So she waved his preachment aside. "You're trying to be eloquent," was
her observation, "and you've only succeeded in being very silly and
tiresome. Go away, beautiful. You make me awfully tired, and I don't
care for you in the least. Go and talk to Kathleen. I shall be
here--on this very spot," Margaret added, with commendable precision
and an unaccountable increase of colour, "if--if any one should happen
to ask."
Then Kennaston rose and laughed merrily.
"You are quite delicious," he commented. "It will always be a
grief and a puzzle to me that I am not mad for love of you. It is
unreasonable of me," he complained, sadly, and shook his head, "but I
prefer Kathleen. And I am quite certain that somebody will ask where
you are. I shall describe to him the exact spot--"
Mr. Kennaston paused, with a slight air of apology.
"If I were you," he suggested, pleasantly, "I would move a
little--just a little--to the left. That will enable you to obtain to
a fuller extent the benefit of the sunbeam which is falling--quite
by accident, of course--upon your hair. You are perfectly right,
Margaret, in selecting that hedge as a background. Its sombre green
sets you off to perfection."
He went away chuckling. He felt that Margaret must think him a devil
of a fellow.
She didn't, though.
"The
idea
of his suspecting me of such unconscionable vanity!" she
said, properly offended. Then, "Anyhow, a man has no business to know
about such things," she continued, with rising indignation. "I believe
Felix Kennaston is as good a judge of chiffons as any woman. That's
effeminate, I think, and catty and absurd. I don't believe I ever
liked him--not really, that is. Now, what would Billy care about
sunbeams and backgrounds, I'd like to know! He'd never even notice
them. Billy is a
man
. Why, that's just what father said yesterday!"
Margaret cried, and afterward laughed happily. "I suppose old people
are right sometimes--but, dear, dear, they're terribly unreasonable at
others!"
Having thus uttered the ancient, undying plaint of youth, Miss Hugonin
moved a matter of two inches to the left, and smiled, and waited
contentedly. It was barely possible some one might come that way; and
it is always a comfort to know that one is not exactly repulsive in
appearance.
Also, there was the spring about her; and, chief of all, there was a
queer fluttering in her heart that was yet not unpleasant. In fine,
she was unreasonably happy for no reason at all.
I believe the foolish poets call this feeling love and swear it
is divine; however, they will say anything for the sake of an
ear-tickling jingle. And while it is true that scientists have any
number of plausible and interesting explanations for this same
feeling, I am sorry to say I have forgotten them.
I am compelled, then, to fall back upon those same unreliable,
irresponsible rhymesters, and to insist with them that a maid waiting
in the springtide for the man she loves is necessarily happy and very
rarely puzzles her head over the scientific reason for it.
XXI
But ten minutes later she saw Mr. Woods in the distance striding
across the sunlit terraces, and was seized with a conviction that
their interview was likely to prove a stormy one. There was an ominous
stiffness in his gait.
"Oh, dear, dear!" Miss Hugonin wailed; "he's in a temper now, and
he'll probably be just as disagreeable as it's possible for any one
to be. I do wish men weren't so unreasonable! He looks exactly like a
big, blue-eyed thunder-cloud just now--just now, when I'm sure he has
every cause in the
world
to be very much pleased--after all
I've done for him. He makes me awfully tired. I think he's
veryungrateful
. I--I think I'm rather afraid."
In fact, she was. Now that the meeting she had anticipated these
twelve hours past was actually at hand, there woke in her breast an
unreasoning panic. Miss Hugonin considered, and caught up her skirts,
and whisked into the summer-house, and there sat down in the darkest
corner and devoutly wished Mr. Woods in Crim Tartary, or Jericho, or,
in a word, any region other than the gardens of Selwoode.
Billy came presently to the opening in the hedge and stared at the
deserted bench. He was undeniably in a temper. But, then, how becoming
it was! thought someone.
"Miss Hugonin!" he said, coldly.
Evidently (thought someone) he intends to be just as nasty as
possible.
"Peggy!" said Mr. Woods, after a little.
Perhaps (thought someone) he won't be
very
nasty.
"Dear Peggy!" said Mr. Woods, in his most conciliatory tone.
Someone rearranged her hair complacently.
But there was no answer, save the irresponsible chattering of the
birds, and with a sigh Billy turned upon his heel.
Then, by the oddest chance in the world, Margaret coughed.
I dare say it was damp in the summer-house; or perhaps it was caused
by some passing bronchial irritation; or perhaps, incredible as it may
seem, she coughed to show him where she was. But I scarcely think so,
because Margaret insisted afterward--very positively, too--that she
didn't cough at all.
XXII
"Well!" Mr. Woods observed, lengthening the word somewhat.
In the intimate half-light of the summer-house, he loomed prodigiously
big. He was gazing downward in careful consideration of three fat
tortoise-shell pins and a surprising quantity of gold hair, which was
practically all that he could see of Miss Hugonin's person; for that
young lady had suddenly become a limp mass of abashed violet ruffles,
and had discovered new and irresistible attractions in the mosaics
about her feet.
Billy's arms were crossed on his breast and his right hand caressed
his chin meditatively. By and bye, "I wonder, now," he reflected,
aloud, "if you can give any reason--any possible reason--why you
shouldn't be locked up in the nearest sanatorium?"
"You needn't be rude, you know," a voice observed from the
neighbourhood of the ruffles, "because there isn't anything you can do
about it."
Mr. Woods ventured a series of inarticulate observations. "But why?"
he concluded, desperately. "But why, Peggy?--in Heaven's name, what's
the meaning of all this?"
She looked up. Billy was aware of two large blue stars; his heart
leapt; and then he recalled a pair of gray-green eyes that had
regarded him in much the same fashion not long ago, and he groaned.
"I was unfair to you last night," she said, and the ring of her odd,
deep voice, and the richness and sweetness of it, moved him to faint
longing, to a sick heart-hunger. It was tremulous, too, and very
tender. "Yes, I was unutterably unfair, Billy. You asked me to marry
you when you thought I was a beggar, and--and Uncle Fred
ought
to
have left you the money. It was on account of me that he didn't, you
know. I really owed it to you. And after the way I talked to you--so
long as I had the money--I--and, anyhow, its very disagreeable and
eccentric and
horrid
of you to object to being rich!" Margaret
concluded, somewhat incoherently.
She had not thought it would be like this. He seemed so stern.
But, "Isn't that exactly like her?" Mr. Woods was demanding of his
soul. "She thinks she has been unfair to me--to me, whom she doesn't
care a button for, mind you. So she hands over a fortune to make up
for it, simply because that's the first means that comes to hand! Now,
isn't that perfectly unreasonable, and fantastic, and magnificent, and
incredible?--in short, isn't that Peggy all over? Why, God bless her,
her heart's bigger than a barn-door! Oh, it's no wonder that fellow
Kennaston was grinning just now when he sent me to her! He can afford
to grin."
Aloud, he stated, "You're an angel, Peggy that's what you are. I've
always suspected it, and I'm glad to know it now for a fact. But in
this prosaic world not even angels are allowed to burn up wills for
recreation. Why, bless my soul, child, you--why, there's no telling
what trouble you might have gotten into!"
Miss Hugonin pouted. "You needn't be such a grandfather," she
suggested, helpfully.
"But it's a serious business," he insisted. At this point Billy began
to object to her pouting as distracting one's mind from the subject
under discussion. "It--why, it's----"
"It's what?" she pouted, even more rebelliously.
"Crimson," said Mr. Woods, considering--"oh, the very deepest,
duskiest crimson such as you can't get in tubes. It's a colour was
never mixed on any palette. It's--eh? Oh, I beg your pardon."
"I think you ought to," said Margaret, primly. Nevertheless, she had
brightened considerably.
"Of course," Mr. Woods continued with a fine colour, "I can't take the
money. That's absurd."
"Is it?" she queried, idly. "Now, I wonder how you're going to help
yourself?"
"Simplest thing in the world," he assured her. "You see this match,
don't you, Peggy? Well, now you're going to give me that paper I see
in that bag-thing at your waist, and I'm going to burn it till it's
all nice, soft, feathery ashes that can't ever be probated. And then
the first will, which is practically the same as the last, will be
allowed to stand, and I'll tell your father all about the affair,
because he ought to know, and you'll have to settle with those
colleges. And in that way," Mr. Woods submitted, "Uncle Fred's last
wishes will be carried out just as he expressed them, and there
needn't be any trouble--none at all. So give me the will, Peggy?"
It is curious what a trivial matter love makes of felony.
Margaret's heart sank.
However, "Yes?" said she, encouragingly; "and what do you intend doing
afterward?--"
"I--I shall probably live abroad," said Billy. "Cheaper, you know."
image024.jpg
[Illustration: "Miss Hugonin pouted. 'You needn't be such a
grandfather,' she suggested, helpfully"]
And here (he thought) was an excellent, an undreamed-of opportunity to
inform her of his engagement. He had much better tell her now and have
done. Mr. Woods opened his mouth and looked at Margaret, and closed
it. Again she was pouting in a fashion that distracted one's mind.
"That would be most unattractive," said Miss Hugonin, calmly. "You're
very stupid, Billy, to think of living abroad. Billy, I think you're
almost as stupid as I am. I've been very stupid, Billy. I thought I
liked Mr. Kennaston. I don't, Billy--not that way. I've just told him
so. I'm not--I'm not engaged to anybody now, Billy. But wasn't it
stupid of me to make such a mistake, Billy?"
That was a very interesting mosaic there in the summer-house.
"I don't understand," said Mr. Woods. His voice shook, and his hands
lifted a little toward her and trembled.
Poor Billy dared not understand. Her eyes downcast, her foot tapping
the floor gently, Margaret was all one blush. She, too, was trembling
a little, and she was a little afraid and quite unutterably happy; and
outwardly she was very much the tiny lady of Oberon's court, very much
the coquette quintessentialised.
It is pitiable that our proud Margaret should come to such a pass. Ah,
the men that you have flouted and scorned and bedeviled and mocked at,
Margaret--could they see you now, I think the basest of them could
not but pity and worship you. This man is bound in honour to another
woman; yet a little, and his lips will open--very dry, parched lips
they are now--and he will tell you, and your pride will drive you mad,
and your heart come near to breaking.
"Don't you understand--oh, you silly Billy!" She was peeping at him
meltingly from under her lashes.
"I--I'm imagining vain things," said Mr. Woods. "I--oh, Peggy, Peggy,
I think I must be going mad!"
He stared hungrily at the pink, startled face that lifted toward his.
Ah, no, no, it could not be possible, this thing he had imagined for a
moment. He had misunderstood.
And now just for a little (thought poor Billy) let my eyes drink in
those dear felicities of colour and curve, and meet just for a little
the splendour of those eyes that have the April in them, and rest just
for a little upon that sanguine, close-grained, petulant mouth; and
then I will tell her, and then I think that I must die.
"Peggy----" he began, in a flattish voice.
"They have evidently gone," said the voice of Mr. Kennaston; "yes,
those beautiful, happy young people have foolishly deserted the very
prettiest spot in the gardens. Let us sit here, Kathleen."
"But I'm not an eavesdropper," Mr. Woods protested, half angrily.
I fear Margaret was not properly impressed.
"Please, Billy," she pleaded, in a shrill whisper, "please let's
listen. He's going to propose to her now, and you've no idea how
funny he is when he proposes. Oh, don't be so pokey, Billy--do let's
listen!"
But Mr. Woods had risen with a strange celerity and was about to leave