his hand made a great splotch of ink upon her white summer dress.
"Now, uncle," she exclaimed, looking into his astonished face, "here I am and here I am going to stay! And if you want to know anything more about it, you will have to wait, for I am not going to make any explanations now. I am too happy to know that I have a dear uncle left to me in this world, and to know that we two are going to live together always to want to talk about whys and wherefores."
"But, Olive" exclaimed the captain.
"There are no buts," she interrupted. "Not a single but, my dear Uncle John! I have come back to stay with you, and that is all there is about it. Mrs. Easterfield is outside in her carriage, and I must go and send her away. But don't you come out, Uncle John; I have some things to say to her, and I will let you know when she is going."
As Olive sped out of the room Captain Asher turned around in his chair and looked after her. Tears were running down his swarthy cheeks. He did not know how or why it had all happened. He only knew that Olive was coming back to live with him!
Meantime old Jane was entertaining Mrs. Easterfield at the toll-gate, where no money was paid, but a great deal of information gained. The old woman had seen Miss Olive run into the house, and she was elated and excited, and consequently voluble. Mrs. Easterfield got the full account of the one-sided courtship of the captain and Miss Port. Even the concluding episode of Maria having been put to bed had somehow reached the ears of old Jane. It is really wonderful how secret things do become known, for not one of the three actors in that scene would have told it on any account. But old Jane knew it, and told it with great glee, to Mrs. Easterfield's intense enjoyment. Then she proceeded to praise Olive for the spirit she had shown under these trying circumstances; and, in this connection, naturally there came into the recital the spirit the old woman herself had shown under these same trying circumstances, and how she had got all ready to leave the minute the nuptial knot was tied and before that Maria Port could reach the toll-gate, although it was like tearing herself apart to leave the spot where she had lived so many years. "But," she concluded, "it is all right now. The captain tells me it's all a lie of her own makin'. She's good at that business, and if lies was salable she'd be rich."
Just as the old woman reached this, what seemed to her unsophisticated mind, impossible business proposition, Olive appeared. Mrs. Easterfield was surprised to see her so soon, and, to tell the truth, a little disappointed. She had been greatly interested and amused by the old woman's rapid tale, which she would not interrupt, but had put aside in her mind several questions to ask, and one of them was in relation to her husband's late visit to the captain. She had had no detailed account from him, and she wondered how much this old body knew about it. She seemed to know pretty much everything. But Olive's appearance put an end to this absorbing conversation.
"Has you come to stay, dearie?" eagerly asked old Jane, as Olive grasped her hand.
"To be sure I have, Jane! I have come to stay forever!"
"Thank goodness!" exclaimed the old woman. "How the captain will brighten up! But my! I must go and alter the supper!"
"Mrs. Easterfield," said Olive, when the old woman had departed, "you will have to go back without me. I can not leave my uncle, and I am going to stay here right along. You must not think I am ungrateful to you, or unmindful of Mr. Easterfield's great kindness, but this is my place for the present. Some day I know you will be good enough to let me pay you another visit."
"And what am I to do with all those young men?" asked Mrs. Easterfield mischievously. She would have added, "And one of them your future husband?" But she remembered the coachman.
Olive laughed. "They will annoy you less when I am not there. If you will be so good as to ask your maid to pack up my belongings, I will send for my trunk." She glanced at the coachman. "Would you mind taking a little walk with me along the road?"
"I shall be glad to do so," said Mrs. Easterfield, getting out of the carriage.
"Now, my dear Mrs. Easterfield," said Olive when they were some distance from the toll-gate and the house, "I am going to ask you to add to all your kindness one more favor for me."
"That has such an ominous sound," said Mrs. Easterfield, "that I am not disposed to promise beforehand."
"It is about those three young men you mentioned."
"I mentioned no number, and there are four."
"In what I am going to ask of you one of them can be counted out. He is not in the affair. Only three are in this business. Won't you be so good as to decline them all for me? I know that you can do it better than I can. You have so much tact. And you must have done the thing many a time, and I have not done it once. I am very awkward; I don't know how; and, to confess the truth, I have put myself into a pretty bad fix."
"Upon my word," cried Mrs. Easterfield, "that is a pretty thing for one woman to ask of another!
"I know it is," said Olive, "and I would not ask it of anybody but the truest friend—of no one but you. But you see how difficult it is for me to attend to it. And it must be done. I have given up all idea of marrying, I am going to stay here, and when my father comes with his young lady he will find me settled and fixed, and he and she will have nothing to do with making plans for me. Now, dear Mrs. Easterfield, I know you will do this favor for me, and let me say that I wish you would be particularly gentle and pleasant in speaking to Mr. Locker. I think he is really a very kind and considerate young man. He certainly showed himself that way. I know you can talk so nicely to him that perhaps he will not mind very much. As for Mr. Du Brant, you can tell him plainly that I have carefully considered his proposition—and that is the exact truth—and that I find it will be wise for me not to accept it. He is a man of affairs, and will understand that I have given him a straightforward, practical answer, and he will be satisfied. You must not be sharp with Mr. Hemphill, as I know you will be inclined to be. Please remember that I was once in love with him, and respect my feelings as well as his. Besides, he is good, and he is in earnest, and he deserves fair treatment. I am sorry that I have worried you about him, and I will tell you now that I have found out he would not do at all. I found it out this morning when I was talking to him about books. His mind is neither broad nor cultivated."
"I could have told you that," said Mrs. Easterfield, "and saved you all the trouble of taking that walk by the river."
"And then there is one more thing," continued Olive; "it is about Professor Lancaster. I am sure you will agree with me that it will not do for him to come back here. I am just going to start housekeeping again. I've got the supper on my mind this minute. You can't imagine how everything has turned topsy-turvy since I left. I suppose he will be wanting to go North, anyway. In fact, he told me so."
Mrs. Easterfield laughed. She did not believe that Mr. Lancaster would want to go North, or West, or East, although South might suit him. But she saw the point of Olive's request; it would be awkward to have him at the tollhouse.
"Oh, I will take care of him," she said, "and he shall continue his vacation trip just as soon as Mr. Easterfield and I choose to give him up."
"You see," said Olive in an explanatory way, "I have not anything in the world to do with him, but I thought he might want to come back to see uncle again. And, really," she added, speaking with a great deal of earnestness, "I don't want to be bothered with any more young men! And now I will call uncle. You know I had to say all these things to you immediately."
Mrs. Easterfield walked quickly back to her carriage, but she did not wait to see Captain Asher. As a hostess it was necessary for her to hurry back home; and as a quick-witted, sensible woman she saw that it would be well to leave these two happy people to themselves. This was not the time for them to talk to her. So, when the captain, unwilling to wait any longer, appeared at the door of the house, these two dear friends had kissed and parted, and the carriage was speeding away.
On her way home Mrs. Easterfield forgot her slight chagrin at what her husband had not done, in her joy at what he had accomplished. He had neglected to take her fully into his confidence, and had acted very much as if he had been a naval commander, who had cut his telegraphic connections in order not to be embarrassed by orders from the home government. But, on the other hand, he had saved her from the terrible shock of hearing Olive declare that she had just engaged herself to Rupert Hemphill. If it had not been for the extraordinary promptness of her good Tom—a style of action he had acquired in the railroad business—it would have been just as likely as not that Olive would have accepted that young man before she had had an opportunity of finding out his want of breadth and cultivation.
About half-past twelve Claude Locker made his appearance in the spacious hall. He looked out of the front door; he looked out of the back door; he peered into the parlor; he glanced up the stairway; and then he peeped into the library. He had not seen the lady of the house since her return, and he was waiting for Olive. This morning his fate was to be positively decided; he would take a position that would allow of no postponement; he would tell her plainly that a statement that she was not prepared to give him an answer that day would be considered by him as a final rejection. She must haul down her flag or he would surrender and present to her his sword.
Claude Locker saw nothing of Miss Asher, but it was not long before the lady of the house came down-stairs.
"Oh, Mr. Locker," she exclaimed, "I am so glad to see you! Come into the library, please."
He hesitated a minute. "I beg your pardon," said he, "but I have an appointment—"
"I know that," said she, "and you may be surprised to hear that it is with me and not with Miss Asher. Come in and I will tell you about it."
Claude Locker actually ran after his hostess into the library, both of his eyes wide open.
"And now," said she, "please sit down, and hear what I have to say."
Locker seated himself on the edge of a chair; he did not feel happy; he suspected something was wrong.
"Is she sick?" he asked. "Can't she come down?"
"She is very well," was the reply, "but she is not here. She is with her uncle."
"Then I am due at her uncle's house before one o'clock," said he.
"No," she answered, "you are due here."
He fixed upon her a questioning glance.
"Miss Asher," she continued, "has deputed me to give you her answer. She can not come herself, but she does not forget her agreement with you."
The young man still gazed steadfastly. "If it is to be a favorable decision," said he, "I hope you will be able to excuse any exuberance of demeanor on my part."
Mrs. Easterfield smiled. "In that case," she said, "I do not suppose I should have been sent as an envoy."
His brow darkened, and instinctively he struck one hand with the other. "That is exactly what I expected!" he exclaimed. "The signs all pointed that way. But until this moment, my dear madam, I hoped. Yes, I had presumed to hope that I might kindle in her heart a little nickering flame. I had tried to do this, and I had left but one small match head, which I intended to strike this day. But now I see I had a piece of the wrong end of the match. After this I must be content forever to stay in the cold."
"I am glad you view the matter so philosophically," said Mrs. Easterfield, "and Olive particularly desired me to say—"
"Don't call her Olive, if you please," he interrupted. "It is like speaking to me through the partly open door of paradise, through which I can not enter. Slam it shut, I beg of you, and talk over the top of the wall."
"Miss Asher wants you to know," continued Mrs. Easterfield, "that while she has decided to decline your addresses, she is deeply grateful to you for the considerate way in which you have borne yourself toward her. I know she has a high regard for you, and that she will not forget your kindness."
Mr. Locker put his hands in his pockets. "Do you know," said he, "as this thing had to be done, I prefer to have you do it than to have her do it. Well, it is done now! And so am I!"
"You never did truly expect to get her, did you, Mr. Locker?" asked Mrs. Easterfield.
"Never," he answered; "but I do not flinch at what may be impossibilities. Nobody, myself included, can imagine that I shall rival Keats, and yet I am always trying for it."
"Is it Keats you are aiming at?" she said.
"Yes," he replied; "it does not look like it, does it? But it is."
"And you don't feel disheartened when you fail?" said she.
Mr. Locker took his hands from his pockets, and folded his arms. "Yes, I do," he said; "I feel as thoroughly disheartened as I do now. But I have one comfort; Keats and Miss Asher dropped me; I did not drop them. So there is nothing on my conscience. And now tell me, is she going to take Lancaster? I hope so."
"She could not do that," answered Mrs. Easterfield, "for I know he has not asked her."
"Then he'd better skip around lively and do it," said Mr. Locker, "not only for his own sake, but for mine. If I should be cast aside for the Hemphill clothes I should have no faith in humanity. I would give up verse, and I would give up woman."
"Don't be afraid of anything like that," said Mrs. Easterfield, laughing. "It may be somewhat of a breach of confidence, but I am going to tell you nevertheless; because I think you deserve it; that I am also deputed to decline the addresses of Mr. Hemphill, and Mr. Du Brant."
"Hurrah!" cried Locker. "Mrs. Easterfield, I envy you; and if you don't feel like performing the rest of your mission, you can depute it to me. I don't know anything at this moment that would give me so much joy."
"I would not be so disloyal or so cruel as that," said she. "But I shall not be in a hurry. I shall let them eat their lunch in peace and hope."
"Not much peace," said he. "Her empty chair will put that to flight. I know how it feels to look at her empty chair."
"Then you really love her?" said Mrs. Easterfield, much moved.
"With every fiber," said he.
Mrs. Easterfield found herself much embarrassed at the luncheon table. She had made her husband understand the state of affairs, but had not had time to enter into particulars with him, and she did not find it easy satisfactorily to explain to the company the absence of Miss Asher without calling forth embarrassing questions as to her return, and she wished carefully to avoid telling them that her guest was not coming back for the present. If she made this known then she feared there might be a scene at the table.
Mr. Hemphill turned pale when, that afternoon, his hostess, in an exceedingly clear and plain manner, made known to him his fate. For a few moments he did not speak. Then he said very quietly: "If she had not, of her own accord, told me that she had once loved me, I should never have dared to say anything like that to her."
"I do not think you need any excuse, Mr. Hemphill," said Mrs. Easterfield. "In fact, if you loved her, I do not see how you could help speaking after what she herself said to you."
"That is true," he replied. "And I love her with all my heart!"
"She ought never to have told you of that girlish fancy," said his hostess. "It was putting you in a very embarrassing position, and I am bound to say to you, Mr. Hemphill, that I also am very much to blame. Knowing all this, as I did, I should not have allowed you to meet her."
"Oh, don't say that!" exclaimed Mr. Hemphill. "Don't say that! Not for the world would I give up the memory of hearing her say she once loved me! I don't care how many years ago it was. I am glad you let me come here. I am glad she told me. I shall never forget the happiness I have had in this house. And now, Mrs. Easterfield, let me ask you one thing—"
At this moment Mrs. Easterfield, who was facing the door, saw her husband enter the hall, and by his manner she knew he was looking for her.
"Excuse me," she said to Hemphill, "I will be back in an instant."
And she ran out. "Tom," she cried, "you must go away. I can not see you now. I am very busy declining the addresses of a suitor, and can not be interrupted."
Mr. Tom looked at her in surprise, although it was not often Mrs. Easterfield could surprise him. He saw that she was very much in earnest.
"Well," said he, "if you are sure you are going to decline him I won't interrupt you. And when you have sealed his fate you will find me in my room. I want particularly to see you."
Mrs. Easterfield went back to the library and Hemphill continued: "You need not answer if you do not think it is right," said he, "but do you believe at any time she thought seriously of me?"
Mrs. Easterfield smiled as she answered: "Now, you see the advantage of an agent in such matters as this. You could not have asked her that question, or if you did she would not answer you. And now I am going to tell you that she did have some serious thought of you. Whatever encouragement she gave you, she treated you fairly. She is a very practical young woman—"
"Excuse me," said Hemphill hurriedly, "but if you please, I would rather you did not tell me anything more. Sometimes it is not well to try to know too much. I can't talk now, Mrs. Easterfield, for I am dreadfully cut up, but at the same time I am wonderfully proud. I don't know that you can understand this."
"Yes, I can," she said; "I understand it perfectly."
"You are very kind," he said. As he was about to leave the room he stopped and turned to Mrs. Easterfield. "Is she going to marry Professor Lancaster?" he asked.
"Really, Mr. Hemphill," she replied, "I can not say anything about that. I do not know any more than you do."
"Well, I hope she may," he said. "It would be a burning shame if she were to accept that Austrian; and as for the other little man, he is too ugly. You must excuse me for speaking of your friends in this way, Mrs. Easterfield, but really I should feel dreadfully if I thought I had been set aside for such a queer customer as he is."
Mrs. Easterfield did not laugh then; but when Hemphill had gone, and she had joined her husband, they had a good time together.
"And so they all recommend Lancaster," said he.
"So far," she answered; "but I have yet to hear what Mr. Du Brant has to say."
"I think you have had enough of this discarding business," said Mr. Tom. "You would better leave Du Brant to me."
"Oh, no," said she; "I promised Olive. And, besides, I think I like it."
"I believe you do," said Mr. Tom. "And now I want to say something important. It is not right that Broadstone should be given up entirely to the affairs of Miss Asher and her lovers. I think, for instance, that our friend Fox looks very much dissatisfied."
"That is because Olive is not here," she replied.
"Not only that," he answered. "He loses her, and does not get anything else in her place. Now, we must make this house lively, as it ought to be. Let Du Brant off for to-day and let us make up a party to go out on the river. We will take two boats, and have some of the men to do the rowing. Postpone dinner so we can have a long afternoon."
Mr. Du Brant did not go on the river excursion. He had some letters to write, and begged to be excused. He had not asked when Miss Asher was expected back, or anything about her return. He did not understand the state of affairs, and was afraid he might receive some misleading information. But if she should come that afternoon or the next day he determined to be on the spot. After that he might not be able to remain at Broadstone, and it would be a glorious opportunity for him if she should come back that afternoon.
It was twilight when the boating party returned. Under the genial influence of Mr. Tom and his wife they had all enjoyed themselves as much as it was possible for them to do so without Olive.
When Claude Locker, a little behind the others, reached the top of the hill he perceived, not far away, Mr. Du Brant strolling. These two had not spoken since the night of the interrupted serenade. Each of them had desired to avoid words or actions which might disturb the peace of this hospitable home, and consequently had very successfully succeeded in avoiding each other. But now Mr. Locker walked straight up to the secretary of legation, holding out his hand.
"Now, Mr. Du Brant," said he, "since we are both in the same boat, let us shake hands and let bygones be bygones."
But the young Austrian did not take the proffered hand. For a moment he looked as though he were about to turn away without taking any notice of Locker, but he had not the strength of mind to do this. He turned and remarked with a scowl:
"What do you mean by same boat? I have nothing to do with you on the water or on the land!"
Mr. Locker shrugged his shoulders. "So you have not been told," said he.
"Told!" exclaimed Du Brant, now very much interested. "Told what?"
"That you will have to find out," said the other. "It is not my business to tell you. But I don't mind saying that as I have been told I thought perhaps you might have been."
"Told what?" exclaimed Mr. Du Brant again, stepping up closer to the other.
"Don't shout so," said Locker; "they will think we are quarreling. Didn't I say I am not the person to tell you anything, and if you did not understand me I will say it again."
For some seconds the Austrian looked steadily at his companion. Then he said, "Have you been refused by Miss Asher?"
"Well," said Locker with a sigh, "as that is my business, I suppose I can talk about it if I want to. Yes, I have."
Again Du Brant was silent for a time. "Did she tell you herself?" he asked.
"No, she did not," was the answer. "She kindly sent me word by Mrs. Easterfield. I suppose your turn has not come yet. I was at the head of the list." And, fearing that if he stayed longer he might say too much, Mr. Locker walked slowly away, whistling disjointedly as he went.
That evening Mrs. Easterfield discovered that she had been deprived of the anticipated pleasure of conveying to Mr. Du Brant the message which Olive had sent him. That gentleman, unusually polite and soft-spoken, found her by herself, and thus accosted her: "You must excuse me, madam, for speaking upon a certain subject without permission from you, but I have reason to believe that you are the bearer of a message to me from Miss Asher."
"How in the world did you find that out?" she asked.
"It was the—Locker," he answered. "I do not think it was his intention to inform me fully; he is not a master of words and expressions; he is a little blundering; but, from what he said, I supposed you were kind enough to be the bearer of such a message."
"Yes," said Mrs. Easterfield; "not being able to be here herself, Miss Asher requested me to say to you that she must decline—"
"Excuse me, madam," he interrupted, "but it is I who decline. I bear toward you, madam, the greatest homage and respect, but what I had the honor to say to Miss Asher I said to her alone, and it is only from her that it is possible for me to receive an answer. Therefore, madam, it is absolutely necessary that I decline to be a party to the interview you so graciously propose. It breaks my heart, my dear madam, even to seem unwilling to listen to anything you might deign to say to me, but in this case I must be firm, I must decline. Can you pardon me, dear madam, for speaking as I have been obliged to speak?"
"Oh, of course," said Mrs. Easterfield. "And really, since you know so much, it is not necessary for me to tell you anything more."
"Ah," said the diplomat, with a little bow and an incredulous expression, as if the lady could have no idea what he might yet know, "I am so much obliged to you! I am so thankful!"
The three discarded lovers of Broadstone—all discarded, although one of them would not admit it—would have departed the next day had not that day been Sunday, when there were no convenient trains. Mr. Du Brant was due in Washington; Mr. Hemphill was needed very much at his desk, especially since Mr. Easterfield had decided to spend a few days with his wife; and Claude Locker wanted to go. When he had finished the thing he happened to be doing it was his habit immediately to begin something else. All was at an end between him and Miss Asher. He acknowledged this, and he did not wish to stay at Broadstone. But, as it could not be helped, they all stayed over Sunday.
Mr. Easterfield planned an early afternoon expedition to a mission church in the mountains; it would be a novel experience, and a delightful trip, and everybody must go.
In the course of the morning Mr. Du Brant strolled in the eastern parts of the grounds, and Mr. Locker strolled over that portion of the lawn which lay to the west. Mr. Du Brant did not meet with any one with whom he cared to talk, but Mr. Locker was fortunate enough to meet Miss Raleigh.
"I am glad to see you," said he; "you are the person above all other persons I wish to talk to."
"It delights me to hear that," said the lady, her face showing that she spoke the truth.
"Let us go over there and sit down," said he. "Now, then," he continued, "you were present, Miss Raleigh, at a very peculiar moment in my life, a momentous moment, I may say. You enjoyed a privilege—if you consider it such—not vouchsafed to many mortals."
"I did consider it a privilege, you may be sure," exclaimed Miss Raleigh, "and I value it. You do not know how highly I value it!"
"You heard me offer myself, body and soul, to the lady I loved. You were taken into our confidence, you saw me laid upon the table—"
"Oh, dreadful!" cried the lady. "Don't put it that way."
"Well, then," said he, "you saw me postponed for future consideration. You promised you would regard everything you heard as confidential; by so doing you enabled me to speak when otherwise I might not have dared to do so. I am deeply grateful to you; and, as you already know so much about my hopes and my aspirations, I think it right you should know all there is to know."
The conscience of Miss Raleigh stirred itself very vigorously within her, and her voice was much subdued as she said:
"I am sure you are very good."
"Well, then," said Locker, "the proposal you heard me make has been declined. I am discarded; and not directly in a face-to-face interview, but through another by a message. It would have been inconvenient for Miss Asher personally to communicate the intelligence, so as Mrs. Easterfield was coming this way she kindly consented to convey the intelligence."
"I declare," exclaimed Miss Raleigh, "I had not heard of that! Mrs. Easterfield made me her confidant in the early stages of this affair, or I should say, these affairs. But she has not told me that."
"She will doubtless give herself that pleasure later," said Locker.
"No," said she, "she will not think any more about it. I am of no further use. And may I ask if you know anything about the two other gentlemen?"
"Both turned down," said Locker.
"I might have supposed that," answered the lady; "for if Miss Asher would not take you she certainly would not be content with either of them."
"With all my heart I thank you," said Locker warmly. "Such words are welcome to a wounded heart."
For a moment Miss Raleigh was silent, then she remarked, "It is very hard to be discarded."
"You are right there!" exclaimed Locker. "But how do you happen to know anything about it?"
"I have been discarded myself," she answered.
The larger eye of Mr. Locker grew still larger, the other endeavored to emulate its companion's size; and his mouth became a rounded opening. "Discarded?" he cried.
"Yes," said she.
The countenance of the young man was now bright with interest and curiosity. "I don't suppose it would be right to ask you," said he, "even although I have taken you so completely into my confidence—but, never mind. Don't think of it. Of course, I would not propose such a question."
"Of course not," said she, "you are too manly for that." And then she was silent again. Naturally she hesitated to reveal the secrets of her heart, and to a gentleman with whom her acquaintance was of such recent date; but she earnestly wanted to repose confidence in another, as well as to receive it, and it was so seldom, so very seldom, that such an opportunity came to her.
"I do not know," she said, "that I ought to, but still—"
"Oh, don't, if you don't want to," said Locker.
"But I think I do want to," she replied. "You are so kind, so good, and you have confided in me. Yes, I was once discarded, not exactly by word of mouth, or even by message, but still discarded."
"A stranger to me, of course," said Locker, his whole form twisting itself into an interrogation-point.
"No," said she, "and as I have begun I will go on. It was Mr. Hemphill."
"What!" he exclaimed. "That—"
"Yes, it was he," said she, speaking slowly, and in a low voice. "He was Mr. Easterfield's secretary and I was Mrs. Easterfield's secretary, and, of course, we were thrown much together. He has very good qualities; I do not hesitate now to say that; and they impressed themselves upon me. In every possible way I endeavored to make things pleasant for him. I do not believe that when he was at work he ever wanted a glass of cold water that he did not find it within reach. I early discovered that he was very fond of cold water."
"A most commendable dissipation," interrupted Locker.
"He had no dissipations," said Miss Raleigh. "His character was unimpeachable. In very many ways I was attracted to him, in very many ways I endeavored to make life pleasant for him; and I am afraid that sometimes I neglected Mrs. Easterfield's interests so that I might do little things for him, such as dusting, keeping his ink-pots full, providing fresh blotting-paper, and many other trifling services which devotion readily suggested."
Locker heaved a sigh of commiseration which she mistook for one of sympathy.
"I will not go into particulars," she continued, "but at last he discovered that—well, I will be plain with you—he discovered that I loved him. Then, sir—it is humiliating to me to say it, but I will not flinch—he discarded me. He did not use words, but his manner was sufficient. Never again did I go near his desk, never did I tender him the slightest service. It was a terrible blow! It was humiliating"
"I should think so," said Locker, "from him"
"But I will say no more," she remarked with a sigh. "I have told you what you have heard that you may understand how thoroughly I sympathize with you, for all is over with me in that direction, as I suppose all is over with you in your direction. And now I must go, for this long conference may be remarked. But before I go, I will say that if ever you—"
"Oh, no, no, no!" interrupted Locker, "it would not do at all! I really have begun to believe that I was cut out for a bachelor."
"What!" said Miss Raleigh, with great severity. "Do you suppose, sir, that I—"
"Not at all, not at all" cried Locker. "Not for one moment do I suppose that you—"
"If for one moment," said she, "I had imagined you would suppose—"
"But I assure you, Miss Raleigh, I never did suppose that you would imagine I would think—but if you do suppose I thought you imagined I could possibly conceive—"
"But I really did think," said Miss Raleigh, speaking more gently. "But if I was wrong—"
"Nay, think no more about it," Locker interrupted, "and let us be friends again."
He offered her his hand, which she shook warmly, and then departed.
It had been arranged that Lancaster was not to leave Broadstone on the next day. He had expected to do so, but Mr. Easterfield had planned for a day's fishing for himself, Mr. Fox, and the professor, and he would not let the latter off. The ladies had accepted an invitation to luncheon that day; the next day some new visitors were expected; and in order not to interfere with Mr. Easterfield's plans, evidently intended to restore to Broadstone some of the social harmony which had recently been so disturbed, Dick consented to stay, although he really wanted to go. He could not forget that his vacation was passing.
"Very well, then," Mrs. Easterfield remarked to him that Sunday evening, "if you must go on Tuesday, I suppose you must, although I think it would be better for you if I were to keep my eye on you for a little while longer."
"Perhaps so," said Lancaster, "but the time has come when curb-bits, cages, and good advice are not for me. I must burst loose from everything and go my way, right or wrong, whatever it may be."
"I see that," said she; "but if it had not been for the curbed bit and all that, you would be leaving this place a discarded lover, like the rest of them. They depart with their love-affairs finished forever, ended; you go as free to woo, to win, or to lose as you ever were. And you owe this entirely to me, so whatever else you do, don't sneer at my curbs and my cages; to them you owe your liberty."
The professor fully appreciated everything she had done for him, and told her so earnestly and warmly. But she interrupted his grateful expressions.
"It would have been very hard on me," she said, "if Olive had asked me to carry to you the news of your rejection. That is what I did for the others, I suppose you know."
"Oh, yes," said Lancaster; "Locker told me."
"I might have supposed that," said she. "And now I feel bound to tell you also, although it is not a message, that Olive does not expect to see you at her uncle's house. She infers that you are going to continue your vacation journey."
"I have made my plans for my journey," said he, "and I do not think, Mrs. Easterfield, that you will care to have me talk them over with you."
"No, indeed," she replied; "I do not want to hear a word about them, but I am going to give you one piece of advice, whether you like it or not. Don't be in a hurry to ask her to marry you. At this moment she does not want to marry anybody. Her position has entirely changed. She wanted to marry so that her plans might be settled before her father and his new wife arrive; and now she considers that they are settled. So be careful. It is true that the objections she formerly had to you are removed, but before you ask her to marry you, you should seriously ask yourself what reason there is she should do so. She does not know you very well; she is not interested in you; and I am very sure she is not in love with you. Now you know, for I have told you so, that I would be delighted to see you two married. I believe you would suit each other admirably, but although you may agree with me in this opinion, I am quite sure she does not; at least, not yet. Now, this is all I am going to say, except that you have my very best wishes that you may get her."
"I shall never forget that," said he, "but I see I am not to be free from the memory, at least, of the curb and the cage."
After breakfast on Monday the three discarded lovers departed in a dog-cart, Mr. Du Brant in front with the driver, and Claude Locker and Hemphill behind. For some minutes the party was silent. If circumstances had permitted they would have gone separately.
As long as he could see the mansion of Broadstone, Claude Locker spoke no word. When the time had come to go he had not wanted to go. When taking leave of Dick Lancaster he had congratulated that favored young man upon the fact that he had not been rejected, and had assured him that if he had remained at Broadstone he would have done his best to back him up as he had said he would.
Hemphill was not inclined to talk. Of course, Locker did not care to converse with the young diplomat, and consequently he found himself bored, and to relieve his feelings he burst into song. His words were impromptu, and although the verse was not very good, it was very impressive. It began as follows: