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The Minimum Fee for each Lost Book is $50.00. The person charging this material is responsible for its return to the library from which it was withdrawn on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books are reasons for discipli- nary action and may result in dismissal from the University. To renew call Telephone Center, 333-8400 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN L161—O-1096 i. Mad ay HO RTA BI h or a AVE A iw THE WISE WOMAN A NOVEL BY CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY Che Vitergide press, Cambridge Copyright, 1895, By CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM. All rights reserved. FIFTEENTH IMPRESSION The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. 8. A. Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co, / — "1 7RIALIAG ee aS CONTENTS. . Wir tHE First SNow . E v . MARGUERITE . : . KATHERINE’S First Thesnbs KATHERINE’s MISSTEP . 4 . FIRESIDE CONFIDENCES . é . A PROFESSIONAL VISIT . : . MinuinER AND MEDICO . ‘ . Tue ATHLETIC CLUB. bs . An AVERTED DANGER . MARGUERITE CONSULTS THE Onis . Tue Arp Society . TRANSITION . 5 . Tue ATHLETIC Geen Bite : Tur SPELL OF THE WALTZ . . AFTERTHOUGHTS : , i . SPRINGTIME . é : - e . POKONET . ‘ - q . . MATERNAL (pei ‘ Pe 4 . Tue Buoys : F ‘ . A REPENTANT grceied : . A Smen . ; : F . “SWEETS AND the P q . THe BonFIRE . , ‘ ‘ . . Tre Mary LeEppy. ; : C . Tue Eve or DEPARTURE . G . THe RECEPTION. 2 a - . LA Gripre’s VICT™ . é : “ . Ly Wooprow Park ‘ ‘ e 64 95 Pian is pat Nhe Shi) THE WISE WOMAN. CHAPTER I. WITH THE FIRST SNOW. “Ts your pain any better?” asked Silas Hodg- son, putting his gray head and his good-natured face in at his wife’s bedroom door. The after- noon had seemed very long to him. He spoke doubtfully and stroked his rough beard. That short beard was a great comfort to the old man in times of apprehension like the present. He always grasped it when called upon to solve a problem, or when in need of moral support. “T thought I heard ye stirrin’,” he continued gently and tentatively after a pause. It seemed to him many hours that he had debarred himself from speech. There came an inarticulate murmur from the recumbent woman on the bed, who lay with her back toward him. “A little, did ye say?” He turned his head sideways to catch any further response, and, as none came, a shade of disappointment clouded the kind, simple face. ‘“ Well, let me know if I can 4 THE WISE WOMAN. do anything for ye, Ma,” and he left the room and returned to the sitting-room window, from which he had been listlessly gazing for ten minutes pre- vious to making his futile appeal. They lived alone in the old farmhouse, this couple. Only one child had been given to them, and the three months of her little life had already retreated twenty years into the background of their experience; yet for the sweet sake of that tiny baby the parents were “Ma” and “Pa” to each other to-day. The old man glanced at the loud-ticking clock, and. sighed unconsciously. The tortoise-shell cat, which had been asleep before the glowing fire in the Franklin stove, stretched her elastic body to a preternatural length, and then approached her master with deliberate dignity and leaped to the window-sill, where she arched her back beneath his hand as she, too, gazed forth on the country- side. “T do believe it’s begun to snow, Tab,” ob- served the sociable man, glad of an excuse to speak again. Then he turned his face toward the half-open door of the bedroom. “It’s snowin’, Ma,” he announced timidly, yet with some hope- fulness. He could not resist trying the effect of this announcement of the first snow of the season. _ Perhaps it might exorcise the spirit of pain. No response from the bedroom. | “Not spittin’, ye know; actually snowin’,” ne added, in the same raised tone. * WITH THE FIRST SNOW. 3 This time he did not strain his ears in vain for an answer. It came in somewhat thick but de- cided accents. “‘T want you should leave me alone, Pa.”’ An abashed look crept over the man’s weather- beaten face. He grasped his beard, and whistled — inaudibly as he turned quickly back, and again gave his attention to the wide, level, russet fields stretching away to where the sand dunes hid the sea. Then for a while his wife slept, and waking, much relieved, lamented her own severity. “°T won’t do to question the dispensations 0’ Providence,” she groaned; “but I do wish men could knit, or make crazy-quilts, or amuse them- selves some way, come fall weather.” Then aloud, faintly: “Pa.” “Yes, Ma,” meekly. “Couldn’t you whittle out some pegs for these windows? ‘They made a racket all night.” “IT did that this mornin’.”” Then, once more encouraged, “It’s snowin’ righ’ down, Ma.” Mrs. Hodgson rose from her bed and appeared, still pale, in the doorway, fastening the small three-cornered cap she wore. “Why, so ’tis,” she responded, looking out on the light whirling flakes. “Well, it’s time for it.” “Set down here in the big chair and let me get ye a cup o’ tea,”’ said the relieved husband, beam- ing with contentment. “It’s jest all ye need now to set ye up.” 4. THE WISE WOMAN. “T guess “tis,” she answered, “but Id better ‘make it myself.” | “No, you won’t. You ain’t fit to. It’s a half hour yet to supper-time. Set still;”’ and the old man moved with alacrity into the kitchen, from which immediately began to proceed a series of noises which stirred Mrs. Hodgson’s housewifely soul with ever-increasing apprehension. “The new kettle ’s the one you better use,” she suggested, sitting forward in her chair and listen- ing alertly, while smothered objurgations from the kitchen followed each fresh clatter. “Silas, you better let me” — she began at last. “There now, I’m all right,” declared her in- visible spouse manfully. “I know a thing or two, let me tell ye. When I make a cup o’ tea I don’t try to git a whole gallon o’ water to bile. I take jest sich a quantity and it’s ready on time.” His genial face here appeared as he moved to the china closet and brought forth a we and saucer. “Not that one, Pa,” pleaded his wife. “I ‘d jest as soon have a common one.” “No, ma’am. ‘The best ain’t any too good for you,” returned the other, beaming, as he bore off the dainty old cup in-triumph, “When we set out to be stylish we know how to do it, I hope.” He disappeared, and it required all the good- ness of Mrs. Hodgson’s heart to deter her from following him. She sat nearer than ever to the edge of her chair, and her pulses beat nervously 8 WITH THE FIRST SNOW. 5 in the silence that followed. It was soon ended by an ominous sharp crash in the kitchen, and simultaneously a ring at the front doorbell pealed through the house. “Silas Hodgson, you hain’t broken that cup!” Acute dismay paralyzed the speaker and effectually prevented her from rising. “All to flinders, Ma,’’ was the slow, dejected response. “It jest slipped away from me like — like lightnin’ ’’ — “T didn’t want you should take it,”” groaned his wife, at last appearing on the scene where the old man was kneeling on the hearth, brushing the delicate fragments into one hand with the big, stiff fingers of the other. “There goes that bell again!” he exclaimed with alacrity. “I’ll jest step out and see who tis in all this storm. They better stayed to home, T think;” and, thanking Fate for a diversion, he rose from his kneeling posture, dropped the flecks of china upon the edge of the sink, and hurried away through the hall. Opening the house door he admitted a blast of November wind, and saw a young woman waiting on the step, the shoulders of her fashionable jacket already white with snow, and her dark eyes brightening with satisfaction at sight of him. “How do you do?” she said cheerily, putting out her neatly gloved hand. Mr. Hodgson re- garded her uncomprehendingly, and returned the ereeting mechanically. “I began to be so afraid 6 THE WISE WOMAN. there might be no one at home. It would have served me right, of course,” she added gayly, “but it would have been awkward.” She turned toward a dépot-carriage waiting at the gate. “You can go,” she said with a nod to the driver. Tardy but pleased recognition stole over the host’s face. “Hoh! If ’tain’t Kitty Ormond!” he ejaculated. “Well, where ’d you snow down from? Right in the nick o’ time, too,’”’ added the old man in confidential tones, as he drew her in- side and closed the door behind her. ‘Jest had an accident here. I’ve busted one o’ Grandma Fletcher’s cups. Triflin’, good-for-nothin’ things they be. No more substance to ’em than bubbles. Doshed fool I was to touch it. It’s worked Ma all up. You fix it, Kitty, like a good child. Gimme your bag. P’raps you might’s well go in first.”’ Katherine Ormond had listened to the opening of this confession with a sober countenance. She had large brown eyes placed well apart under curving eyebrows which, with the firm, small mouth and the opaque whiteness of her fine skin, gave her face a very serious expression. By the time the old man had finished, emphasizing his last remark with a gently suggestive shove, the girl’s eyes had nearly disappeared between their lashes, showing only a narrow space of dancing light; the delicate lips had broadened into an appreciative smile, and it was the merriest face WITH THE FIRST SNOW. 7 imaginable that appeared in Mrs. Hodgson’s sit- ting-room just as that lady emerged disconsolate from the kitchen door. The girl walked straight up to her hostess, who stared into the smiling face, then retreated a step in her surprise. ‘““Why —why ”— she stammered. “ ’T ain’t Kitty! Turn ’round and let me get the light on you. Is it really you, child? What does this mean? ”’ : “You know you said I might, Mrs. Hodgson. You said I might, any time.” The girl put her hand on the other’s shoulder and kissed her. The hostess began fumbling at the fastenings of her guest’s jacket, looking her pleasure, and expressing it somewhat incoherently. Her hus- band, reconnoitring through the crack of the hall door, and observing that there was no room at present in the mental atmosphere for a memory of mishaps, followed the social bent of his nature, and entered the room. “Wa/’n’t a kittiwake the last bird you expected to see fly into the house to-day, Ma?” he in- quired, with ingratiating cheerfulness. “She come right in on that last gust.” “And oh. it seems so nice to be here!” said the girl with enthusiasm. “I didn’t surprise you too much, did I, Mrs. Hodgson? It is your own fault if I did. You remember when I was here last? ”’ “Yes, I recollect, but it’s goin’ on two years, 8 THE WISE WOMAN. Kitty. Here, Pa, take her things into the bed, room. Are your feet wet, dear?” “No; I’m all right. Let me sit right down here beside you in front of this lovely blaze, and explain myself. It can be done briefly. You know when I was here last I had written for per- mission to spend a few days with you, and when I went away after the visit, you told me to come thereafter any time I felt like it without troubling myself to write you, because this was one of my homes. Have you forgotten?” Mrs. Hodgson smiled into the coaxing face. “No, indeed.” “Well, I didn’t expect to obey you literally. I meant at least to give you warning when the fit next seized me; but circumstances, or perhaps I ought to be honest and say my own impatience, didn’t give me time. I never thought of coming until last night, and after that I coulda I knew if worse came to worst, there was & ern in Pokonet. Shall I go there now?” speaker glanced up with the half-loving, half-saucy expression which had long been familiar to” her hostess. “You look this minute just:as you used to when you was five years old,” said Mrs. Hodgson, smoothing the girl’s fine hand, and becoming so conscious of the roughness of her own in the move- ment that she instantly ceased the caress. ‘You can stay here,” she finished, leaning back in her seat. WITH THE FIRST SNOW. 9 “We used to have pretty good times, hey?” suggested Mr. Hodgson, drawing up a chair for himself on the guest’s other side. “Good times!’’ she repeated warmly. “There never were such good times. Poor little children who don’t spend their summers at Pokonet! What do they know of bliss?” The girl leaned her chin on her hand and gazed at the red coals. “TI often wonder, Mr. Hodgson, how it was you could spare so much time to us children as you used to.”’ The old man thought his wife was. going to speak. They had not always agreed about what proportion of a summer day should be given to play; so he broke in hurriedly: “Oh, I donno as I gave you so very much time.” The girl went on: “What with boating, and Pai bing: and fishing, and wading in the pond, or going into the surf, I ion? t think there was a man on Long Island so hard-worked as you.” Silas on sent a furtive look toward his wite. She smiled. “It was just the sort of on Pa liked,” she Giese: “Then we would come in,” continued Miss Or- mond dreamily, “and eat your good dinners and suppers, and they were the best in the world. And oh, why did we grow up!” she finished ex- pressively. “T ‘mm free to say I’ve missed you,” returned Mrs. Hodgson. “You three children got to seemin’ 99 10 THE WISE WOMAN. as if you belonged to us, comin’ so steady every summer from the time you was babies.” “Yes,” the girl sighed; “I was sorry enough when it seemed best for us to begin to step out of the beaten track.” ‘“Hope you enjoyed yourself this summer past, Kitty,” said her host, regarding her affection- ately. “Yes, we had a gay season, both at the sea and at the mountains. Then afterward, Madeline and Gilbert and I went to a house party at Lenox. The fact is, I’m tired. I don’t believe I was - Intended for a gay life. When we settled down He home this fall, I found that everything seemed more or less of a burden, and I was listless, and Faia n’t know what I wanted, when all of a sudden I waked up to the fact that I hadn’t had any Pokonet. Why, of course that explained every- thing. So here I am.” “And now we’re starvin’ you, dearie!” ex- claimed Mrs. Hodgson. “It’s just I have n’t been first-rate to-day, and” — “And so Mr. Hodgson and I are ‘ge i ng to get supper,’ Ane the girl, suddenly rising ‘decidedly. “No, no,” protested her hostess, pushing her chair back. ‘What do you think, Kitty; just before you came in Pa’d broke one o’ the Fletcher cups!’ The statement was made despairingly and with symptoms of tears. “Now Ma, don’t ye take on about att her husband, made courageous by the guest’s ° WITH THE FIRST SNOW. 11 presence. “I promise not to touch a thing ye could bust with the hammer. I[’ll only wait on Kitty. She knows where everything is; don’t ye, Kittiwake? ” | His meek eagerness: and Miss Ormond’s cheer- ful reassurances prevailed upon Mrs. Hodgson, who sat back in her chair and watched the lively preparations for tea with placid approval. “Of course mother and Madeline sent their love,” said Katherine, when at last they were seated at table. “And Gilly,” said the old man, as he passed his guest some cold meat. ‘“How’s Gilly? He was a plucky little chap. I s’pose I wouldn't hardly know him now.” C Miss Ormond laughed. ‘“ How comical it sounds to hear that name again, and how cross it made him when we first. called him by it; but he was a gilly sometimes, and truth compelled. No, I don’t believe you would know him,” she added. “He hasn’t been to Pokonet since he entered col- lege, and he is — he has changed a good deal.” “The children will grow up,” remarked Mrs. Hodgson. ‘Maidie shot from a child into a young lady the suddenest I ever saw.” y “That Maidie was always a smart little jade,” put in her husband, with an admiring, reminiscent smile. “T s’pose she’s a regular grown-up woman now,” continued his wife. “You know we had her down here awhile summer before last.” 12 THE WISE WOMAN. “Yes; it isn’t easy to wean us entirely from Pokonet; but I owe Madeline a grudge, for I think it is her fault after all that we aren’t still coming here every summer in the good old way. She has grown popular in a certain set, who have dragged us off in search of interests that don’t interest —some of us. That is, not so much as they do her.” | “Ah, my dear,” Mrs. Hodgson patted the girl’s hand, “you have changed least of all. Ain’t she just the same, Pa?” “Yes; I can see her now, flyin’ down the sands with her little gray and white gown and her black shoes, for all the world like a kittiwake; and a good sight she was always for these eyes; and a good sight she is yet. Glad ye come, Kitty.” “So am I,” she answered happily; “but the people at home were surprised enough when I announced my intention. I told them I could come better now than when we got deeper into work and play, and off I started. I felt a little guilty, for the sky looked like a storm; but I thought I would run a race with the snow. Per- haps I should get here first; but no, indeed; it caught me on the road. How it whirls down now! What fun to be cozily shut in with you! You see you don’t know what a wearing thing it is to be a popular, fashionable girl’s sister!” she added, with mock seriousness. | “Is Maidie more popular ’n you be, Kitty?” asked Mr. Hodgson, curiously. WITH THE FIRST SNOW. 13 She ain’t better lookin’,” observed his wife in an impartial tone, which caused a new disappear- ance of her guest’s eyes behind their lashes. “Oh!” she ejaculated, with a soft, high little ery, making a gesture of dismay. “I am only a faint shadow of Madeline. Why, indeed, Mrs. Hodgson,” added the girl, with honest heartiness and wide-open eyes, “ Madeline is the most beau- tiful girl I ever saw.” “You don’t say,” said Mr. Hodgson. ‘“‘T want to know,” remarked his wife. “Yes, indeed; it isn’t the least wonder that people want to see her about, and that she has three partners to another girl’s one, and all the rest of it; but the sister of a belle doesn’t always walk in a path of roses. Another cup of tea, please, dear Mrs. Hodgson. Modesty forbids me to praise it as it deserves, but actions speak louder than words. You see, there are the lovers; and I don’t know why, but they gravitate to me just as naturally ’” — “Great fools if they didn’t,” remarked Silas Hodgson; “but look out, Kitty. Ye’re young yet. It’s dreadful easy to make a mistake.” The girl’s laugh rang out spontaneously. “Not my lovers. Oh, no. Madeline’s. Some of them are moths who refrain by reason of various mo- tives from really getting into the candle flame, but a few have rushed upon their fate, and then, when they find themselves hurt, they invariably turn to me to be comforted.” 14 THE WISE WOMAN. “That ’s a good mission, my child,” said Mrs. Hodgson seriously, “to bind up the broken- hearted.” oes. “JT don’t like it at all,” protested her guest. “You have no idea how embarrassing it is some- times. The last victim fell at Lenox a few weeks ago, and yesterday, right at home in Montaigne, I had the bad luck to meet him on a street corner, and he would stop and talk about Madeline, and look white, and I had to beat about and try to think of something consoling to suggest, and could n’t at all. I don’t know what I did say at last, but I made up my mind to come to Pokonet right away. I knew there wasn’t anybody here whom Madeline had refused.”’ Mr. Hodgson continued eating bis supper in- dustriously. “J did some think Tom was sweet on her that time she was here two summers ago,” he remarked. Color came pinkly into Miss Ormond’s white face. ‘Oh, yes, how is Tom?” she asked hastily. “T haven’t forgotten what an interest he was to you and Mrs. Hodgson. You know I was here when his parents died and he first came to you from out West, — Michigan, wasn’t it, where he lived? Such a solemn-looking boy.” “Well he might look solemn, the dear child,” said Mrs. Hodgson, “leaving all his friends and coming to perfect strangers like us, even if we were his uncle and aunt. We’re proud of Tom, just as proud as we can be.” WITH THE FIRST SNOW. 15 “JT am sure he ought to be devoted to you, since you did so much for his education.” “Qh, he had something,” explained Mrs. Hodg- son. “ We helped him out, as of course we Mizht to. It wasa great thing for him to go that the Institute, worth all the effort we could Bee We “Has he graduated ?”’ “Certainly, a year ago. We always thought Stevens men could get good positions the minute they were out; but ’tain’t always so, as Tom found. He’s been workin’ at one thing and an- other till this fall he’s really got a place he likes in Newark. His sister has come on and joined him, and they are as happy as birds by their let- ters. She seems to be smart’s a whip, too. She stayed a week down here in August, and we liked her first-rate; didn’t we, Pa?” “Yes; the girl’s got snap to her, and she favors my sister, too. That’s sayin’ enough for her looks.” “Your mother’s well, Kitty?” asked Mrs. Hodgson. “Yes, very well, thank you. The busiest one in the family, as usual. She belongs to so many clubs and societies.” ‘““Who keeps house, then?” “Tdo. Ihave a gift for it. Look at me!” “Don’t that beat all! I should think she ’d be afraid you ’d be extravagant.” “It doesn’t matter quite so much about that as It used to. Mr. Arnold, who has helped mother 16 THE WISE WOMAN. sn her affairs since father died, has invested the money so successfully that we have a little more leeway than at the time you used to hear mother talk about them.” “That ’s clever.”’ “Yes, it is very convenient. It keeps mother young not to have to worry.” Mrs. Hodgson looked thoughtfully into her euest’s face, so thoughtfully and so long that Katherine stirred uneasily. “Well?” she asked, smiling. “Well, I was only thinkin’ that I guessed you were probably an important member of your family.” The girl spread out her hands. “All wrong, my dear Mrs. Hodgson. I am only the general utility member. Somebody says: * Everybody is needed. Nobody is needed much.’ I’m _ not needed much. But I can make tea. You haven’t said what good tea this is.”’ “It’s capital, Kitty. You’ve done me lots o’ good.” CHAPTER II. MARGUERITE. KATHERINE stayed with her old friends until the sun shone brightly again, and the last traces of mud following the pretty snowstorm had hardened in a frost. Her entertainers felt reluctant to see her depart. ‘““May the notion take ye soon again, Kitty,” said the host, as she stepped out of his wagon upon the dépot platform. “T hope it won’t, Mr. Hodgson,” returned the girl cheerily. “I feel toned up and in fine condi- tion. You would better hope that I will be con- tented now to stay at home and behave myself.”’ “You always behave yourself,” was the rather dejected reply. “‘T "Il tell mother you said so.”” Miss Ormond’s bright eyes hid between her lashes as she smiled and waved her hand, for the train was coming. Silas Hodgson nodded, and pulled his beard as he sat, allowing the reins to lie loosely upon his imperturbable horse. Katherine waved her hand once more to him from the car window as the train pulled out. The reminiscent smile on her lips scarcely faded 18 THE WISE WOMAN. before she reached Long Island City; and when she had crossed New York and taken the train at Hoboken for her suburban home, it returned. ‘“‘Montaigne!”’ yelled the brakeman at last, and she left the cars. Her innocent escapade was over, but the aroma of it was fresh in her heart when she met her mother, in careful street dress, at the gate of their modern, pretty home. “T have had such a good time!’’ she declared, greeting her affectionately. “You look it, Katherine,’ returned Mrs. Or- mond, regarding her daughter with a scrutiny in which curiosity had a part. “You found Mr. and Mrs. Hodgson well, of course.” “Yes, and they sent so much love to you.” Mrs. Ormond laughed leniently, and gave the hand she was holding an affectionate parting shake. ‘‘Much obliged to them. I should like to see them myself, but I’m afraid it would n’t occur to me to make the trip just at this time.”’ “But you know I was so tired, traveling around.” Her mother’s eyes twinkled. “So you thought. you would jump into the bramble-bush? ” ‘“‘Bramble-bush! As if dear old Pokonet was anything like the places we have rushed about all summer.” “Well, good-by. I mustn’t be late for the hospital board meeting. It is all right, Kather- ine, even if I don’t quite understand you. Some hens do hatch ducks.” 3 MARGUERITE. 19 “Thank you, mother; I’m so glad you think I’m a duck,” and the girl threw a kiss after the vetreating figure, as she walked backward up the path and entered the house. “Well, Katherine, is that you!” exclaimed a voice, quickly followed by a lithe, slim figure as a girl appeared from the depths of an armchair. “Tt seems as if you had been gone a year.” The heartiness of their greeting showed the attachment that existed between the sisters. Madeline Ormond was a fair-haired, blue-eyed beauty, sufficiently striking in appearance to ex- cuse the superlatives which a partial sister had employed in speaking of her to the Hodgsons. “T am glad that is over,” continued Madeline, seating herself and returning to her task of exam- ining a box of odds and ends of millinery. “What? Hugging me? Thanks,” returned Katherine, removing her wraps. “You know well enough what I mean. This freak of yours. Pokonet— Poky-net, I should prefer to call it at this season.” “Bless its pokiness!” uttered Katherine de- voutly. “You were caught in a snowstorm, too.” “Indeed I was, a lovely one. It was so cosy, shut in there with the Hodgsons, living over good old times!” “Ugh! Excuse me from that form of dissi- pation. You are rightly named, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!” 20 THE WISE WOMAN. “Why? Because I like the fire?”’ Katherine curled up in the corner of a divan and watched the blazing logs on their heavy brass andirons. “No; but because you cannot be torn from old associations.” Katherine made a repressive gesture. “Control your impatience, Madeline, to hear all about it, and I will tell you the Pokonet news.” “No, you won’t, my dear. I presume the sea and the dunes and the pond and the Hodgsons are all there, and all the same as they were two years ago when I saw them. Voila tout. We are invited to a tea at the Allingtons’ on Monday, and the Arnolds are going to have a Thanksgiving dance in their new barn. It is all to be decorated with grain and fruit and vegetables, and the stables are to be furnished with divans and rugs and colored lanterns. Won’t they make jolly lit- tle twosing corners? A conservatory can’t com- pare.” “Twosing! What’s that?” “Don’t you know? I guessed right away when Ed Arnold used the word the other evening. He is authority on the latest ‘sabre cuts of Saxon speech.” At any rate, you ll find out what it means at the dance. Ed will show you. He is always so philanthropic, and willing to instruct the young.” : “The Hodgsons asked all about Maidie,” said Katherine, with mild reproach. MARGUERITE. ae “Well, of course you told them. I trust myself in your hands willingly. I’m very glad you had a good time. You know that. I only don’t see how you could, that is all.” “T feel as if I had been smoothed the right way, and been patted comfortingly, for days,” said Katherine dreamily. Her sister laughed. “Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!” she repeated. “You don’t mind being thought kittenish, do you?” “Tom graduated all right,”” went on the elder. Madeline raised her pretty eyes inquiringly. “Tom who?” “Tom Sheldon.” “Oh.” Madeline returned to her velvet and feathers. “I remember now, he was in some college.” “You would better remember,”’ said Kate, with spirit. “He was at Pokonet two years ago, when you went there to stay a week and stayed a fort- night because he was there. I just wish I had been with you.” _ Madeline raised her delicate eyebrows. ‘‘ Your tone suggests that the longing is not prompted by affection, ma chere.”’ “No, it isn’t,” replied Katherine emphatically. “YT wish I had been there to bring you home in the one week.” “Why, what harm did I do, honey?”’ Made- line spoke abstractedly as she continued to ran- sack the millinery box, separating its contents into little piles. 22 THE WISE WOMAN. “T don’t know; but Mr. Hodgson said he had an idea that Tom was sweet on you.” | ‘““And you are vexed with me for that?” in surprise. “Oh, when he said that I didn’t know what might have happened. J remembered vaguely that you laughed about Tom when you came home. Nothing would be so bad as hurting one of those people,”’ finished Katherine, rather incoherently. Madeline laughed. ‘The idea of exciting your- self over a two-year-old offense — I mean suppos- ing it was an offense.”’ “Tell me all about it,” said Katherine, imperi- ously. “Little girls should say ‘ please,’ her sister. ‘Please do, Madeline.” ““Why, I only remember in the vaguest way,” replied the girl carelessly. ‘‘He was the bathing- master there that summer.” “He was? I had forgotten, if you told me that.” “Yes, it seems he did everything he could to earn money, summers.” “That was Christian of him,” said Katherine with interest and satisfaction, ‘“‘not to want to be more of an expense than was necessary to those dear old people.” ““Oh yes. He was a very decent fellow, and the girls all liked him. There were a number of girls there when I was. He was proud, too, and — ”” remarked MARGUERITE. - by Ie very stand-off with us all. You know how free and easy that beach life is, but his attitude was always: ‘I remember that I am bathing-master. Though I touch your hand, it is in the way of business.” Of course, if he had been ugly, it would n’t have mattered; but the fact was, he was rather good-looking and splendidly built, and the girls were graciousness itself to him. There wasn’t another man there as attractive — and, well, — you know your little sister. Modesty for- bids me to specify, but you know the sequel. Where,” diving about in the box at her side, “is that jet butterfly?” ““Madeline Ormond,” said Katherine, who was regarding her with wide, anxious eyes, “you en- couraged him!” Madeline shrugged her shoulder. “TI can truth- fully say that I never saw a man who required it more.” Her sister sat upright. ‘Did he propose to you? Did Tom Sheldon propose to you? I tell you now that if he did, you have proved by your confession it was your own fault, and I shall be ashamed of it always. I wouldn’t have gone to Pokonet if I had known. Instead, I would have hidden my head from those dear people who have been so devoted to us!” Madeline looked into the excited face in aston- ishment. “But all this is two years past,’ she protested mildly. 24 THE WISE WOMAN. “Then you did do it.” Katherine made an indignant gesture. ““T beg your pardon,” said the younger, return- ing her gaze, “I haven’t said so, and I don’t intend to. If you had asked me before you went to Pokonet, and offered to stay at home in case of my guilt, there might have been a motive for incriminating myself, for I didn’t at all want you to go; but the prospect of your being ashamed of me forever is not sufficiently tempting to wring a confession from me. My dear Katherine, you ’re a goose! Why, for pity’s sake,” in exasperation, “you are really crying ;’’ for two drops ran swiftly down from Kate’s bright eyes. “What folly! Of course I did many things two years ago that I _ wouldn’t do now. ‘There, then, if you will have it, Tom Sheldon never did propose to me. I saw it Goming, and I ran away. How absurd you are, Katherine,” for the latter looked little mollified. “Tf you could only see your protégé now, I fancy it would show your sympathy in a ridiculous light. He has forgotten my existence, as I had forgotten his, I am sure; and he is a very robust party.” ‘““He is the Hodgsons’ idol,” said Katherine briefly. ‘“‘ And you say he graduated all right? ” returned her sister, with the interest which the occasion evidently demanded. “How gratifying to them.”’ Katherine leaned back among her pillows. “Whatever you did, those dear people spoke as kindly as ever of Maidie.” MARGUERITE. 25 “Proof positive that I behaved well,” returned the other gayly, “and left a good reputation be- — hind me.” “T hope so.” “What do you suppose I’m doing, Kather- | ine?” “T can see.” “Tt would be safe to wager that a dozen other girls in Montaigne are doing the same thing this morning,” went on Madeline. ‘A new fad has developed since you went away.” “As suddenly as that?” “Yes. Do you remember the new milliner, mother liked so much?”’ “The one who has ‘ Marguerite’ on her win- dow?” “Yes. She has suddenly sprung into popular- ity, and the latest thing is to take lessons of her. Lots of the girls have begun.” “Then you are going to join the ranks, I sup- pose.” “T thought of having you do it.’”? Madeline looked up, smiling. ‘You are so much cleverer than I with your hands. Don’t you want to?” ‘‘Laziness!’’ commented the elder. “No, modesty. You know I am clumsy with a needle.” | “Why not take the lessons together?” sug- gested Katherine. “Mademoiselle refuses to take more than one at a time. She has an eye to the main chance, 26 THE WISE WOMAN. you see, and is bound to make the most of ae popularity. She is quite autocratic, they say.” “Better keep in the swim, Madeline. You need outlets for your energy. Think what a fine one it would be to trim three sets of hats and bonnets for your family! I wouldn’t rob you of the opportunity for the world.” “Oh, I dare say I could learn,” replied the younger, “if you are not going to take an inter- est.”’ “Well, it is rather late in the season. I have all the hats I want for the present. Marguerite did n’t make them either.”’ “No, if she had, you would be more enthusias- tic. It was clever of her to wait until she had hatted what fall customers she could get before she offered to give these lessons. She is a shrewd one, evidently. Well, I am going to leave you. So dream away of sand dunes till I come back. I am off to Marguerite. J am ashamed to confess that I have n’t seen her yet, myself.” Madeline rose with her spoils, and went, hum- ming, from the room. When she came down- stairs again, she was surprised to see that her sister had resumed her hat and coat. “Oh yes, I am going to chaperone you to your destination,” remarked Katherine. “I’m going to see that you are not being led away by youth- ful folly. Where are your fuss and feathers?” “TI am not going to carry anything to-day. I have n’t arranged for lessons yet, and don’t know what is required.” MARGUERITE. 27 The girls walked down the street with the easy accord in step which proved their habit of com- panionship. Their tongues flew faster than their feet, as they talked of the winter plans; schemes for their mission and sewing-school work being discussed with the same zest bestowed upon their ball-gowns and literary clubs. Montaigne had its manufacturing district and its slums, where, on a small scale, the sad squalor of life equaled that to be found within the boundaries of its big neighbor New York; and society furnished chari- table workers in the small city as well as in the great one. The girls reached the main street, and scorning conveyances, kept on their even way until they reached the building which was their destination. Its first floor was occupied by two stores, between which a flight of stairs led upward. On the sec- ond story, at the left side, was a bay window, and upon its middle sheet of glass was gilded the name ‘‘ Marguerite.” Several bonnets were visi- ble upon standards within, if one stood far enough out upon the edge of the walk to look up at them. ‘An inconvenient place, I should think,’ was Katherine’s comment. “There is Betty Arnold,” she added. A young lady came swiftly down the stairs, as ' she spoke, and greeted the sisters brightly. “You poor benighted girls!”’ she ejaculated. “Tf you only knew how to make such a fold as I can!” 28 THE WISE WOMAN. ‘You are taking lessons, then?” returned Kath- erine. “Why, it was Betty who started the whole thing,”’ said Madeline. “‘Certainly; Mademoiselle had made me a hat, and it was exquisite, and I was telling her how I wished I could do such a thing. She remarked that there was no need of my doing it, and I told her that there was no need of my painting on china, but that I did it, and I didn’t add that my work was atrocious. I said I thought such a hat was just as good as a picture, and she volun- teered then to teach me what she could. So, you know, we girls are like sheep anyway, and as soon as I started, a lot of the other girls did, and Mademoiselle is going to make a pretty good thing out of it. Are you sheep, too?”’ “I’m not sure,” replied Madeline languidly, raising her eyebrows. “Betty is so conceited,” she added, after the merry-eyed girl had left them. ‘“‘It is too provoking that she should think I do it because she does. Betty Arnold isn’t the sort of girl to set any fashion.”’ “So this woman is French,”’ said Katherine, as they started up.the stairs. Rapidly in her mind’s eye she formed the picture of a crépée blonde head, dark eyelashes, a wasp waist, and a set smile. “‘Marguerite’’ was in small black letters on a glass door to the left of the stairs as they ascended, and another sign invited them to walk in. They opened the door, and entered a light room fur- MARGUERITE. 29 nished with a small, glass-inclosed counter, two or three wicker chairs, a Japanese screen, and the sparsely filled metal branches in the bay window. The room was evidently the parlor of a flat, and there were a few photographs beside the clock on the mantelpiece above the hard-coal fire. Immediately a singularly handsome girl raised the portiere and entered the room. She was lame, and her black dress made her slight figure look still more childlike as she raised her eyes inquiringly toward the visitors. “Very French,” thought Katherine, viewing the dark features. “What can I do for you?” inquired the girl softly, with a marked accent. “We wish to see the milliner, Mademoiselle Marguerite,’ answered Madeline, in her habitual imperious manner. “Are the ladies in haste?” asked the girl in a gently polite and musical slow tone, which made the other’s seem coarse. “Well, yes, somewhat,” replied Madeline, hesi- tating a little, and speaking lower. ““T will see at once,” said the lame girl, bowing deferentially and retiring behind the portiere. “This is all very odd,” murmured Katherine, looking about her curiously. “I should say, if this woman had not happened to make a hit, she would run a good chance of starving up here with nothing more stirring in sight than that Oriental- looking child.” 30 THE WISE WOMAN. “But look at those bonnets!’’ returned Made- line convincingly. The girls moved to the window, and examined the dainty creations with interest. “Oh, I must take the lessons,” said Madeline, her eyes shining with approval. “Aren’t they distinguées, every one? How quickly one can tell that indescribable French touch. I hope I am reasonably patriotic, but it is an undeniable fact that no American fingers ever could have made those bonnets.” “Bee pardon, ladies,” said a voice behind the pair, who had been too absorbed in their scrutiny to hear the entrance of the mistress of the estab- lishment. : They turned quickly, and beheld a young woman regarding them. Her costume was simple, with a simplicity which somewhat irritated Katherine. It was the simplicity of the poverty-stricken hero- ine of the stage, whose gray gown fits like a glove, and whose lingerie is always clear-starched to dainty perfection. The gown defied fashion, and was picturesque in its long, straight lines. Nota curl or a crimp had this tall young woman. Her well-brushed auburn hair was of the fine and soft description which made a pompadour effect as it was carried back into a knot under the high comb. Her deep blue eyes were fearless in their gaze, her nose was slender, and her lips well curved. She seemed to Katherine to be trying to keep those lips in sober order as she stood there, and MARGUERITE. 31 to be hiding a laugh in the depths of those won- derfully clear eyes. Altogether, she was a distin- guished figure, as far out of the common as was the peculiar knack of style which had set young feminine Montaigne to running over her steep stairs. “Oh —a’’ — stammered Madeline Ormond at first in unwonted embarrassment; then quickly recovering her poise: “I was just wishing that I needed one of those pretty hats,” she said, with more than a shade of patronage. She was the sort of girl who is accustomed to be flattered and deferred to by those whose business it is to clothe her charming person. “T wish you did,’’ answered the milliner promptly; “but perhaps you are looking for something lighter.’’ If there had been amusement in her face when the girls caught their first glimpse of her, it was gone now. She was the alert woman of business, and looked from Madeline to Katherine with an expression which to the latter’s acuter perception suggested that time was money. “T am afraid I must n’t want another hat just now,’ returned Madeline deliberately. “I am Miss Ormond. You made a bonnet for my mother, this fall.” “YT remember Mrs. Ormond very well.” “You must make yourself very tempting to draw middle-aged ladies up those stairs.” “Y make bonnets only ror ladies who feel =e 54 THE WISE WOMAN. young,” replied the milliner with the flash of a smile. “Can I do something for you?” she added, after a second of silence. “We are told that you teach your art,” said Katherine, speaking for the first time. “I should like to take lessons.” “You, Katherine?” Madeline spoke in sur- prise. “Yes, I most unexpectedly feel the stirring of talent. “Then I’? — “Then you needn’t follow Betty Arnold’s lead,” said Kate softly, her eyes going into hiding as the milliner walked away to get her book. “You have a reputation to lose. I haven't. Wait and see how I succeed.” “T would so much rather you did it. I said so all the time,”’ returned Madeline, well satisfied with this turn of events. CHAPTER III. KATHERINE’S FIRST LESSON. “You did come home, then,” said Gilbert Or- mond, as Katherine gave him a hearty hug on his return to dinner that evening. Neither Mrs. Ormond nor Madeline would have thought, under the circumstances, of hugging their budding law- yer, although they were firmly convinced that he was a most remarkable young man, and they loved and admired him as only mothers and sisters can love and admire. They greeted him decorously on the occasions of meeting and parting, but the scrupulous correctness of his appearance never suffered by them. On the present occasion he was fain to pass a caressing hand over the fair hair at the back of his head after Katherine let him go, but the smile of satisfaction was still on his lips as he seated himself at the foot of the table. “Now let this be enough of going away,” he remarked, as he began to carve the lamb. “ Inter- fering people, busy-bodies like you, are missed from the family circle. How is Pokonet?” “Beautiful. Mr. Hodgson wanted to know all about Gilly. I told him you weren’t so much of 34 THE WISE WOMAN. a gilly as you used to be, count of having been to college like a nice, bright boy.” “They remember us all, then.’ Gilbert’s small golden moustache curved smilingly. “Remember us? Why, we are like their own children. We are all the children they have.” “You forget Tom,” suggested Madeline mis- chievously. “You ’d better, too,”’ retorted Kate briefly. “‘T had once, and you resurrected him with such vigor that I have n’t quite recovered yet.” Who is Tom?” inquired Gilbert. **No one you know.”’ “Why, yes I do, if you mean Tom Sheldon. He arrived on the scene the last summer I spent at Pokonet. We were great chums. I never told anybody how -he dragged me out of the clutches of the under-tow one day. I firmly be- lieve that if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have any brother now.” “Gilbert Ormond!” ejaculated his mother, while the girls shuddered. ““T didn’t say anything about it at the time, for I well knew I should get my bathing limited to the pond, if mother heard of it. We didn’t think much about it, either of us; but I remember Tom was white as a ghost by the time we lay on the beach facing each other. I fancy we had both forgotten it in an hour, but as I look back now, I realize that he acted with a good deal of pluck and promptness. JI thought I saw him the other KATHERINE’S FIRST LESSON. 35 day in Newark. I met a workman with a rather grimy appearance carrying a tin lunch-box. Tom Sheldon might have grown to look like that man. There was a very familiar expression about the eyes. I thought for a second of speaking to the fellow, and then I considered that it would n’t be any particular use. He didn’t appear to recog- nize me.” “Perhaps it was Tom, and it would have been a pleasure to him,” said Katherine. “You certainly ought not to have passed by a _ possible scion of that sacred Hodgson family,” put in Madeline. “He saved Gilbert’s life!” exclaimed the elder sister. “Ages ago, while they were playing, he possi- bly did; but Gilbert’s imagination probably exag- gerates the situation now; and at all events the facts do not warrant his feeling obliged to fall on the neck of a grimy workman with a tin lunch- box, who lives as near as Newark, and might turn out really to be Tom and offer to come and see us.” Madeline made a grimace and a gesture of dismay, at the same time that her mind involun- tarily conjured up a picture of a young athlete in a bathing-suit upon whom her own soft eyes cast gracious glances, and the memory colored her , cheeks. “Tom has done splendidly,” said Katherine earnestly to her brother. ‘He has gone through | Stevens ” — 36 THE WISE WOMAN. “Then Gilbert did n’t meet him. Be com: forted,’’ said Madeline. ‘“‘T am more inclined to think I did,” returned Gilbert. “The Stevens men go into machine- shops and begin at the bottom very often. Jam glad if Tom has done well. Still gladder to see you back, Katherine,” he added, turning to his sister with an air of changing the subject. “I suppose you will settle down now.” “T am going to distinguish myself in an entirely new line,” announced Katherine, with a grand air. ‘“‘Mother, has Madeline told you? Behold your future milliner.”’ She laid her hand on her breast and bowed her head. ““T have heard about these lessons the girls are taking,” said Mrs. Ormond. “It is a very good idea.”’ “So Madeline roped you in, did she?” asked Gilbert. “She has been threatening.” ““No, she didn’t. I could have stood out against Madeline, and was doing so very well; but that creature hypnotized me.” “The milliner?’’ asked Mrs. Ormond, smiling. “Yes. That room up there is the den of a siren. There is something uncanny about that woman.” “Well,” remarked Gilbert, ‘I think the fathers of families should be warned. I can’t imagine a much more dangerous character to be at large than a hypnotic milliner.”’ “That is just what she is,’’ declared Katherine. KATHERINE’S FIRST LESSON. 37 “T went, and saw, and was conquered; and when you see what hats I shall make, you will wish you were a woman.” “Oh, Madeline can absorb all the headgear you can construct,” returned Gilbert. “‘That is her specialty. I foresee in the future a perfect orgy of big hats in the style our esthetic maiden affects.” Madeline raised her lashes and glanced at her brother. She knew he was not the exception among her masculine admirers. “You are only paying tribute to my cleverness,” she remarked. “I do not waste time trying to be a tailor-made girl when I am perfectly aware I am not built for it. Every one should study her own style. Now if that Marguerite had a little more ambition, she need n’t be such an odd- looking figure herself. She is a_ sufficiently good-looking person.’ “ Ambition! Good-looking!”’ repeated Kath- erine. ‘‘Madeline, I am surprised at your child- like naiveté. Do you suppose that siren has n’t bestowed as much thought on her personal appear- ance as she does on those bewitching bonnets?” ‘She need n’t look so absurdly unconventional.” ““Of course she need n’t; but she wants to. She wishes people to remark the contrast between the up-to-date millinery and the quaint milliner. It is a part of her designing schemes to have that picturesque French cripple as an assistant.” “YT can’t think a person in her walk of life, a 38 THE WISE WOMAN. business woman like that, would be so foolish as to suppose her appearance would be of consequence one way or the other to her customers,” rejoined Madeline indifferently. “That young girl isn’t French,” put in Mrs. Ormond. ‘She is an Italian right from our own poor district. Mrs. Arnold was telling me that Mademoiselle Marguerite happened to run across » her and took her in charitably. The child herself: told her. Her name is Lucia.” ‘“‘Hixplosion of bubble number one,” said Made- line. “Katherine, you are too imaginative. I am sorry to have you lose any of the accessories you have gifted your teacher with, if it will make her any less interesting, for I am delighted that you will go to her. This is ever so much more interesting than cooking-school.”’ ‘**Permit me to differ,” remarked Gilbert. Katherine started off the next day, with the blessing of her approving sister, for her first lesson. As she reached the foot of Marguerite’s stair- case, a young man, a black case in his hand, came running down the flight. He had a well-knit, well-carried figure, and his dark face was clean- shaven. His eyes, rather piercing in their bright gaze, shone with friendliness as he recognized Katherine. “Why, Dr. McKnight,”’ she said, as he lifted his hat. “Has it come to this!” He was an old friend of Gilbert’s, but his absence while getting his medical education had KATHERINE’S FIRST LESSON. 39 sufficiently estranged him to make her shy of call- ing him “Jasper” in the old way. She had taken refuge in his title on the occasions of meeting him since his return to Montaigne. “I’m told all the girls in town run here,” she added, as she shook hands with him, “but I didn’t suspect that the men had begun.”’ “That is good news,” he answered. “I didn’t know my lucky star had led me to select such a popular situation. What is the attraction?” The young man looked vaguely back up the pas- sage-way. “Hats. The prettiest hatsin Montaigne. New York has none prettier, I am told.”’ “Good! The only trouble is, young ladies are so sure-footed. 1’m afraid none of you will ever roll down those stairs and require a physician.” “Has Dr. McKnight an office.here?” Kath- erine looked surprised. “Yes, my shingle will be out soon.” “T thought you were with Dr. Granbury, in North Montaigne.” “JT am; but I am going to start an office here without giving up the other.”’ “Very well. I hope the milliner across the hall will be a mascot to you unconsciously.” “Thank you. That is a dubious wish for her customers,” and laughingly the two parted. Katherine ran upstairs to the room which a hum of voices assured her she should not to-day find empty. Entering, she saw a couple of ladies 40 THE WISE WOMAN. in close conference with the gray-clad young wo- man, who bowed to her and indicated a chair. The slight gesture was made with the air of a hostess, and Katherine, seating herself, found entertainment in watching the milliner as she rearranged with artistic hand the bonnet which the elder of the women was trying on. The pair departed at last with gratified smiles, and - Marguerite approached Kate. “You have come to work?” she asked, with grave courtesy. ‘Kindly step this way.” The girl followed into the little room next the parlor, where was a litter of feathers, ribbon, velvet, wire, bonnet-frames, etc., among whose confusion Marguerite, herself looking like the high-priestess of order,- seated herself, drawing forward a chair for Katherine at the same time. For some reason, inexplicable to herself, the latter felt it to be an exciting experience to be closeted thus with her grave companion. “This looks business-like, Mademoiselle,’”’ she said, as she removed her jacket. “Tt is a busy time. You remembered your thimble,” as Katherine drew one from her pocket. “That is usually forgotten. See, I have learned to keep a little box of them here.” | “Tam attached to my own thimble,” returned Katherine, as she opened her bag, and drew forth the materials she had been directed to bring. ' Her teacher set her a task to do, carefully ex- plaining each step. KATHERINE’S FIRST LESSON. 41 “How well you speak English,” said Katherine, when she began to sew. She looked up as she spoke, and thought she again saw a suggestion of amusement in the firm lips. “T am often told that,’ answered the milliner quietly. She evidently did not welcome conversation, perhaps it was because she was so busy. Her hands flew deftly in and out the bonnet-frame she was covering with velvet. Kate could not refrain from casting frequent furtive glances at her com- panion’s attractive face, since the downcast lids made it possible to do so, unobserved. It was a pure, cold countenance, which suited the severely simple gown, and Kate wondered if it never warmed into the life and gayety suited to its own- er’s youth; wondered whether the days of this woman, perhaps little older than herself, were all work and no play. Indeed, curiosity, but kindly curiosity, was the main sentiment in Miss Or- mond’s breast as she plied her needle. She finally spoke again : — “T just met a friend at the foot of the stairs, a doctor, who says he has taken the room across from you, Mademoiselle.” “Indeed? The building is filling up. It is in a good situation.” Silence again, and to Kather- ine a baffling silence. She would have liked to ask: Have you parents? Where do they live? Do you live in this flat, and if so, who lives here with you? and this would have been but the be- ginning of her catechism. 42 THE WISE WOMAN. “That is a very pretty young girl you have to assist you. I saw her here the other day.” “Yes, Lucia is handsome. Make that turn just a little deeper, Miss Ormond.” Katherine obeyed. “She is clever, too,” went on Marguerite. ““She has good judgment, and can assist the other girls in my absence.” “Do you go away?” Katherine looked up. Perhaps she was going to learn something. “Only as far as this. It would not be pleasant for you, for instance, to spend this hour in the work-room.”’ “Oh, I see. You give lessons in this room. Do you really believe you can teach us your style, your knack, or whatever it is?” The milliner bowed slightly without looking up. ‘That will have to be proved. I shall teach you all I can.” “Tl won’t be frozen,” thought Katherine. os **T am not sure,” she answered aloud, ‘‘ but that you will be like a woman we met in the country last summer, who made such delicious corn-bread that my mother begged her for her recipe. She was very obliging, and said she should be pleased to give it to her, so mother got out a paper and pencil, and the woman proceeded to explain that she took three or four handfuls of corn meal, sometimes more and sometimes less. Then she poured in milk, about the right quantity, and stirred it ‘to a consistuency,’ and she was going KATHERINE’S FIRST LESSON. 43 on, but mother stopped her. She concluded that when she wanted that particular corn bread, only this woman could make it; and I suspect that when we want a Mademoiselle Marguerite hat we may have to come to you for it just the same, after all our labor. A great and subtle thing is knack.”’ The milliner glanced up at Katherine. Her manner was different from that of the pupils she had so far had to deal with. “Wasn’t it a strange thing for you to offer to do, —an unusual thing?” pursued Katherine. “Supposing me to be wrong, and that you can impart your ability, aren’t you killing the goose that lays the golden eggs?’”’ Marguerite gave her a smile which lit her face and made it mischievous. “You see I do not quite kill my geese,” she answered quietly. “As you just remarked, they may fly back to me occasionally. At worst, Mon- taigne is a large place,” she continued, serious again. ‘When I have exhausted it, I can move on.” “T see you have thought it all out, Mademoi- selle.”’ | The milliner leaned forward, and taking Kath- erine’s work from her hands, was showing her how to take the next step when the door of the show- room opened, a man’s tread crossed the floor, and a masculine voice spoke Marguerite’s name as a hand half drew aside the portiére in the doorway. 44 THE WISE WOMAN. “Excuse me,” said the milliner hastily, and rising she hurried out to the adjoining room. Katherine heard a low murmur of conversation — followed by a happy exclamation. “Oh, Fritz!” The tone was so intense, that involuntarily Miss Ormond looked up. ‘The half-drawn por- titre revealed a part of a startling tableau. Mar- guerite’s gray-clad figure was clasped in a man’s arms. There was no mistake about that, although only a portion of each figure was visible. Kath- erine crimsoned to the tips of her ears, and low- ered her eyes in extreme confusion. Fortunately, more murmured conversation fol- lowed, which gave her cheeks time to cool, and by the time the man had taken his leave, and the milliner returned to the little room, Miss Ormond flattered herself that her appearance was calm ana non-committal. After the subsiding of the first flush of vexation at having been compelled to wit- ness the ardent embrace, her thoughts took a new turn. Here was an explanation of Mademoiselle’s tactics which, considering her youth and attrac- tiveness, might have occurred to Katherine before. Naturally, if she were going to be married, she ~ would make hay while the sun shone. The geese would not be required to lay golden eggs long. The young woman’s object was easy enough to comprehend now. She merely wished to make all the money she could in a short time. Her lover had brought her good news. The signs of it were KATHERINE’S FIRST LESSON. 45 still obvious in the fair face which again leaned over Katherine’s work. The latter looked with still greater curiosity and interest at the smooth, well-kept hair, and the high shell comb whose red- brown lights matched it in color. The milliner did not appear to concern herself with a doubt as to how much or little of her recent interview had been intelligible to her pupil. Their relation was in her eyes evidently so entirely a business one, that Katherine’s friendly nature was a little piqued, and she went home at last dis- creetly silent as to the details of her experiences, but laughingly announced at the dinner-table that her subjugation to the gray lady’s wiles was deeper than before. Mankind loves a lover even when she happens to be a humble, industrious milliner, working from sun to sun to earn her trousseau in addition to her daily bread; and Katherine, the next time she found herself sitting opposite her teacher in the little room, stole many a glance at the latter, studying her with “Fritz’s” eyes. She had not caught a satisfactory glimpse of that individual, but he had a tall figure and a deep, pleasant voice, and Marguerite, whatever might be the quality of her nature, had a face which would grace any environment. “JT do hope she will be married in white,” thought Miss Ormond, “and I wish I might put on her veil.” The milliner, looking up, was surprised at the 46 THE WISE WOMAN. gaze she encountered in her pupil’s eyes; and Katherine, recalled from her day-dream, went at her work again in considerable confusion. She began talking at random, but in such amiable fashion that it could not fail to make a pine | impression upon her companion. The latter became drawn at last into general conversation; and at their third lesson she sur- prised Katherine. “Why do you call me Made- moiselle?”’ she asked. It was the first question she had ever put to her pupil, aside from business. ‘Because every one does,” answered the girl. “Not to my face,” said Marguerite, with the demure, amused look Miss Ormond had learned to recognize. “What do they say, then?” **¢ Marguerite,’ usually.” Katherine shook her head, and her eyes twin- kled. “I couldn’t think of being so disrespect- ful. I much prefer Mademoiselle.” “Yet I have no right to that title.” “Why not, since you are French?” “Oh, but I’m not French.” The milliner’s busy fingers worked away as she talked. “But Marguerite ’’ — “Certainly. It is a French name, but one which Americans adopt quite frequently. I thought best to utilize that little bit of capital, since I happened to have it.” Katherine stopped working, and regarded her with interest. KATHERINE’S FIRST LESSON. 47 “T see; but since it is all the name you give people to know you by’’— She paused. “Precisely.” “Then do you expect me to call you Margue- ‘ rite?” The milliner met Miss Ormond’s friendly eyes with a look in which there was the dawn of friend- liness. ‘“‘You are different,’ she answered. “I believe it would not give you the same satisfaction it does most women.” ““T suspected you were clever,” said Katherine, forgetting her work and continuing to gaze, though her companion’s fingers were flying again. “| had to succeed,”’ returned the latter senten- tiously. Her pupil nodded. “So you suppressed half your name, for one thing; but you are going to tell it to me?”’ “Certainly, if you wish. It is Laird.” “ And Miss Laird knew it would be more attrac- tive to be neither addressed nor dressed like other people,” ventured Katherine. A swift flush passed over the other’s face. ““The dress is convenient,”’ she answered, smil- ing, “but you are right.”’ CHAPTER IV. KATHERINE’S MISSTEP. “T THINK you need a chaperone during your visits to Marguerite,”’ said Madeline to her sister one day soon after. “You are actually beginning to quote her. You are a dangerously sociable creature, Katherine. Please remember your mis- sion there is to make hats, not friends.” “You please remember that I am hypnotized and not responsible,”’ was the lofty response. | Katherine Ormond had the enviable quality of being interested in people. It was as impossible for her to be bored as it would be for a sparkling, bubbling spring to grow stagnant. Her interest in her new acquaintance grew with the days, although she learned nothing more definite about — her than that she was Miss Laird, and had been working at millinery for three years. They grew to be quite talkative together on general topies, and Katherine sometimes prolonged her stay after her work had been put away. One afternoon in especial she lingered until the street lamps were lighted in the early evening. “T must go!” she exclaimed at last. “ Why, it is dark already. Good-by,” and hurrying out =e = KATHERINE’S MISSTEP. 49 the door, she started to run downstairs. She had descended perhaps a third of the way, when the heel of her boot caught on a step. She stumbled, and would have pitched headlong had there not been a rail which she grasped, and thus saved herself. She had turned her ankle severely, though, and the pain of it made her catch her lip between her teeth, while swiftly there recurred to her Jasper McKnight’s mock regret at the sure- footedness of Marguerite’s customers. She tried to take another step, and the conse- quence was that just as a man turned in at the entrance and began to ascend toward her, Miss Ormond, with a stifled exclamation, ignominiously sat down on the stairs. “Ts anything the matter?” asked the new- comer, pausing when he reached her. It was not Dr. McKnight, as for one moment she had hoped it might be, and yet the deep voice was one she had heard before. “T have turned my ankle,” she answered. “Shall I get you a carriage?” Katherine thought a moment. She was nearer the top than the bottom of the flight. “Tf I could get back to the room at the head of the stairs —the milliner’s,”’ she said, “‘I could then send.a message.” | She feared to try to get to a carriage and go home alone. ““T am on my way there. Let me help you.” “Tt is Fritz!” thought Katherine, suddenly * 50 THE WISE WOMAN. * i remembering the voice with a sense of relief. Fritz as Miss Laird’s betrothed was so frequently in her mind that he scarcely seemed a stranger. “Thank you,” she answered, putting her hand in the one he outstretched, and rismg upon her unhurt foot. Desperately she tried to make the other support her while she leaned on the man’s arm to mount to the next step; but the attempt was a failure. “T really can’t,” she said softly, a catch in her breath. ) “There isn’t the least need of your trying,”’ said her companion, with a hearty kindliness of tone that was very reassuring; ‘if you will allow me”? — He did not finish the sentence, but lifting Kath- erine easily in his arms, moved quickly upstairs, and opening the milliner’s door, walked in. Marguerite was engaged in drawing the shades at the large front window, and as one stuck and refused to run easily, she spoke without turning her head : — “Ts that you, Fritz?”’ “ And it is I, too, Miss Laird,” answered Kath- erine, so much alive to the absurdity of her posi- tion that she smiled, hiding her bright eyes in spite of the nagging pain in her foot. Marguerite turned just as Katherine was being gently lowered upon the divan. ‘Miss Ormond!” hurrying forward in extreme surprise. ‘‘ What has happened?” KATHERINE’S MISSTEP. 51 “JT turned my ankle on your staircase.” “And my brother just happened to come up. How fortunate!” . Her brother! | ee AN AVERTED DANGER. 129 you know has the advantage of being related to Pokonet. Remember, nobody asks you to be un- kind to this paragon. She isn’t injured by us any more than her brother was. You remember you felt inclined to shed tears over him at one time, and now you have had ocular proof that he is as good as new.”’ “Children! My dear girls,” said Mrs. Or- mond, “let me speak. I must admit, Katherine, that I am sorry to hear that you are bewitched with this bright young woman. Your sister’s forethought was admirable this afternoon. Be as friendly with her as you like, or rather as you must, in her shop, although I should be glad if you determined not to go there any more. We owe a duty to our friends. It would be wrong to them to allow it to be possible to meet this Marguerite socially in our house. If you don’t see it so, my dear Katherine, you are temporarily infatuated, and before the winter is over you will thank me for saving you from yourself.” Katherine felt sore, impatient, rebellious. “T shall respect your wishes, mother,” she said, “but of all the absurd tempests that ever raged in teapots, this is the fussiest. Madeline probably snubbed Miss Laird in her terror this after- noon ”’ — “T did not,” declared the other calmly. “And there is no danger of her coming again. I have missed a great pleasure, but Mrs. Grundy has been properly sacrificed to, and the Ormond 130 ‘THE WISE WOMAl family, though not entirely sans pour, x far sans reproche.”’ RS Fee “I think she is safe,” said Madeline to her mother afterward. The determined younger sis- ter had passed an unpleasant quarter of an hour, but she felt repaid. CHAPTER X. MARGUERITE CONSULTS THE ORACLE. THERE was no family in Montaigne whose friendship Mrs. Ormond valued more highly than the McKnights’. Gilbert and Jasper had been in the same class at college; then when one went into the law school and the other into the study of medicine, Mrs. Ormond and Miss McKnight kept up an interest in each other’s boys, which the former had never allowed to flag. The McKnight homestead stood on the brow of a hill in a well-kept park. Solid and handsome without, luxurious and tasteful within, it gratified Mrs. Ormond’s soul to visit there, and added a hundredfold to that philanthropic affection and solicitude which Jasper and his career always inspired in her. To stand on the veranda of the spacious house and look down upon the surround- ing country through natural avenues of fine old trees uplifted her to heights of zsthetic pleasure and material comfort, and made her feel that if any earthly consideration could make it a pleasure to be called “grandma,” it would be to hear the word from prattlers who crept about these piazzas and called them home. 182 THE WISE WOMAN. Miss McKnight had lived the quietest of lives during her nephew’s recent absence in Europe, but her intimacy with the Ormonds had not been allowed to drop. Mrs. Ormond had stolen time from her engagements at least weekly to drop in upon her dear friend, hear the latest news from Jasper, and talk to his aunt of the doings of the important little society world of Montaigne. She smiled benevolently on Katherine’s weakness for Miss McKnight’s society. For a long time she did not believe in its disinterestedness, although secretly approving of her child’s discretion; but she was forced at last to admit wonderingly that what she herself did on principle, Katherine did for pure pleasure. Katherine was an odd, some- times a puzzling child, but Madeline was always entirely comprehensible. Madeline and her mother frequently drove their little pony carriage to the McKnights’ on a Sun- day afternoon. Miss McKnight did not encourage — indiscriminate Sunday visiting, and they liked to go on that day to emphasize their intimate relations. The following Sunday Mrs. Ormond proposed one of these visits. “Let us have a family sleigh-ride,” suggested Gilbert. “Katherine is to make her début into the world again, and I suppose there is no pil- grimage she would rather make than one to the shrine of the Wise Woman.” B 3 Katherine assented with alacrity; but guests MARGUERITE CONSULTS THE ORACLE. 133 dropping in during the afternoon delayed their start. Mrs. Ormond demurred about taking their invalid out at sunset, but Gilbert overrode her ob- jections, and the four set forth for the park. “The beautiful outdoors,” said Katherine, drawing a deep breath. ‘‘You poor people can- not half appreciate it.”’ “ Won’t Jasper be surprised to see you! ”’ ejacu- lated Mrs. Ormond with satisfaction. “You are not disobeying him, are you, Katherine, dear?”’ “Tt is Katherine’s ankle,” said Madeline shortly. “I suppose she can tell better than Jasper how it feels to step on it.” “The needles are nearly all gone out of it,” said Katherine. ‘I am really encouraged to-day to believe that I am out of light prison at last for good.” “You must do just as Jasper says, however,” returned Mrs. Ormond with unction. “I wonder what he will say when he sees you!”’ _ But the young doctor was not to see his patient to-day. He was not in the spacious, shaded, fire- lit room, where the guests were shown. Miss McKnight arose from the group around the hearth and greeted Katherine with enthusiasm. “How good of you all to bring her here on her first outing. That is as it should be. We are enjoying blindman’s holiday, and you can scarcely see each other,” she went on; “but here is my brother, whom you all know, and here are Miss Laird and Mr. Sheldon, whom some of you know, 134 THE WISE WOMAN. Tam certain. Mrs. Ormond, Miss Ormond, Miss Madeline, and Mr. Gilbert Ormond.” Mrs. Ormond gasped. Madeline pinched her- self, Katherine beamed, Gilbert smiled, the whole group standing and hovering about one another like ghosts in the fantastic firelight, while Fritz Sheldon helped the ‘hostess to offer more chairs, and seat her guests. Katherine managed to glide into a place next Marguerite. ‘You were so kind to come in and ask for me the other day,” she said, with charac- teristic pretty earnestness. . “It is a pleasant surprise to see you out again,” returned Marguerite. “Those miserable sprains lay one up still longer sometimes.” Mrs. Ormond began to inquire of Mr. Me- Knight concerning his health with a fervent solici- tude and detail which would have charmed a hypochondriac, but which caused that hale old gentleman to wonder what in the name of sense the woman was after; while Madeline clung as tenaciously to Miss McKnight, and Gilbert, feel- ing that he had come to the pleasantest sort of — surprise party, began to recount to his friend Sheldon the obstacles which a perverse Fate had thrown in the way of his visiting him. “Jasper will be so sorry to have missed you,” said Miss McKnight to Madeline. “TI believe he is usually at Dr. Granbury’s at this hour,” returned the girl, speaking at random. “No, not so early as this. To-day is some special occasion.” ‘ MARGUERITE CONSULTS THE ORACLE. 185 “T dare say he made one,” thought Madeline, “and who can blame him?” She was still un- comfortably stirred by the surprise of finding Marguerite in house dress sitting en famille at this exclusive fireside. As soon as Mrs. Ormond decently could, she determined to rid herself of the objectionable sight of her daughter’s happy ¢éte-w-tete in the corner with the milliner. “You know it really will not do for us to stay excepting for the most formal call to-day, dear Miss McKnight. It is Katherine’s first venture, and Jasper would have a right to scold us if we kept her out after it gets too cold. Gilbert, come, dear. Madeline, are you ready ?”’ “A half an hour more or less won’t make a particle of difference,” protested Gilbert, who was deep in a discussion with Sheldon of a new by-law proposed for the Athletic Club. “Let me be the judge to-day,” said Mrs. Or- mond suavely. ‘We will go at once, please.” They did go at once, and dead silence fell upon the party as they drove through the park, where the snow lay pure white and heavy on the ever- green boughs, and a new moon shone through the skeleton branches of the elms. “Tom Sheldon has fallen on his feet,” an- | nounced Gilbert cheerily, at last. “Ts he taken into the club?” asked Madeline quickly. “Oh, that isn’t settled yet. It is something 136 THE WISE WOMAN. “more important. He has a good position in the — McKnight Works. It suits him down to the ground, and that he suits it was pretty well proved just now.” | “‘T— should — think so!” returned Mrs. Or- mond impressively. ‘That then explains it,” she added after a minute, in a relieved tone. “I couldn’t possibly understand the situation, but this makes it clear. Mr. McKnight must: indeed value that young man to have asked Edna to show him such civility, and of course he could not be invited without his sister. Miss McKnight’s _ Sundays are so quiet, I suppose she thought no- body would know. It was our evil genius which suggested our going up there to-day. Poor Edna, how she must have felt to see us file in; but she behaved well, I must say. Her self-possession — was as natural as ever.” “Tt is just possible that she was not disturbed,” suggested Katherine. “T wasn’t at all pleased with you, my dear,” returned her mother severely. ‘‘ Your manner to that young woman was intimate, almost’ affection- ate. Can we not induce you to have any fore- sight? ”’ ‘Don’t you want me to be nice to the Wise Woman’s friends?” asked the girl demurely, happy excitement sparkling in her eyes. ‘ “Miss McKnight’s wisdom will surely prove equal to this occasion,” returned Mrs. Ormond dryly. ‘She has done this to please her brother, MARGUERITE CONSULTS THE ORACLE. 1387 but you notice Jasper was not in evidence. Mark my words, he regrets now his foolish action in behalf of that Sheldon. What does an old man like Robert McKnight know of social laws? You will make a grand mistake if you count on Miss McKnight to uphold you in the course you would like to take. If you had her age and position, you could venture upon such an action as hers this afternoon, but you have n’t, remember.” So Mrs. Ormond arrived home soothed by her generous compassion for her old friend discovered in an awkward situation, and by dint of dwelling upon Miss McKnight’s probable discomfort she became once more reconciled to the world. The object of her commiseration had at once upon the guests’ departure seated herself again by Miss Laird. “T am so glad Miss Ormond happened in,” she said heartily. ‘I know it was a pleasure to her to find you here.” “She is always very cordial,” returned Mar- guerite. _ “Oh, she’s a nice girl!” declared Miss Me- Knight, speaking half to herself. “Her mother objected to her cordiality in this instance.”’ “Did you think so?” “T am sure of it.” The girl regarded her entertainer with a doubtful yet winning smile. “Miss Katherine has just been reminding me that you are her Wise Woman whom she told me of 138 THE WISE WOMAN. some time ago. That must explain the strong desire you have aroused in me to confide in you and consult you. Perhaps it is not right for me to begin at the very first opportunity to take your thought for my personal affairs, but the time and place are tempting. My brother is so engrossed with Mr. McKnight just now that he will not hear me. I want to ask you an important ques- tion.” “Ask, my dear. What are old women for but to help young ones?”’ “Oh, how fortunate I am,” said Marguerite with a fervor that touched her hostess, “that such a woman as you should have come to take an interest in me! I can lean so firmly on what you say.’ Marguerite’s strong and magnetic personality was such that Miss McKnight felt this speech to be flattering. “This is the question: How much difference would it make in my brother’s career to be in society ?”’ “Not so much as if he were a professional man.” “But it would make some difference?” “Oh, good society is a good thing in modera- tion. If your brother rises to be a successful busi- ness man, he will have some social duties, — make a society of his own, perhaps.” 1 “My questions may sound foolish to you, Miss McKnight, for Fritz and I were two country chil- MARGUERITE CONSULTS THE ORACLE. 189 dren who, as we grew up, managed to get an edu- cation, and coming to a strange place have started life in a humble way, as you know. You proba- bly in your heart think it absurd that social ques- tions should vex me. They would not, I assure you, if my conscience would let them rest. We are very content. Fritz loves his work and I love mine. If it were only for my own pleasure, I am sure I should go on making things for women to wear on their heads. In the horse-cars and in shops I am always in my mind concocting arrange- ments to make the plain women look distinguished, and the pretty ones beautiful.” Miss McKnight laughed softly. “It is a clear ease of art for art’s sake,’’ she murmured. “So you see our obscurity is nothing to me, but I cannot rid myself of the feeling that without me Fritz would cease to be obscure. He is edu- eated, he is presentable. In a dress suit he might pass for one of the Four Hundred.” Marguerite gave a sad little smile. “Have I any right to stay with him; have [’’ — A dry sob caught in the girl’s throat, and she stopped for half a minute, then continued, — “This is the first time I have expressed my feeling to any one. It would be folly to speak of it to Fritz, for he would laugh down the very idea of my leaving him; but I am dreadfully certain that I shall be, am already, a drawback to him. _ Straws show which way the wind blows. I called | at the Ormonds’ a few days ago to ask for Miss 140 THE WISE WOMAN. Katherine, and hoped I might see her. Miss Madeline received me. She also dismissed me. I need not go into detail. She was civil, but she showed me unmistakably that a call from Mar- guerite was presumption. See how plainly I talk to you. I surprise myself.” “Did you tell your brother of your experi- ence? ”’ ““No, indeed. The least hurt to me is a severe one tohim. If I go away from Montaigne, — if I leave him, it will have to be done in a way to quiet utterly his suspicion that it is for his sake.” — “You would dread to go away from him?” asked Miss McKnight kindly. “Fritz is my world,” answered Marguerite quietly. ‘From the time we lost our mother and — oa ee were separated, it was the one thing I lived and _ worked for, to rejoin him. We have been so — happy until this little gnawing question crept into — my heart. Dr. McKnight has proposed him at — a fashionable club. My mind leaps forward and — sees what will come later. Social affairs where Fritz might be popular but for me, and although he would say and feel that he cared nothing for that sort of success and laugh the whole idea to scorn, I know it would be to his advantage to meet socially people of refinement and position. We have n’t that valuable heritage of cultivation — that descends to those whose fathers and grand- fathers were brought up in homes where the best | books and pictures and music were familiar topics, MARGUERITE CONSULTS THE ORACLE. 141. people whose every minute was not occupied in- the strife for daily bread. Our fathers and grand- fathers kept country stores and worked on their farms, and our heritage is health and ambition. I want Fritz’s children to be born in a desirable social circle; not a fashionable one, necessarily, but an intellectual one. They go together usually, don’t they ?”’ “Very often they do,” replied Miss McKnight. Marguerite heaved a deep, unconscious sigh. ‘Sometimes I wish I had come here, and, without trying to earn anything, lived on bread and water with him until he was fairly launched, or, better yet, not have come at all until he was on his feet. Yet how much pleasure we should have missed that our mutual affection and sympathy have afforded us. We could not know how long his probation would continue, and [ felt elated and jubilant to find I could really help him. Alas, to think that very assistance is the crime he and I must both be punished for now. Is n’t there something wrong, Miss McKnight, when my in- dustry alone is considered to unfit me for associa- tion with people no better born or educated?” “There is, my dear. Happily, it is not a large element in our country which looks down on trade, and the equality of the sexes which is slowly being recognized will bring about a new state of things. Women in the professions are socially eligible already, and some day a woman milliner will hold _ as good a position as a man milliner does to-day.” 142 THE WISE WOMAN. “It goes through me like a knife to think of leaving Fritz.” The girl shivered. “Don’t think of it until I have ‘thought. Brains that have worked as many years as mine move slowly. Keep up heart, Miss Marguerite. Your fears are perhaps like gigantic shadows on a curtain. toe. | THE ATHLETIC CLUB BALL. 179 Mrs. Ormond, who was nursing a small secret injury of her own. “I trust she is Wise Woman enough to know what to wear. Her evening gowns must be two years old, the newest of them.” “Follow my example,”’ smiled Katherine, “and always trust the Wise Woman.” Her faith in this case was justified a little later. Miss McKnight knew how to be splendid, and she chose to be so this evening. As she stood in the bower assigned to the reception committee, her appearance was imposing. Her trailing gown was black velvet, the front of the corsage frosted white with precious lace. In her fleecy hair stood an aigrette of quivering diamonds, and the same jewels flashed upon her bosom. Beside her, ap- parently no less reposeful and self-possessed in manner, stood the girl she had chosen as her aid, a girl who proved the sensation of the evening both to those who knew who she was, and to the many who either had never looked upon her face, or else now failed to recognize her. Her dress was lustrous white, with short, puffed sleeves. Her smooth neck rose from a frill of white chiffon, and her head was set on those fine shoulders with the proud poise of strength and beauty.. She carried marguerites, and in her coppery hair they lay or lifted their frank faces at the most fortunate and becoming angle. She was a distinguished specimen of girl- hood. The other young creatures serving on the same committee, showing their pleasurable excite- 2 hae? . § \ JRO THE WISE WOMAN. ment by talking and laughing at the same mo- ment, did not show to advantage beside the quiet — maiden with her gracious, grave countenance, whose every word and smile, although apparently spontaneous, was anxiously weighed. The Wise Woman had indeed taken the bull by the horns. The audacity of the arrangement caused a great strain upon Marguerite. Nothing less than that inheritance of pluck and stamina that had come down to her from the pioneers whose names were on those mossy stones in the Pokonet cemetery could have carried her through it. One of the most painful realizations possible — to a woman of her temperament was upon her. To feel that she was where she was not welcome; that she was among people who looked down upon her, who believed her to be pushing, and consid- ered her elated by the prominent position which she had succeeded in temporarily, securing, — all this was misery which turned her pale. She felt like one in a dream while hearing Miss Me- Knight’s pleasant voice repeat: ‘Allow me to present my young friend Miss Laird. Let me introduce you to my friend Miss Laird. 7 helieve you know my friend Miss Laird.” The reply to this latter form was nearly always courteous, but the girl sometimes detected a glance or a gesture which, in her acutely sensitive state, was felt like a dagger thrust. Involuntarily, her eyes often roved about the hall in search of Fritz, to gather.new strength from THE ATHLETIC CLUB BALL. ° 181 a glimpse of his broad shoulders, if she could not see his face. Dr. McKnight was personally conducting him about the room, introducing him, and spicing each introduction with remarks which made stiffness impossible, and heightened Fritz’s impression that McKnight was a most friendly and pleasant fel- low, although he was leagues away from a suspi- cion of the importance of the favor that was being done him. He had joined a club which had invited him to a party, and he was glad for Rita’s sake. She used to enjoy dancing so much, he hoped she would have a good time. She certainly looked stunning in that shiny white dress, and it was very fortunate that Miss McKnight could help her to get acquainted with the Montaigne people. Marguerite used to hold silly notions about not being received in society. Ha, ha! That was a good one. He watched her, looking like a prin- cess and inclining graciously as guest followed euest, and he determined to tease her a little to- morrow. There were a number of pretty girls here. Fritz liked to look at them. He happened to be glancing toward the door when the Ormonds en- tered, and his eyes grew bright as he saw Made- line in her nymph-like garb. “What a fairy she is!” he thought. He had forgiven the Ormond family the wound they had dealt him through this representative. They were ey er 182 THE WISE WOMAN. all very civil to him. Evidently they knew no- thing of that fortnight whose experiences closed one chapter in his life and changed him from boy to man. As the Ormonds entered, they flashed looks of | amazement at one another. Madeline’s heart pounded as loudly as Katherine’s, but it was not quickened by the same sentiments. She was even more jealous than angry. It was too bad of Miss McKnight; it was too bad of Jasper; the whole world was at fault in that that Hodgson creature should have been chosen to fill the post of honor rather than her own sylph-like self. | “Let us go to Mrs. Arnold,” she said chokingly to her mother. “It is not necessary to speak to Miss McKnight at once.” “Very well, my pet,’”’ murmured Mrs. Ormond sympathetically. The crowd in that portion of the room made it easy for their quartette to approach the receiving — party at different points, and Katherine and Gil-_ bert, with one mute look of mutual congratulation, _ found their way to the Wise Woman with all haste. “At last, tardy ones!’’ was the latter’s greet- ing. “Miss Laird, I am sure, is glad to see your face in a place of strangers.”’ Katherine took Marguerite’s hand with a seri- ous, sweet look, and, in defiance of all rules of etiquette, deliberately gave her her first kiss. “Not half so glad as we are to see hers,” she _ answered quietly. THE ATHLETIC CLUB BALL. 183 Marguerite could not speak, and the revulsion of feeling she experienced might have been dan- gerous to her self-control had Gilbert not stood there, claiming her attention. _ “T believe the last time I saw you, Miss Laird, you put on my hat for me,” he said. “T often put on hats for people,”’ she answered, with the ghost of her mischievous smile. Miss McKnight’s alert eyes were studying the young man’s face. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she spoke authoritatively. “Gilbert, I am going to give you the honor of _making up Miss Laird’s card.” “TY shall dance with Fritz only, I think, to- night, dear Miss McKnight,’ said Marguerite, turning beseeching eyes upon her chaperone. “Oh, now, we can’t have that!” exclaimed Gilbert. “Indeed we cannot,” added Miss McKnight. “Go right about it, young man, and mind you select people who will make a good showing of Montaigne’s terpsichorean abilities.”’ Marguerite felt crushed by a horrible prospect of unwilling, perfunctory partners, whose sisters would chaff them to-morrow. “T feel ill,” she murmured, “really.” _ The Wise Woman fixed her with her bright, steady gaze. “Look into my eyes. I don’t think _ you know how attractive you are. You must not feel ill yet. An hour or two hence we will dis- cuss it.” 184 THE WISE WOMAN. “T shall take two myself, if I may,” said Gil- bert, drawing his sister back again to make his remark. Miss McKnight waved him off with her fan. “You have us quite at your mercy. Good even- ing, Mrs. Allington. Let me present to you my _ friend Miss Laird.” “Thunder!” groaned Gilbert, as they moved away. “Did you hear me talk shop to her the first thing I did?” Katherine squeezed his arm excitedly. “You — poor boy, you looked so crestfallen for a second; but did you ever see such a pair? The Wise Woman looks like a duchess, and I never saw a pictured princess who appeared more royal — than Miss Laird; but she doesn’t like that po- sition. I can imagine she has suffered to-night, and I am so glad the dancing will begin before — long.” ‘/ “Do you think so?” indignantly. “The devil — take the women!”’ “Including your mother and sister? ” “What has become of them? I don’t believe they have gone near her.”” Gilbert looked about wrathfully. , “Never mind. Idon’t worry much. One thing mother will never wittingly do, nor let Madeline do either, is to offend the Wise Woman.” “There they are, over there. I gee a row of four swallow-tails, and probably Madeline is be- hind them. I will leave you with the mater, — | THE ATHLETIC CLUB BALL. 185 Katherine, for I have my hands full. I wish I could take every one of her dances myself,” added Gilbert. “Mother would be so pleased!” returned his sister. ‘‘ Be cool and sensible, as you always are, Gilbert. Remember, you are going to do your part now to make her a success. Even if you don’t have one dance with her yourself, it is no matter.” “Indeed. Is that your idea? Strange how opinions differ, isn’t it? II have two dances with her, if it’s the last act. Mother, here is your other swan. Remember, you have the first with me, Katherine. Au revoir,” and he departed swiftly. “What is Gilbert’s hurry?” asked Mrs. Or- mond, who had been on the point of detaining _ him. “Miss McKnight asked him to fill Miss Laird’s eard, so the double duty makes him busy.” - Mrs. Ormond stared and then burst into a little laugh. “Katherine, I feel that I am growing hysterical. Is Edna McKnight in her dotage? What effrontery to press my children into her service! See Jasper towing that Sheldon about. What a bore for the poor boy! It is a wonder : “you aren’t made to stand up there and hold my | lady’s train. I must say Edna is making the most of her little brief authority.” “Be very careful, mother,” murmured Kather- ine. ‘You are excited, and you may say some- é *- = ¥ 186 THE WISE WOMAN. thing to some one else that you will be sorry for to-morrow. Be prudent, dear. See how sweet Madeline looks; those men are almost quarreling for her dances.” In the midst of the girl’s soothing words, Betty Arnold’s brother Edward advanced and greeted Katherine and her mother. “Do tell me,” he said, “ who is that stunning | girl Miss McKnight just introduced me to? I think she said her name was Laird or Caird.”’ “Laird is the name,” returned Katherine, press- ing her foot against her mother’s, for she felt her quivering to speak. | “Visiting the McKnights, I suppose,” went on the young man. “I have long been wishing to eall on Miss McKnight. I shall not put it off another twenty-four hours.”’ | “No,” replied Katherine; “Miss Laird has come to Montaigne to live, and Miss McKnight likes her very much, and is introducing her, as she lives alone here with her half-brother, Mr. Shel- — don. He is over there with Dr. McKnight.” “Oho. Is that fellow with the biceps her brother? I’ve met him here at the gym. Well, she has a big brother, sure enough. I should n’t want to offend her.” | “You would like to dance with her, though, I’m sure. You know your dancing isn’t offen- — sive. Gilbert has her card. You will have to make love to him.” “Thanks awfully for the tip. Ill take yours THE ATHLETIC CLUB BALL. 187 first, though, if I may. Are you going to let me have two? Mrs. Ormond, can’t I have two?” When the rather noisy young gentleman had withdrawn, Mrs. Ormond bent reproachful eyes on her elder daughter. “T see you are determined to do all you can,” she said. Katherine gave her mother’s hand a_ filial squeeze. ‘You have always been trying to instill into me what you call a little worldly wisdom,” she answered. “Take a leaf out of your own book, and yield gracefully to the movement of the popular tide.” “TY never asked you to help make the tide.” “Oh, I am the least influential of persons. Madeline, now, might head a faction against Marguerite; but would it be dignified, or redound to her credit? There is nothing to worry about, mother,” added Katherine, who understood that it was Marguerite’s beauty and temporary promi- nence which incensed Madeline and, through her, her mother. ‘People find their own level very soon. The Wise Woman cannot buoy up these friends any length of time. Just watch results; and meanwhile, mamma,”’ Katherine looked at her mother coaxingly, “just suppose you and Made- line had left me, and Gilbert and I were alone in a strange town. Would you not be glad to have people kind to us? There is Mr. Sheldon going up to Madeline now.” Katherine finished as qui- _ etly as she had begun; but her heart gave a queer other interview. CHAPTER XIV. THE SPELL OF THE WALTZ. Tue little skirmish which had taken place over Madeline’s programme before her admirers with. drew had restored something of that young lady’s habitual complacence; and when Dr. McKnight approached and presented his companion, she beamed upon the latter with arch grace. Jasper said something about the first dance, and then vanished, leaving Sheldon stranded near the siren who had once proved so dangerous to his peace. “This is a brilliant sight,” he said, in his slow, quiet speech. “I never saw so many diamonds together.” : _ “There now,” she replied, “you spoiled your remark by the addition. I am not wearing a single diamond. I thought you were compliment- ing the glitter of my silver.” Fritz paused, and scrutinized her prettiness. You look like a mermaid,” he said. This declaration caused Madeline to flush vio- lently. She expected that the chance simile would embarrass the speaker as well, or had he said it purposely? Had he never been able to forget 190 THE WISE WOMAN. her? The thought was full of charm; for all his undesirable connections could not dim the fact that her companion was, so far as looks went, the finest man in the room. “Poor little mermaid, so far from the sea!” she answered coquettishly. “Have you been going down to Pokonet since the summer we were there together?” Sheldon’s voice was so calm and friendly that Madeline heard it in surprise. How strange that he should mention the place to her. “I haven’t been there since,” she replied, preferring to believe in his duplicity rather than to accept the unpalatable fact that he had not asked the Hodgsons about her. ‘Dear old Po- konet,”’ she added pensively. “We can’t feel quite the same about any other resort. Childish associations are so strong and sweet.” “T have a variety of associations with Pokonet,” returned Fritz. The remark was all very well. It was the tone of it which displeased Madeline. ‘My childish ones cannot be so pleasant as yours. © I was a very homesick boy, there.” ““How about the later experiences? ” questioned Madeline mentally, and she flung a quick glance at the speaker. He caught it in his strong gaze, and the unpleasant suspicion assailed her that he would be calmly willing she should look through © the windows of his soul and see all that was 3 there. ‘ She took her determination quickly. “TI can- iy a THE SPELL OF THE WALTZ. 191 not say that I have anything but childish associa- tions with Pokonet,” she said, with a careless shrug. “I fancied myself quite grown up that last summer I visited the place, but now I know what an irresponsible child I really was. Girls will be girls, and behave idiotically at times. I am sure I gave the Hodgsons a great deal of trou- ble, and you did not escape. I wasn’t always obedient to the bathing-master, as I recall those rather hazy experiences.” “Yes, I was sometimes afraid you would get in too deep.” No word of his own danger of getting in too deep. Madeline was justly indignant. How dif- ferent these looks and words from the impassioned fragmentary ones which no subsequent love-mak- ing had been able to obliterate from her memory. Had she dreamed it that this cool, self-possessed man once turned red and white at her lightest speech, and was swayed by her glance in any direction she listed? She was’ deeply piqued. ‘What a pity he does n’t dance!” was her swift thought. ‘I shall not be able to meet him again to-night.” Then suddenly Gilbert approached, his eyes alight with interest. ‘Here, Sheldon, do you care anything about having a dance with your sister ?”’ he asked briskly. “Of course I do. Is it time for me to go to her?’”’ Sheldon turned to excuse himself from Madeline when Gilbert’s hand fell on his arm. i 192 THE WISE WOMAN. “‘Not at all,” he responded gayly. “I’m your man. If you treat me with proper deference, I will let you have a dance.” | Madeline stared, and Sheldon smiled. “You have my sister’s card there? Why, that is very good of you. I suppose Rita is rather too busy to take care of it herself.”’ “Yes. To tell the truth, I have saved you two numbers. The first and.last.” ‘“‘T’m sure you are very kind,” answered Shel- don, more amused than Madeline by Giulbert’s manner as he affixed his initials to the blank spaces. ‘I think I would better be getting my ~ own card and writing down these important en- gagements,” he added, and with a bow to Made- line, he turned away, without, she angrily con- sidered, one word to beseech her to save him a dance. ‘He will find out I am not so easily to be had — when he wants me,” she thought. ‘What are you doing with Miss Laird’s card?” she asked — aloud of her brother, who was absorbed in study- ing the same. ““T have filled it, at the Wise Woman’s request. See here, Madeline. How’s this? Pretty good selection, isn’t it?” Gilbert displayed the closely written pages which promised Miss Laird a busy — night of it. Madeline pushed away the autographs of her admirers with a decided movement. ‘ What is it to me!” she said, so much fierceness in her low — THE SPELL OF THE WALTZ. 193 tone that her brother stared at her with round eyes. ‘Where ’s your card, Maidie?” he asked, after a pause. “I’m not down there yet.” “Tt is full.” “Oh, come now. Conventionality doesn’t go so far as to demand that a man shall believe that when his sister says it.” “Believe it or not, as you like.” “Don’t be crusty,” coaxingly. “It won’t be any kind of an evening without a dance with you.” “How many have you taken with the milliner?”’ “Two, but I want two with you. My card isn’t anywhere near full.” “Mine is, I told you. Good-evening, Mr. Arnold. My card? Certainly, only don’t take number ten. I am saving that for a rest.” “As if we didn’t know what that means!” returned Arnold pensively. ‘I wish I were the man you are going to sit it out with.” “T will sit out your dance with pleasure, if you prefer.” “TY don’t like your sister’s tone of alacrity, Ormond. Do you suppose she is reflecting on my dancing? Ill tell you, Miss Madeline, let me have two, and we can sit out one of them.” “No, you can’t have two,” returned the little autocrat decidedly. Arnold, with an ostentatious sigh, wrote his name on the card. 194 THE WISE WOMAN. Gilbert bit his lip and regarded his sister. “Sure you are not saving number ten for me?” he asked briefly. “Sure,” she answered, and he turned on his heel. Number ten was a waltz, and Madeline had suddenly decided to save it for Fritz Sheldon; but it may as well be stated here that he never came for it. Except for this blank, her card was full when Dr. McKnight approached and offered his arm. ‘I have been so busy this evening, I have not looked after my own interests with my accustomed strict attention. Am I going to have your last — dance?” “IT am afraid not,’ said Madeline, throwing a flattering tinge of regret into her tone. “Nor a second one at all?” “I’m afraid not, unless I give you the number 3 I have saved for a rest. Mother insists upon — that. She keeps up the interesting little fiction — that I am delicate. Nothing was ever more ab- surd.”’ “Your daughter is libeling you;” the doctor paused a moment to address Mrs. Ormond, as they passed her. “T have n’t a doubt of it,’’ returned the mother, casting proud eyes on her youngest. “Jasper, I wonder what you will think of Katherine’s dan- cing all the evening,” she added anxiously. “I tell her I don’t know about her filling her pro- gramme.” THE SPELL OF THE WALTZ. 195 “T don’t, either,’ said Katherine, with her merry glance. “It isn’t full yet. I’m about discouraged.” “Oh, I know, you are saving another for me. You are n’t so cruel as your sister.” “No, I’m never so cruel as Madeline at a dance. I haven’t another for you, though. You need n’t stop. I like variety in my partners.” “Then seeing there isn’t a secona chance for me, I will advise you not to dance every time, Miss Katherine. It would be a risk.” The couple moved on, and as they did so Made- line perceived Fritz Sheldon approaching her sis- ter. Her interest was so great to know what they were going to say to each other that she could scarcely pay attention to her partner. She con- sidered, however, that her mother would prove a trusty reporter. Katherine looked up with a welcoming smile, and, in spite of Mrs. Ormond’s haughty inclina- tion of the head, the new-comer showed that he was pleased to discover friends. “I suppose it is a late hour to ask to see a young lady’s card,” he said. “Not too late for mine,” replied Katherine — brightly. She handed it to him as he spoke. “Oh, you have three left,” remarked Shel- don, as he examined it. ‘May I have one of them?” “Certainly,” replied Katherine, and her suspi- cious mother objected to her tone, and told her 196 THE WISE WOMAN. next day that she might as well have ejaculated: “Do take all three!” “You may have to excuse her when the time comes, Mr. Sheldon,” said Mrs. Ormond, with impressive gravity. ‘‘My daughter’s dancing through a long programme is an experiment.” “Of course,” agreed the young man genially. “After all, the sociability of the occasion is the main point. If Miss Ormond will let me talk to her, I shall be satisfied.’ “Has no idea of his place,” thought Mrs. Or- mond, irritated. ‘“‘Doesn’t seem to have the least notion that chatting with Katherine isn’t just as appropriate business for him as it is for Ed Arnold.” “You don’t care for dancing, particularly, then,” said Katherine, looking up at him and tap- ping one of her round arms with her downy fan. “He will probably tread on me,” she thought, “but I don’t care.”’ “Perhaps I do,” Sheldon answered. “I have never had very much time to think about it. My sister is fond enough of it for the family. You know Marguerite is an enthusiast.” Mrs. Ormond cleared her throat. From her seat she could catch the fitful blaze of the Wise Woman’s jewels, and the graceful lines of the white figure beside her. “Your sister will be very tired to-morrow, I am sure. Fancy thinking of dancing after es there so long,’’ she said curtly. THE SPELL OF THE WALTZ. 197 “Tf any girl can endure it, Marguerite can,” responded the brother, his grave face lighting with his slow, bright smile. ‘She is strong.”’ Mrs. Ormond distinguished her son’s fair head as Gilbert hurried toward Miss McKnight. “Here is your card, Miss Laird,” he said. “I hope you will be pleased with the way I have car- ried out my very pleasant mission. You see your brother comes first, I second (that’s my perqui- site, and there’s another one a little further down), and Dr. McKnight third.”’ “And I wish that was all, I assure you,’’ re- turned Marguerite, faintly smiling. “I thank you though, sincerely, Mr. Ormond.” “Bie, don’t say such crazy things, child; and, Gilbert, be careful you don’t repeat nonsense! If Miss Laird feels as I do, I don’t wonder she wants to get into some soft cushioned corner and rest; but exercise will rest her.” “We will sit out one of our dances, if you wish,” Gilbert was saying when Madeline and Dr. McKnight approached, the former most re- luctantly. Miss McKnight’s keen eyes were upon her, and she assumed an innocent expression. “Good evening, Madeline; I haven’t seen you before, you little wood nymph.” “T have,” said Marguerite, and Madeline did not love her at the moment she touched her hand. Miss Laird instinctively knew Madeline to be one of her bitterest opponents. “From our place 198 THE WISE WOMAN. > here,” she continued, “we overlook all the cos- tumes in the hall; and the gown I selected as the prettiest any girl was wearing, I found adorned Miss Madeline Ormond, when-you came a little nearer.” “It is very sweet of you to say so,” returned Madeline, still leaning on Dr. McKnight’s arm; and it was sweet of Marguerite, there is no doubt of that, but it was sincere, too, and if she had not looked so beautiful in her modesty and grace as she said it, Madeline could almost have liked her for it, especially as Dr. McKnight went on in his usual half-humorous, half-earnest fashion : — “Oh, that is the usual thing, Miss Laird. Miss Madeline Ormond’s costumes are not mere gowns, they are events.” , “Your nephew always makes fun of me, Miss McKnight,” pouted Madeline, wondering if the Wise Woman’s splendid diamonds were her per- sonal property, or family jewels which might be expected to revert to Jasper’s wife. “Too bad, too bad, dear,’ returned Miss Me- Knight, touching the girl under her chin with her — fan. The musicians modulated from the march they had been playing into the swaying rhythm of a | waltz, and Fritz Sheldon crossed the hall toward — his sister. ‘ Marguerite, with much gay energy, had con- ducted dancing classes in the little flat each even- _ ing of the past week, and her brother had some of THE SPELL OF THE WALTZ. 199 their experiences in mind as he smilingly ap- proached her now. Marguerite could but marvel at his nonchalant expression, which betrayed so different a mental state from her own. The muscles of her face felt stiff, and there was tension throughout her body “Do you trust me?” asked Fritz, ax he drew near. ‘My sister has been rubbing up my ac- complishments,”’ he added, addressing Miss Mc- Knight. “And to some purpose, I have no doubt,” was the confident answer. ‘Brains tell, whether they are applied to dancing or to the perfecting of a steam gauge. Now school is out, Marguerite. Go and have a good time. Business before pleas- ure, but sometimes pleasure is business, remem- ber.” Marguerite understood the significant gaze that accompanied these brisk words. She knew that the next grim duty was to enjoy herself; to be easily amused, and to amuse. It was no time yet for passivity. She felt the truth of this, but oh, what rest it was to drop her hand upon Fritz’s strong encir- eling arm, and be borne out upon the slippery floor without need for speech, the alien world obscured temporarily by a big broadcloth shoul- der. Sheldon’s anxious responsibility in the novel _ business of guiding monopolized his attention, and 200 THE WISE WOMAN. Marguerite rested, rested, to the sweep of the good music, floating hither and thither with the absence of effort belonging to a dancer both born and made. ‘Hi, there!”’ exclaimed Sheldon once. ‘We nearly ran into Miss Madeline. She wouldn’t have much chance if we should hit her.” He laughed with some nervousness. “Say, Rita, how is this?’’ he added exultantly. “There isn’t so much carnage as I expected, eh?” “Tt is fine, Fritz,” murmured the girl. “I wish I could dance with you all the evening.” ““Pshaw! You don’t either,” was the delighted — response. “I do seem to catch on, though, don’t. I?” he added, transported with the idea that the — party was being a grand success. How jolly it — was for Rita to get out of her rut! He didn’t © believe she had ever had such a good time in her — life. “Oh! Didn’t see them! Excuse me,” he nodded toward Gilbert and Katherine, with whom — he had collided sharply. ‘“ Eternal vigilance seems — to be the price, et cetera,” he added, as Gilbert nodded and smiled in return. Marguerite slipped easily back into step with him after the jar, and did not attempt to raise her eyes above her temporary and blessed barri- — cade. ‘““Who else have you on your card?” she asked. “Nobody except Miss Ormond.” “Madeline? ” “No, the other. I relied on the reputation you | am THE SPELL OF THE WALTZ. 201 gave her for amiability, and went in. Wish now I hadn’t been such a modest violet. Ah there! Just missed those heavy weights. I’m getting along allright. It isn’t such a bore as | expected. You must look alive, and dodge, and it gives you something to think of.”’ This naive tribute to the pleasures of the dance brought a smile to Marguerite’s lips. “I hope you have several numbers with me then, at least,”’ she said. “Only one more. The last one.” “Fritz! Why, Fritz, how unkind!” She spoke with feeling. “Tt ’s just the violet business again,” he replied, troubled. ‘Ormond said I could have two, and I took them. JI wish now I had spoken a word for myself. The next time, Rita— Look out,” but _ the threatening couple circled harmlessly by. The next time! Marguerite groaned in spirit; but she would not look forward. Too soon came the slight acceleration in the music which preluded the close of the dance. Fritz did not guess the significance of the pres- sure which Marguerite gave his hand as the last chord sounded. He found her a seat and fanned her, justly proud of the way he had acquitted himself. Taking up her card, he ran his eye over its contents. “Well, you won’t have a chance to miss me,” he remarked at last. ‘Ormond is next, and here | he comes now. I can watch your good time even 202 THE WISE WOMAN. if I’m not in it. The only thing left for me to do is to bid you a long farewell. See here, Or- mond, I wasn’t very bright to let you cut me off with a couple of my sister’s dances.” “It will teach you to be more wide-awake next time,” responded Gilbert cheerfully. ‘However, I think I treated you magnanimously. You can’t expect to see much of Miss Laird this evening. There are plenty of other fellows’ sisters here.” Marguerite was borne off with one yearning backward glance at Fritz, who stood and looked on admiringly as she and Gilbert glided in among the dancers. “T wonder if I went as well as that,” he thought. “No, I couldn’t be as indifferent to rocks ahead as Ormond. Wonder how he does it? Rita can dance, for a fact.” A smart bump and an injured glance from the couple who had encountered him reminded Fritz that he was cumbering the ground, and he with- drew to safer quarters. Gilbert’s bright friendliness caused Marguerite — to feel pleasantly protected still. “T shall live on the anticipation of our next,” — _ he said, when the dance was finished and he was wielding her fan. “If I had known all I do now, Miss Laird, it would n’t have been safe to let me | fill your card. Let me see, where do I come?” He lifted the dangling pasteboard and examined it. “McKnight is next, and the mischief of it is McKnight dances like a breeze. I don’t think it THE SPELL OF THE WALTZ. 203 is according to the fitness of things for a sawbones to dance as well as he does. He will make you forget all about me.”’ “T enjoyed that very much,” replied Margue- rite, almost as loth to part with this frank flatterer as she had been with Fritz. Gilbert’s eyes nar- rowed and twinkled something like Katherine’s when he laughed, and she liked him. “Then keep your memory green for me. Here comes McKnight, bad cess to him. Aren’t you a little previous, Jasper?” asked Gilbert, looking determined not to yield his position. Dr. McKnight smiled. ‘Your mother wishes to know if she can speak to you a moment before the next dance.” There was nothing for it but to go, so Gilbert reluctantly bowed himself away, and the doctor took the seat he had vacated. “Aunt Edna wanted me to tell you that the last hand has been shaken, and that after this she can pursue her pleasant duties as chaperon. Do you see where she has taken her place?”’ “And I can go to her between the dances?” said Marguerite eagerly. “Yes, but pray don’t look as if that were a more agreeable prospect than the dances them- selves.” The girl just glanced at the speaker. He was the Wise Woman’s nephew, but he was also Madeline Ormond’s admirer, perhaps her lover. “T believe you are one of the three people in 204 THE WISE WOMAN. this hall to-night who understand my position,” she said low and briefly. “I.suppose you do not expect more of me than that I should seem to enjoy myself.” Dr. McKnight, conscious of having carefully and generously performed his part, had been feel- ing on very comfortable terms with himself and_ this handsome girl. Her words surprised him unpleasantly. “I don’t see why not,” he answered. “No débutante whom I can remember has made as much of a sensation in Montaigne as you have to-night.” “Do you think I am a child to be pleased with an ambiguous speech like that?” she flashed out. “You are ingenious, but you are taking useless trouble.” Suddenly her cold, haughty look was lost in a brave smile. “Pardon me. TI did not mean to treat you to heroics. I shall not soon forget your kindness to my brother to-night. For _ him I am sure the Athletic Club ball is a grand © success. He was much pleased to find how well he could dance with me. ‘The floor and music are inspiring.” “T am glad they please you,” replied Jasper, almost diffidently. “I hope they may betray you into actual enjoyment before the evening is over.” “I am in a new element, and I dread strangers,”’ she said swiftly. “You, with whom in my life I may have exchanged half a dozen words, seem THE SPELL OF THE WALTZ. 205 comparatively an old friend. Does not that tell the story? But our dance will soon be over.” Her little laugh had a note of bitterness. “Is it any wonder I go shuddering into the cold-water bath?” _ Dr. McKnight’s pulses moved faster. This queenly young creature, writhing in what to her pride was a false position, relied if ever so slightly upon him for support. He understood enough to perceive that she was at bay. “After all,” he said lightly, “you can fancy yourself at a college ball. There it is the custom for girls to dance with a lot of men they never saw before. You will find it not so bad, I pro- phesy. Nevertheless, I thank you for counting me out of the dreaded list. There is the music. Shall we begin before the floor is crowded?” Many were the eyes that followed this couple as they glided forth in the waltz. All Marguerite’s love of this poetry of motion rose in a tide which temporarily submerged her fears as she was lightly, firmly guided hither and thither in movements which naturally fitted her own. For Jasper, he felt a certain exultation in lead- ing this girl whose look a few moments ago had seemed to spurn him. It was in the nature of a triumph to find her so flexible and responsive to his guiding hand. Until the last note of the _ music, they floated on and on, and regret was in both their hearts when the clatter of voices super- seded the rhythmic strains. on oa 206 THE WISE WOMAN. “That was perfect. Forgive me if I have tired — you,” he said. a She met, his look frankly. ‘It rested me,” she — answered. He took her to the seat Miss McKnight had — reserved beside her. That lady looked up with her piercing gaze. “You are a pretty doctor, Jasper. Don’t you know plenty of children have died of skipping the rope? I am sure it is quite possible to die of dancing. You were both courting heart disease that time, I am sure of it.”’ Jasper laughed. ‘‘ Where are those fine theo- ries you bestowed on me lately at the office? What do you mean by putting such pictures into our fearless minds? ”’ “You are a perfect success, my dear,’ whis- pered Miss McKnight, pressing Marguerite’s hand as the latter sank into the place beside her. ‘The women are all spiteful, and the men are enthusi- astic.”’ é The girl looked up, distressed. ‘No, no, 1 didn’t mean anything that should trouble you. They are just spiteful enough to show which way the wind blows. If they were patronizing and kindly, we should have to up and take another.” — “T’ll never take ‘ another,’”’ thought Margue- rite, with vigorous protest; but, after all, the evening ended better than it had begun. Jasper, after a few minutes’ desultory talk, picked up her card. “ Allington is the next lucky Te THE SPELL OF THE WALTZ. 207 man,” he said. ‘I will let him know where you are.”’ Marguerite’s heart sank within her as Dr. Mc- Knight turned away; but presently he returned with her partner, whose quiet, courteous manners soon calmed her shrinking. No healthy girl could have failed to yield to the pleasant exhilaration of the novel evening. After each dance she was restored to her chaperon, who received her with gracious attention as something precious. Each partner, before taking leave of her, brought and presented his successor, and the Wise Woman had an appropriate word for every one. No wonder that by the time Fritz came to claim the last dance, he found a more lively companion than the one with whom he had enjoyed the first. He looked into his sister’s sparkling eyes with approval. “You ’ve had a gay time, haven’t you, Rita?” Marguerite assented; but the next day she kept her bed. Every bone in her body ached, she admitted to Fritz, and he said she had danced too much. She accepted his diagnosis in silence, but she knew that the reaction she was suffering was not from any physical strain. CHAPTER XV. AFTERTHOUGHTS. “THERE is a point, Madeline, beyond which we should be in danger of making ourselves ridicu- lous. Remember that,” said Mrs. Ormond. They two were sitting alone at breakfast the morning after the ball. Katherine and Gilbert had taken an earlier meal in a most congenial — and sympathetic frame of mind, enjoying their unhoped-for solitude « deux with the relish of a pair of successful conspirators. | “I think there is little danger of our being» ridiculous,” returned Madeline. She had the pale, disillusioned appearance which follows upon late . and unsatisfactory hours. 4 “What a surprising and unsophisticated thing — that was for Edna McKnight to do,” went on Mrs. Ormond. “A strange freak to characterize her reappearance in society. Really, it suggests that very rough axiom that there is no fool like an old fool.” “How little you read her, mother,” responded | Madeline. “She never deserved better her title of Wise Woman than she did last night. Of course her effort might fail, may still fail; but | AFTERTHOUGHTS. 209 the boldness of the stroke may capture the success she wishes for her protégée, and no step less ex- treme would have accomplished it.”’ “But why should Miss McKnight take so much trouble —lay herself liable to criticism or ridi- cule? Iam genuinely puzzled.” “What does she care for either criticism or ridicule?’’ rejoined Madeline. “She cares no- thing for society. She has nothing to lose.” “Jasper has, then. Now what do you think, between ourselves, Jasper’s attitude is toward his aunt’s proceeding? Of course I saw that he co- operated with her to the extent of introducing Tom Sheldon ” — “Fritz Sheldon, please,” interrupted the other, with a small, scornful smile. “We knew Tom Sheldon the chrysalis. The stately moth is called Fritz.” “T saw him singeing his wings at your candle, my dear; but you didn’t dance with him. I am afraid you snubbed that aspiring individual.” “Not at all,” returned the girl languidly, her color slowly rising. “T was going to say that it isn’t the part of wisdom to go to either extreme, and I hope you are not going to fall into error on one side while | Katherine and Gilbert err in the opposite direc- tion; for we might as well face the fact that Gil- bert has, as you say, enrolled himself with Kath- erine under the Wise Woman’s banner. Now, dear, I can see,”” Mrs. Ormond’s voice took on a 210 THE WISE WOMAN. coaxing tone, “that you are making yourself un- — happy over this matter, and I must confess, since we are alone, that this fact puzzles me, too. What is it to you if Edna McKnight succeeds in placing her new favorites? You are like her in one respect. You cannot lose anything. Your position is secure.”’ Madeline did not respond at once. Since it was so hard to admit it to herself, she could not | say to her doting mother that the atmosphere of last night’s ball-room had been tangibly inimical — to her girlish sovereignty. Fritz Sheldon had humbled her pride, she did not dream how uncon-_ sciously. Each one of her partners had sung Marguerite’s praises with more or less excitement. : The stranger’s unheralded charms and her grace- ful dancing had manifestly captured the male , element in Montaigne society, and to Madeline it : was small comfort to recollect how little that made _ for Miss Laird’s permanent social success. It was enough bitterness that the milliner had met _ her on her own ground, and borne away from her the palm as belle of the evening. Mrs. Or- a mond’s fond eyes had not perceived this fact, for ; Madeline had been, as usual, always on the floor _ | and well attended, but the girl herself knew it, | and suffered throughout her vanity-bound nature. Nothing less than supremacy satisfied her. “I am too tired to care to talk about it, mo- i ther,”’ she answered. Mrs. Ormond regarded the feverish lips with — 4 f AFTERTHOUGHTS. PAD some anxiety. ‘‘You must sleep this afternoon, if possible,” she said. “I detest this turning night into day. Ten o’clock is too late to begin dancing. In a little place like Montaigne, we ought to be able to regulate these things. You look as if you would be a subject for a visit from Dr. McKnight, if we are not careful.” “A professional visit?” asked Madeline, her eyebrows raised. “Thank you. Do you suppose I would put out my tongue at Jasper?”’ Her mother looked away from the quizzical eyes. “I don’t know who should help him along, if not his friends,”’ she said. Madeline smiled scoffingly. ‘You are philan- thropic, I know, but I think we needn’t feel ealled upon to help drive the wolf from Jasper’s door. There are a number of other women who are doing it. I draw the line at that.” “T could not avoid his care of Katherine,” said Mrs. Ormond defensively. “T know you could n’t, but acute illnesses are different. However, I’m not going to need any physician, so do not let us discuss it. I could quarrel with my best friend this morning.”’ “You haven’t answered my question how Jas- ‘per stands disposed toward his aunt’s perform- ance.” Madeline shrugged her shoulders. ‘‘How can T tell?” ; “ You can tell what he said about it, I suppose.” Mrs. Ormond spoke with some asperity. She 212 THE WISE WOMAN. was tired, too, and this was the branch of the subject in which she felt most interest. Madeline pushed her chair back from the table. “During the first dance of the evening he spoke of Miss Laird, said she had a good deal of style, and that he hoped for her sake she was accustomed to dancing.” “Yes. Well?” “The next time I met him the evening was half over. He did not mention the milliner.”” The girl rose from the table. “If you can make any- thing of that, you are welcome to.” Madeline herself had made enough of it to add several dark shades to the evening’s dissatisfac- tion. “They went well together. I watched them,” said Mrs. Ormond musingly, “but every girl appears at her best when she is dancing with Jas- per. I suppose he knows how to adapt himself. That Sheldon got along very well. I wondered why he didn’t dance more. He” — “Lazy folks, lazy folks,” exclaimed Katherine, coming into the room and limping ostentatiously around the table to her mother for the purpose of implanting a hearty kiss on her cheek. “Katherine Ormond, it was too much for your foot!” ejaculated the latter. ‘Now you listen to me: you will wear an elastic stocking after this. Don’t say one word” — “Mother, I can glide like a swan, if I want to. It is only in the sweet, unrestraining influence ob | AFTERTHOUGHTS. who home that I go like the swan on land. My ankle is the least bit weak this morning.”’ “Tt was all wrong, your dancing those two numbers in succession with that big Sheldon. I frowned at you; you must have seen me.”’ “YT did see you, honey, and it spoiled your beauty so, I would n’t call Mr. Sheldon’s atten- tion to it; and I went on dancing as the lesser evil. It didn’t tire my ankle any more because he was big, you know, dear, so long as he did n’t step on me, and really he dances well.” “Oh, you would dance with a porpoise, and think he was graceful, if he only had flopped out of the sea at Pokonet!”’ “Mother!” exclaimed the girl, in a sad, re- proachful tone which her eyes belied. “I leave it to Madeline if Mr. Sheldon didn’t cover him- self with glory.” Madeline lifted a languid hand and patted a long-drawn yawn. “I didn’t watch him,” she answered; and that was the first fib she had told that morning. Mrs. Ormond regarded Katherine. ‘The next thing we have to look for is to see whether, after all this, Miss Laird is received in Montaigne on a social basis.”’ “Yes. Tell me, mother,” said Katherine, with unexpected seriousness, ‘which result of the Wise Woman’s kindness would please you best?” “What do you mean?” hesitated Mrs. Ormond lamely, with a glance toward Madeline, who stood leaning on a chair-back. 214 THE WISE WOMAN. “T mean to find out whether you would be glad — if none of our set called upon her, or invited her and Mr. Sheldon to their homes.”’ Mrs. Ormond’s lips parted, but no sound issued, She cast a second glance at her younger daughter, whose face was inscrutable in its weariness. “Why do you wish to know?” asked the mo- ther at last, turning upon Katherine a look digni- fiedly defiant. “For several reasons. One is that Gilbert is going to call upon them, and I should like to go with him.”’ “Oh, Gilbert is going?” “Yes.” The ghost of a smile played about Katherine’s lips. “How much longer will it be necessary to wait to find out what other people are going to do? Is Miss McKnight’s public seal _ of approval sufficient to make you willing that I should follow my inclination? ” 7 “T don’t know that it is such a serious matter,” said Mrs. Ormond, a trifle ashamed. ‘No,’ returned Katherine. “The only phase of the affair which might become serious is the _ humorous side of it. Miss McKnight says Miss Laird is charming. Mr. Ben Allington said to me last night that Miss Laird was charming, ‘an ‘ acquisition to our circle—ah!’” Katherine could no more help quoting this important authority with his own impressive tone and manner than she could help breathing. “Did Ben Allington say that?” AFTERTHOUGHTS. 215 “Yes. Now, if we are not with the tide as it turns, we shall be laughed at; for it is rumored that Gilbert and Mr. Sheldon were boy friends, and that we have spent our summers with their relatives. People will say we are afraid, or snob- bish, or think some other true and unpleasant things about us.”’ “You know I said so, Madeline,” remarked Mrs. Ormond, quick to take alarm. “Madeline and I are rather popular, and Miss Laird is handsome. Just because of that it would be policy, good policy, for us to be among the first to show her some little attention. Yes, you think I have an axe to grind, of course, Madeline. Take your own way, but remember my prophecy when some day the girls look at you curiously, and wonder how Madeline Ormond takes it.”’ Katherine herself had not suspected how straight this shaft would fly home. She might have seen her sister wince had she looked, but, dropping her serious manner, she rose. ‘“ Well, I must go. I have my Carlyle to read up. Don’t criticise my gait. Remember the swan is an amphibious crea- ture,” and she limped from the room, leaving Madeline with new food for reflection. Second sight would have shown the latter a prostrate foe. Marguerite lay in bed that morn- ing, restlessly going over in her mind the events of the night before. She had never felt such fatigue as now possessed her, but her mind was especially alert, and showed her, as in a magic 4 Nak 216 THE WISE WOMAN. - mirror every look, smile, and word which had evidenced the curiosity, friendship, hauteur, antag- onism, or admiration shown her at the ball. Her thoughts dwelt with no satisfaction on the courtesy and compliment showered upon her by her part- ners. That had been exhilarating for the moment, but now she brushed it aside as immaterial. Con- siderations of the attitude of her own sex absorbed her. The morning had passed, and afternoon was waning when Lucia came to Marguerite’s room and announced that Miss McKnight was in the parlor. } “IT told her you were in bed, and she said she — would be glad if you would allow her to come and see you a minute.” “Certainly she can come in,” said Marguerite, after a moment’s hesitation; and presently the visitor made her appearance. She came up to the bed, and, taking the girl’s hand between her gloved ones, looked down at her in smiling silence. “T am very much ashamed,” said Marguerite, returning her gaze. “Am J? That is the question. Is a visit an intrusion ?”’ “Not from you, dear Wise Woman. I like that name for you. I think last night may have been the exception in your conduct that proves the rule, but all the same it bolsters me up and heals my snubs to say to myself, ‘the Wise _ Woman ordered it.’ ” 4 AFTERTHOUGHTS. ye “Then I will sit down,” said Miss McKnight, drawing a chair near the bed, and slipping back her furs; “but it is news to me that you have any snubs to heal.” She regarded the girl with a pleasantly argumentative expression. Marguerite moved in a little reminiscént shud- der. “I admit that I was Argus-eyed, and on the watch for cold looks and shades of tone.” Miss McKnight’s look grew kinder, and her low laugh had a mirthful sound which made her companion’s color rise. ‘‘ You had a chip on that lovely shoulder of yours, my dear. A thicker- skinned girl would probably have felt nothing disagreeable.” Marguerite bit her lip, and then she too laughed. It is a short step from the tragic to the comic, and with her laughter, tears gathered in the girl’s eyes. ‘There is something so ridiculous in my lying here completely fagged out by nervous ten- sion in such a cause. If I were given to that sort of thing, I could indulge in a fit of hysterics over the absurdity of it all.” She wiped her eyes. “You are a plucky creature, and I am proud of you,” said Miss McKnight. ‘How did Fritz enjoy himself?” “Very much, apparently. However, his princi- pal pleasure was in the thought of giving me such a good time.” Marguerite threw a glance at her visitor, and again wiped away a few tears. “Oh, don’t laugh at me, please;’’ and then she broke down and wept a little, quietly, into her handker- chief. i 218 THE WISE WOMAN. “That ’s right,” said the Wise Woman, patting her soothingly. “Let those tired nerves ery awhile. It is a poor rule that won’t work both ways, and it is as invigorating sometimes to let salt water out as it is at other times to rub it in. I am sorry for you, and yet I’m glad, too. The situation is entirely redeemed from absurdity by your aim in this matter, and if last night’s expe- riences do not appear to me in the same light that they do to you, it is not because I cannot look at them from your point of view. Fashionable so- ciety takes itself and its little games so seriously that I cannot help being amused by it. In chil- dren’s plays, it is a dreadful slight upon a child if he is never called upon to be ‘ it.’ So society people jostle each other, each eager for his turn to be it, and I have reached the age where, as a spectator of the game, I do not miss any of its — entertaining points. I was even called upon to — be ‘it’ myself last night, and so I offered to my — acquaintances a young aspirant for society honors — who played her part so well that she has nothing — to regret, whether she is included in future games — or not. Marguerite,” the Wise Woman’s voice — took on an impressive tone, “I am well satisfied; — very well. I think you may put aside all fears of hampering your brother, and it would not surprise me in the least if you helped him, — yes, in this — very line.” ‘ Marguerite had dropped her handlerehiel and — was regarding her visitor wistfully. ‘If I do,” AFTERTHOUGHTS. 219 she answered, “I shall owe it to you entirely, and I can never thank you; that is the worst of it.” Miss McKnight’s carriage stopped at the Or- monds’ on her way home. She found mother and daughters in their sitting- room, working and reading. “T thought I would stop and see how the ankle stood it,’’ she said, as the three cordially greeted her. “Jasper warned her,” returned Mrs. Ormond sorrowfully, “but she would dance too much!”’ “Oh, a day or two’s rest and some arnica will make me all right again,” continued Katherine. “How nice you were to come and talk it over. Let me take your cloak. Wasn’t it a success?” “T believe it was,” replied Miss McKnight, accepting the chair Katherine drew forward. “I shall sympathize with notables after this, though. When I had shaken hands for an hour, I could have favored the Indians’ mode of salutation; rubbing noses, isn’t it?” “T should think the girls who received, and then danced, would be tired to death to-day,” remarked Madeline. “T am sure one of them is,’”’ returned the vis- itor promptly. “I have just left Miss Laird. I thought the least I could do was to go and see if she had become crippled in my service.” _ “How was she?” asked Madeline, striving to keep all constraint out of her voice. “Used up.”” Miss McKnight smiled. ? 9 220 THE WISE WOMAN. “I suppose so,” returned Madeline. “Her work has always kept her sitting.” “I hope it will keep her sitting a little, still,” returned the other cheerily. ‘As I said, I do not propose to let her off.” “She will find it difficult,” said Madeline, “‘to go into society and work too.” “What an idea,” laughed Katherine. “Do we sit with our hands folded all the time we are at home? ”’ “T think if she keeps enough going for fancy work she can accomplish it,” said Miss McKnight, with such natural good-humor that even the watch-_ ful Madeline accepted her sincerity. ‘However, — I am well aware we must n’t count upon her. That devoted brother of hers would spread a carpet of rose leaves for her to walk on, if he thought it would add to her happiness. He kept rather _ quiet last night. He told me it was diffidence, — but that he should not err again. His experience with his sister and Katherine has given him an exalted idea of his own abilities. Did n’t you like him, Katherine?” turning suddenly toward her favorite. “Yes. He is the sort of man you feel from the first that you have known always. He doesn’t make conversation. He is just friendly and easy.” “Qne of the ‘real folks.’ Yes. He hasn’t any littlenesses. He is a big, manly man, with- : out any self-consciousness. I like Fritz.” Madeline took note of the familiar use of the name. ‘ihe ate iy Ae A i AFTERTHOUGHTS. 221 “T wonder if he can play cards,” she said care- lessly. “I am considering giving a progressive euchre party, and I thought of asking Miss Laird and her brother.”’ Katherine’s eyes grew too wide to twinkle. Mrs. Ormond’s face betrayed relief in its sur- prise, and the Wise Woman’s chair rocked a trifle faster. “No doubt they can both play,” she said. “A good idea, Madeline. I believe I will give a card party of some sort, too; but after you is manners for me.” CHAPTER XVI. SPRINGTIME. THE rain was slanting landward, and miles of breakers were driven roaring before the gale, when _ Katherine Ormond next saw Pokonet. She did not arrive unexpectedly this time, and Mr. Hodgson delivered her up triumphantly from his covered wagon at the back door of the farm- — house. The front door was not opened to a searching wind like this. “Here ’s Kittiwake, Ma,” he roared genially, and Mrs. Hodgson appeared. “Wasn’t it a shame to bring the horse out — such a day?” exclaimed the girl. “You will © change my name to Stormy Petrel, if I appear to — you in any more tempests. I didn’t know the © weather was going to behave so. It is totally — different in New York. I’m too wet to touch — you, Mrs. Hodgson, but it is only my mackin- u tosh.” a “Here, drop it right off in the kitchen, dear.” “T feel guilty to bring Mr. Hodgson out in the 5 storm, and make him so much trouble.” : “Well, you needn’t, child. He’d oe € go through it a dozen times for a visit from you.” _ SPRINGTIME. 223 “You are so good to me, both of you; but this time it isn’t pleasure, you know, that brings me. Being sent on business makes me feel very impor- tant and dutiful; it is different from the stolen rruit sensation I had last time.” Mrs: Hodgson conducted her guest into the ving- room, where Mr. Hodgson soon joined them. The cheerful fire in the open stove was as grateful on this spring day as in that November when Katherine last saw it. “How’s the winter used ye, Kitty?’ asked the old man, regarding her with kindly scrutiny. “Ye look a little grain like a hot-house posy, seems like.”’ “Yes, I begin always at this time of year to need being put out to grass.” “That ’s what you do need,” said Mrs. Hodg- son sympathetically, “and not to go on dissi- patin’ allsummer. I think your mother ought to give you your way this year and let us have you, just like old times.” Katherine regarded her hostess curiously, and smiled. ‘Mrs. Hodgson, I wrote you that I was going to surprise you, and [ am. Are you feel- ing well this spring? Do say you are particularly _ well, you and Mr. Hodgson both!” “We’re in very good case,” returned Mrs. Hodgson, reflecting the girl’s smile. ‘“ Why?” “Because I am coming to Pokonet for my out- ing. I’m not going anywhere else.” “That ’s clever, that’s good,’ answered both 224 THE WISE WOMAN. host and hostess heartily; “but I don’t see what that’s got to do with our bein’ well,” added Mrs. Hodgson. “If I wasn’t well, I’d want you all the more, Kitty.” “But,” answered the girl impressively, waving her hand toward the window, “in Pokonet it never rains but it pours, you ought to know that.” Her words were accompanied by the crackling of pelting drops on the pane. “Almost everybody else in Montaigne wants to come, too.” “They do, hey?” remarked Mr. Hodgson, al- ways the readier of speech of the pair. “Well, I always said there warn’t any reason why Poko- net shouldn’t be’s fashionable as Southampton over yonder. We’ve got a better beach to-day. I tell ye our land’s goin’ to rise, Ma, and we’ll give Kittiwake a slice off the south end there for a weddin’ present.” “How you talk, Pa!” said Mrs. Hodgson. “Tell us what you mean, Kitty.” “I will. That is what I came for. Motherl has been taking all sorts of liberties with your house; but as she has done it only in her mind, I suppose it was no harm.” “That ’s it, Kitty, — pleases her, and don’t hurt us, as the old sayin’ is.” “Wait up, Pa.” Mrs. Hodgson lifted a re- pressive hand. | “First of all,” began Katherine, “I don’t know. whether Marguerite Laird has written you that we have seen a good deal of each other this winter.” SPRINGTIME. 225 “Rita don’t write a great deal, but she ’s spoken of you a number of times. It pleased us more ’n a little to think she and Tom — Fritz, she calls him—had got acquainted with you and your folks. I didn’t know, not till you’d gone home. last fall, that they ’d moved to Montaigne. Rita was so busy she never wrote to us for weeks to- gether.” “No? Well, I have another dear friend in Montaigne, an elderly lady by the name of Mc- Knight. She has been very good to Marguerite.” “Yes. I’ve heard tell of her.” “She heard us talking one day about Pokonet, and [ — perhaps I was a little enthusiastic telling Marguerite more than she knew about the place, and Miss McKnight said this was just the sort of resort she had been wishing to hear of. She lives with a nephew who is a doctor, and she wants to find some place near New York where they can spend their vacation together. The next thing, I told mother that Miss McKnight’s heart was set on coming to Pokonet, and then she began to consider that we had better come too. I didn’t discourage her.” “She thinks a great deal of this Miss Me- Knight, I suppose, then.” Katherine looked into the fire. “Yes, Miss McKnight’s movements are quite important to her. Now you see, Mrs. Hodgson, how we have been taking liberties with your house; apportion- Ang the rooms to these people.” ie i x Ys es 226 THE WISE WOMAN. “Did ye make ’em go round?” asked the old_ man, much interested. “Pretty well. It required some management.” “Too much, I guess, Kitty,” said Mrs. Hodg- son. “Let’s see. There’s your mother and you and Maidie and Gilly, that’s four. Then Miss McKnight and her young man is six, and Rita and Tom is eight, —I want them free to come : and Pa and I are ten.” “Of course you would have to have plenty of help,” said Katherine, “and the guests would not all be here all the time. Iam probably the only — one you would never get rid of.” “We could n’t make so many real comfortable,” returned Mrs. Hodgson. “I guess I could find a place near by for the McKnights, and then — manage the rest. I don’t know but I’d like an old-time summer,” she added musingly. “T hoped you would feel that way,” returned : Katherine, looking relieved. “Tell us about the children,” said Mr. Hodg- — son, — “about Tom and Rita. Tom ’s doin’ well, : I take it.” “Very. It would delight you to hear how well — he stands with the proprietor of the Works. Mr. _ a et Peer McKnight is the brother of the lady we were talk- ing of. As for Marguerite, she is one of my best — friends.”’ “Well now, I’m glad,” said Mrs. Hodgson, 4 much gratified. “She’s a real smart girl. I * could see that right off. She wrote me she wasn’t 4 SPRINGTIME. 227 doin’ so much business as she did one time there; but I guess Tom don’t want her to work too hard.” “He doesn’t want her to work at all; but she likes to, and the Montaigne ladies can’t bear to give up her taste and cleverness. She has been going out a good deal, and that makes a woman less able to keep up a business. She and her brother belong to the same whist club that I do, and we often attend the same social festivities.” “Yes?” returned Mrs. Hodgson, to whom this state of things seemed very natural, if not very desirable. ‘I hope she won’t go too much. As you say, that ain’t good for trade.”’ Katherine smiled confidentially at the fire. “No, that isn’t good for trade,”’ she answered. The direction in which events had shaped them- selves was as pleasant as it was unexpected to Katherine. That her mother and Madeline should come to take a docile view of spending another summer in the quiet surroundings of Pokonet was something she would have considered it useless to hope for; but without a word of urging on her part, the wonder had come about. “T think it would n’t be a bad idea to go again,” Madeline had replied, when her mother first made the suggestion. “It isn’t as if we should be tied there for the whole summer. We can accept invitations occasionally, perhaps; ”’ and so Kath- erine had been sent, a willing messenger, to the | Hodgsons’, to make arrangements. She was re- ig 228 THE WISE WOMAN. ceived, when she returned to Montaigne, with less indifference than on the occasion of her last home- coming. Mrs. Ormond and Madeline listened with some dissatisfaction to the result of her visit. “TI don’t think you managed very well, Kath- erie. According to my plan, there was plenty of room for the McKnights,”’ said Mrs. Ormond. “Yes; but we didn’t count in Marguerite and Mr. Sheldon,” rejoined the girl. The others looked blank. “I didn’t know they were going,” said Made- jine. Mrs. Ormond gave a little laugh. ‘What an extraordinary talent for getting in our way those young people have shown.’’ “TI dare say Mr. Sheldon can’t have very much time to himself,” said Katherine, “but it is natu- ral that the Hodgsons should wish to keep a place open for them. It is a wonder we didn’t caleu- late clearly on that. For my own part, I don’t think I used my brains at all. We were going to Pokonet, and prosaic details, such as sleeping and eating, did n’t trouble me much; but it is all right, mother. Mrs. Hodgson will find the McKnights — a place at the Tysons’ or the Berrys’. What is the difference, — I mean for people who don’t know and love the Hodgsons?” “I suppose it will have to do,” returned Mrs. Ormond. . a “I will go and see the Wise Woman, and tell _ her about it,” said Katherine. SPRINGTIME. 229 “No, you had better take a rest,” cbjected the mother. “T am never too tired to go there,” said Kath- erine. “Never mind. I prefer to go this time. I will take Miss McKnight your love, and tell her all about it.” Mrs. Ormond immediately donned her outside garments and set forth. When she was ushered into the Wisc Woman’s sanctum, she found Miss Laird with her. “What a charming day,” said the visitor, as she greeted them. ‘The tender green of the trees in the park, and the bluebirds and robins, make me feel that summer will be here before we know it. Ah, Edna, your home is always too lovely to leave.” . “Jersey air is Jersey air even. in the park,”’ rejoined her friend. ‘“‘When the mosquitoes be- gin their siege, and the air seems to percolate feebly through invisible down that clings about one’s head, even my inertia is overcome. And any way, I have the Pokonet fever, and must find out if similia similibus, ete., will work in this case. When do you expect Katherine?” “She has come; and she brings tolerably satis- factory word. I did not know before, Miss Laird, that you and your brother propose spending the summer with your uncle.” “Oh, no such luck!” answered the girl. “Of course Fritz will get some vacation.” ? 230 THE WISE WOMAN. “And you will spend it there?” | “Certainly. Uncle Silas and aunt Althea con- sider that an understood thing.” Mrs. Ormond regarded her a moment with a conventionally bland expression, and then turned to Miss McKnight. ‘For that reason,” she said, “Katherine found she could not get the rooms in Mrs. Hodgson’s house which she hoped for, for you.” “Oh, that mustn’t be!” exclaimed Marguerite in a different tone. “I am sure we can make some arrangement. Fritz and I ean go early or late in the season. We mustn’t interfere with you, Miss McKnight.” “Don’t worry, my dear,” returned the latter placidly. “Aren’t there some neighbors about — this charmed Hodgson house? What did Kath- ! erine say?” 3 “She spoke of neighbors,” returned Mrs. Or-_ mond reluctantly, “but if Miss Laird thinks she could arrange her dates — Katherine’s pleasure | would be so enhanced, to say nothing of Made- — line’s and my own, by having you with us.” ; “We can; I will speak to Fritz,” began Mar- — guerite eagerly. 4 “Not a bit of it, not a bit of it,” said Miss — McKnight quietly, with a little calming gesture. — “Of course the good aunt and uncle want you and — your brother to have a place to retreat to. You ; have n’t spent a summer yet in Montaigne, and — you don’t know what it is like. Katherine and ; SPRINGTIME. 231 the Hodgsons and I shall succeed in making some pleasant plan, I am sure.” So Mrs. Ormond failed in one of the intentions of her visit, for Miss McKnight showed herself immovably set against supplanting Marguerite and Fritz; but she had succeeded in the other, namely, the determination to discover whether this disappointment would cause Miss McKnight to waver in her plan for going to Pokonet. Mrs. Ormond did not intend to immure herself and Madeline in an uncongenial spot to no purpose. She sighed, as she left the blossoming park, over the obstinate and inconvenient fact of the exist- ence in her world of these young relatives of the Hodgsons. Not all the winter’s social experience, in which they had held a modest but pleasant place, had succeeded in reconciling her to them. Had their home been out West, down South, or in the East, how her kindly feelings could flow . out toward them! Marguerite’s intuition was too keen not to dis- cern Mrs. Ormond’s real attitude, under all the suavity with which that lady learned to treat her when their paths crossed. Still, the girl did not allow herself to attach much weight to the circum- stance. She took the liberty privately of being amused by Mrs. Ormond. “She isn’t exactly a mother. She is a man- ager,” she said once to Fritz, and he gave her some careless reply. It penetrated to his con- sciousness occasionally that Mrs. Ormond seemed os A rar , bh 7 I B32 THE WISE WOMAN. a cold sort of woman, but the fact had no personal bearing for him. Neither did the opposite fact of Madeline’s cordiality affect him more deeply. The girls in Montaigne were very pleasant, the Ormonds especially; but he was absorbed this winter in his work. Marguerite’s happiness was serene in these days. She often made hats in her quiet work- room, but she received social calls in her pretty parlor, and was smiled upon. The Wise Wo- man’s strong influence was constantly backing her, and Katherine’s penchant was no longer quarreled with. Gilbert was almost ‘as frequent a visitor at the flat as his sister, and terms of pleasant familiarity soon flourished among the four young people. Madeline could not resist an occasional sneer. | “I suppose you are charmed that there is a prospect that your most cherished friends will not _ have to be parted from you long at a time this — summer,” she said to Katherine, on the evening — after the latter’s return from Pokonet. “To whom do you refer, sister?” inquired the — other. i “To those members of the nobility over on Main Street.” ; “Don’t class Sir Thomas Sheldon second under the head of my cherished friends,” said Kather-_ ine. “He is an insensible machinist. You prac- — ticed your charms upon him just in time, Made- — line.”’ 4 SPRINGTIME. Zoo The latter bridled significantly. With fatuous vanity her imagination returned from every rebuff of cold facts to the idea that her fascinations were still potent with this old admirer. She told her- self that he was a capital actor, and that painful experience had made him cautious. ‘That was all his indifference meant. “T am sure he is quite as friendly with you as is necessary,’ answered Madeline. “Do you really think so? Well, perhaps you are right; but when one beams upon a man with gracious advances one minute and withdraws from him in cold reserve the next, regards him coyly from behind a fan or chatters at him like a mag- pie at one meeting, then maintains a demure si1- lence at the next, it isn’t very flattering to have each of these attitudes received with exactly the same benevolent abstraction, and discover that he has been thinking about steam pipes all the time. No, I repel the insinuation that the great Fritz is one of my cherished friends. 1 am not going to do all the cherishing!”’ Madeline regarded the speaker half wistfully. “T think you have the happiest disposition I ever knew, Katherine. If a man really treated you as you describe, you would n’t mind it.” “Tf, skeptic? I tell you he does. If Mr. Sheldon could unscrew my ear and take it off and tinker it and make it hear better, then put it back again, he would take some interest in me. As it is, 1 am an unimportant incident, and so are you, 234 THE WISE WOMAN. and so is Betty, and so are all the rest of the girls.” “Speak for yourself,’ said Madeline tartly. “T don’t think Mr. Sheldon ventures to regard me as an incident.” “Really ?”? responded Katherine, with curious interest. ‘“‘Doesn’t he draw queer things on paper, things with — with valves, and show them to you?” “Indeed he doesn’t!” answered Madeline loftily, and she spoke truly. Fritz never made de- mands upon her sympathy. “You certainly have the happiest disposition I ever knew,” added the girl fretfully. “I believe, after all, you enjoy life much better than I do.” She regarded Kath- erine as if surprised at such presumption. “Tt doesn’t need to be so,” rejoined the latter — cheerfully. ‘‘We have very much the same op- portunities, with the balance rather in your favor.” — Of course the balance was in Madeline’s favor. — She knew it, and considered that the fact was no more than right. Then why should Katherine be gay, when she herself did not feel at all so? She attempted to analyze her dissatisfaction with life. With herself she was inclined to be frank, and her search revealed to her two crumpled rose leaves. One was Fritz Sheldon’s apparent indif- — ference when she would have liked him to exhibit — his positive devotion, the other was a doubt, tiny — and irritating, as to whether Jasper McKnight’s - allegiance were quite as strong now as in days SPRINGTIME. 235 gone by. To be sure, his profession occupied him more and more, yet a man can find time for what he most desires. Madeline had for a long time dallied nonchalantly with the thought that Dr. McKnight was perhaps the most suitable man of her circle to claim the honor of her hand. Of late she had grown so certain of it that she began to look with interest for the decisive proposition. That it had not yet been made was, she knew, a fact against which her mother chafed. But Pokonet was coming —and leisure. Given the beach at Pokonet and idleness — Madeline looked into her mirror, and as she prepared to brush her pretty hair, her lips took on a more complacent curve. + CHAPTER XVII. POKONET. *“POKONET in daisy time,’ said Katherine, her hands clasped behind her head, as she lay in a hammock on the side piazza of the Hodgsons’ house, ‘“‘ Pokonet in daisy time is””— She paused for a simile. ‘Is Pokonet in lazy time,”’ suggested Madeline, who was equally idle in a neighboring deck-chair. This piazza was no original part of the gray old farmhouse, but had been added a few years ago in the interests of that leisurely class of humanity — known as summer boarders. Katherine glanced at her sister. “I thought, when we first came down, of announcing to you that whenever you spoke derogatorily of Pokonet I should rise in my dignity and leave the room; but I think I was scared before I was hurt. You are glad to be pene s “Of course,” answered Madeline “else why should I have come?”’ “Tt is exactly what you need,” said ‘Katheine “Why do you stare at me so? I know J am pale and ugly, but you needn’t emphasize the fact.” POKONET. 237 “You look tired, and this crisp air and the long, still nights will make you over sooner than anything else.” “You are none too blooming yourself.” “True for you; but I should never think of calling myself pale and ugly! I prefer Mr. Hodg- son’s simile. He says I look like a hot-house posy. Now I call that real gallantry; but we shall soon look alive, both of us, planted as we are at last in the open air.” Katherine gazed off across the wide field, billowy with daisies, to where the flowing outlines of the sand dunes hid and revealed the vivid blue of the ocean. ‘The saltness in this air is the savor that makes life best worth having,” she went on. “These brave, tall, storm-beaten ailanthus-trees are the dearest in all the world, and their robins are the most tuneful and trustful. I begin to feel sleepy with their last soliloquy at sunset, and I like to think how close they are to the head of my bed. It would be sheer folly to maintain that there is any other such place to sleep as this. I know Mor- pheus has his headquarters right in this old house.” “That is the trouble,” returned Madeline. “Now if he would only go to the city by day like the other men ”’ — “Tut, tut,” interrupted Katherine warningly. “T want to be a poet,” she went on dreamily, “and write a poem so descriptive of evening and night in Pokonet that it shall be a specific against an 238 THE WISE WOMAN. insomnia, and so benefit mankind. I would tell — of the hush that falls so gradually with twilight and darkness. Not a creature moving except the birds twittering sleepily as they search the branches for the most comfortable positions, and the fireflies that flit silently about the fields with their lan- terns, to make sure that every flower has his eye shut. The ocean’s surge is softened by quarter of a mile’s distance to the rhythmic breathing of a sleeping giant, and as you listen it grows fainter, until at last the very branches cease to murmur, and sleep overtakes you: ten hours of dreamless rest, from which you slip back to life in a new birth, deliciously free from all sensations save that of hunger.”’ “Bravo! Glad I came!” said a voice, and © Fritz Sheldon pushed open the screen door and stepped laughingly out upon the plazza. “I sha’n’t get up,” said Katherine, not chang- ing her position, as she smiled at him with flush- ing cheeks. “If you had announced yourself prop- erly, sent your card out here and followed it at a decorous distance, we should both have been very — happy to see you. As it is, you eavesdropped shamefully, and if you had waited a little longer would probably have proved the proverb and heard nothing good of yourself.” “I didn’t dare to wait any longer. You were so graphic that I found myself on the point of snoring, and was relieved when you removed the — spell and waked me up with a sensation of hun- POKONET. 239 ger. I assure you, the first whiff of this air has given it to me.” “You weren’t expected, were you?” asked Madeline, who had half started up to greet the new-comer, and now sank back in her seat, while Sheldon took a rocking-chair opposite. “No; but my aunt and uncle cannot be half so much surprised at my being here as I am myself. It hinges upon the very fact your sister was just emphasizing, namely, the soporific qualities of Pokonet. Mr. McKnight came down to spend last Sunday with his sister, and he says his has Deen a wasted life because he did n’t realize before that Arcadia was cheek by iowl with New York city. He slept like a top here, —a humming-top, probably; his build suggests vocal slumber, — and he is planning that we shall do some of our work in Pokonet. That suits me, you know.” Fritz smiled in his contentment. “T suppose Marguerite came with you,” said Katherine, recovering from her temporary em- barrassment, and starting to leave the hammock. ‘No, lie still. Marguerite will follow to-mor- row or next day. We were both unprepared for my coming so early, and she has some arrange- ments to make before leaving the flat, and some planning to attend to for the summer comfort of Lucia and her family. Mr. McKnight wanted me to come down with him this afternoon.” Madeline’s face was no longer listless. An Adamless Eden had not been to her mind. - > 240 THE WISE WOMAN. “I suppose we shall see nothing of you,” she said, half pouting. “That depends upon whether Mr. McKnight’s genius for hard work becomes more fitful down here. Oh, yes, I expect to get more of a vaca- tion than I hoped for by this pleasant vagary of his. How does the Wise Woman like it?” “How can you ask!” returned Katherine. “Isn’t she a Wise Woman? She wants her doc- tor now.” “IT hope he can soon come. I saw him last night, and he said he was only waiting for Dr. Granbury’s return. Ah, there is your mother; ” he rose as Mrs. Ormond deliberately emerged from the screen door, her face indicating her sur- prise. “How do you do, Mrs. Ormond. You see delegates from Montaigne are still arriving. It is better for us to come while we can do so of our own accord, with some show of dignity. The — chances are good for melting and running down here pretty soon. Jersey thermometers are climb- ing.” Mrs. Ormond responded to this cheerful address as well as her unprepared condition would allow. Gilbert had confided to Katherine that their mother’s regard for Fritz and his sister still shared somewhat those sentiments with which the devil — is said to regard holy water. “Miss Marguerite isn’t with you?” asked Mrs. Ormond, casting a suspicious glance around. “No. She will follow shortly. Take this chair, Mrs. Ormond.” how POKONET. 244 “ Ah, I wish my poor boy could get away,” said the lady, as she accepted the attention. Fritz must have been callous indeed if he did not per- ceive that his presence, under the circumstances, was an injury. Mrs. Ormond sighed. “The youngest member of a law firm must take his chances, evidently.”’ “Very lucky to have business, I suppose,” sug- gested Sheldon, with inexcusable optimism. “He ought to inveigle his seniors down here for a night or two. They would probably transfer the office bodily to one of the booths on the beach. The attraction has worked wonderfully in my case, though I wasn’t clever enough to foresee it, and did none of the luring myself. I wonder now,” turning with a sudden idea toward Katherine, aat the Wise Woman builded better than she knew, or whether she had designs.” “A varied experience convinces me that she usually has designs,” replied the girl. Mrs. Ormond looked displeased. “I’m sure I wish Gilbert had some friend at court.” “Ts that a play upon words?” asked Madeline. “IT believe the courts are closed.” She disap- proved her mother’s manner. Of course she did not think of Fritz seriously, but he possessed piquant interest for her, and she knew that ‘‘vine- gar does not attract flies.” She did not wish him to dread this piazza. The long white beach at Pokonet was a daily rendezvous for the boarders in that and the adja- ee 242 THE WISE WOMAN. cent villages. Wagonloads of bathers were driven over from the inland portions of the pretty town, but the fortunate inmates of the Hodgson house strayed through flowery fields to the sea at their own sweet will, unless an overweening spirit of — luxurious laziness suggested that they allow Mose, the faithful family steed, to draw them thither. When the white flag flung abroad its announce- ‘ment of Neptune’s good nature, vehicles of all sizes and sorts, from the smart private equipage to the well-filled hay wagon, began to appear along the country road, headed for the sand dunes, be- hind whose friendly protection many an old horse dozed away the morning hours while waiting for the pleasure seekers whose gay shrieks, as they gamboled in the waves, came faintly to his ears. Katherine and Madeline were experienced bath- _ ers, and sometimes Mrs. Ormond and Miss Me- — Knight also went into the surf; but more often they rested, either on the seats under the evergreen boughs which roofed their own particular booth, — or sat on the beach and leaned against the wooden backs which they planted in the white sand. Miss McKnight was finding, as people who expect to discover it do find, that Fate had ar- ranged for her better than she would have done for herself. She had been denied a life under the same roof with the Ormonds. She realized — now that the abiding-place Mrs. Hodgson had found for her with a neighbor gave her greater independence and quiet; there was room there POKONET. 243 also for her brother, and it looked now as if her summer would give her all she had hoped from it. | The hours that she and Mrs. Ormond spent upon the beach, their bodies side by side and their minds widely sundered, were not fatiguing to her. For one thing, she could gently loosen the asso- ciation when she liked; for another, it was often scarcely necessary to say a word. Mrs. Ormond enjoyed talking, and Miss McKnight enjoyed lis- tening —to the ocean, and watching the clouds. Different as were their standards and points of view, they had one hearty interest in common, and that was their children. “Old maids’ children are said to be perfect, you know,” replied Miss McKnight one morning on the beach, when Mrs. Ormond had just in- dulged in a eulogium upon Jasper. “T am very fond of him,” returned Mrs. Or- mond, with serious unction, ignoring her compan- ion’s laughing remark. ‘I love Jasper like my own son. Isn’t Madeline a graceful bather?” continued the mother, her eyes fixed on two heads enveloped in red silk handkerchiefs, whose owners rose lightly on a strong billow, while it overturned a timid, shrieking woman who never ventured away from the rope. “Both the girls bathe well. I enjoy watching them. I expected my brother and Fritz to be here by this time. I left them buried deep in papers.” 244 THE WISE WOMAN. “Mr. Sheldon used to be bathing-master here,” said Mrs. Ormond. “Indeed? Then I’m sure it will be a treat to see him go into the water.”’ “When do you suppose we shall have our poor boys?” exclaimed Mrs. Ormond rather dolorously. “I shouldn’t be surprised to see Jasper any time. I hope he and Gilbert can come together.” As it happened, at the very time these remarks were being made, Jasper McKnight was on his - way to Pokonet. He was not a smoker, and as he boarded the Long Island train in the city, his chief aim was, if possible, to get a seat on its shady side. Moving through one car after another with this object in view, his eyes brightened as they discov- ered Marguerite Laird. She had evidently just ensconced herself, with her satchel beside her, and was trying to improve the arrangement of the window blind as he approached. “Let me wrestle with that, Miss Laird,’’ he said, lifting his hat. “I have had a longer expe- rience than you with the intricacies of these par- ticular windows.”’ “Oh, are you going down to-day, Dr. Me- Knight?” She turned in surprise. “Yes. I have shaken the dust of Montaigne from my feet at last, and what a lot of it there has been lately. If you will allow me to hold your satchel, my vacation can begin at once. I have been wishing for a month to make a call POKONET. 245 upon you, and was never able to find the time.”’ Marguerite signified that he might sit down. © It seems odd, when I am across the hall from you an hour each day, that I can never see you. Mental telegraphy has not arrived at the point where it can be called a fully satisfactory means of com- munication, and formal calling has been an almost impossible indulgence for me lately.” “You have to make the whist club serve you for purposes of sociability,” remarked Marguerite. “Yes, when I am fortunate enough not to have to send a substitute; and if you can suggest any form of sociability more meagre than a game of whist, I shall be obliged to you.” “One is rather hampered in the line of conversa- tion,” answered Marguerite, as the train started. “T have heard that whist is the only game which four people of different nationalities, ignorant of one another’s language, can play understandingly. Fancy to what a height of the science those four strangers must have attained!” “Yes, they would be too wise for our whist elub. I know, Miss Laird, I have been talking as if I were immensely important to the welfare of Montaigne’s sick and suffering; but I have been busy. It isn’t any’sinecure to be hands and feet to Dr. Granbury’s head, after the old gentle- man begins to trust you.” Marguerite smiled at the rather anxious tone. “T know you have been busy. You aren’t trou- bling yourself to apologize to me, are you?” 246 THE WISE WOMAN. . de “No, hi am explaining; for I have ‘wanted to see you.’ Dr. McKnight was in a different way as sus- ceptible as Katherine Ormond to the indefinable piquant charm of Marguerite’s presence; the deli- cate repellence, the fine aloofness of her sphere was a fact he remembered well from time to time. Her dainty, dark, cool garb now pleased his taste. She did not look heated on this quiveringly hot day. “I have a right to be discontented to be near and yet far from you,” he added, “for am I not one of your oldest friends? You admitted as much at the club ball.” “You can be as social as you like for a few days now,” returned Marguerite, scarcely know- ing what she said, as her thoughts flew back to the scene he had recalled, and the pangs with which — she had been ushered into a new life. | “IT suppose you like surf-bathing,” said her companion.” “JT went into the surf twice last summer, but I was very stupid. I don’t see how any one learns to jump the waves at the right moment.” “You will learn this season. The Ormonds are amphibious. Gilbert expects to get off soon.” “T am glad. The only drawback to going out of the oven into the oxygen is that everybody else can’t go too. I feel so happy about Fritz. I begin to think he was born with the silver spoon, — after all.” Jasper met her glance, so suddenly rich with POKONET. 247 feeling as she spoke of her brother that he won- dered what other man would evoke the transfigu- ration. “Tt must be a mixed pleasure to your relatives,” he said, “that this season has ereated such a boom for Pokonet.”’ “Aunt Althea is an excellent manager. She has good help, and I have no doubt she and uncle Silas are enjoying themselves. You know they are devoted to Katherine Ormond.” “To the whole family, I suppose. I believe they had a large share in bringing them up, and my experience is that the more of a torment chil- dren are to those who train them, the more they are doted upon.” Marguerite looked out the window. “Then Katherine must have made the most trouble,” she answered. “I am venturing to surprise my aunt,” she added. “And I, mine, although the nervous shock in aunt Edna’s case will be slight, since she has expected me by every train for days.” Nevertheless, the arrival of this couple at the old farm made a certain sensation. Miss Me- Knight was at the Hodgsons’ that afternoon, sit- ting with her neighbors on the large, roofed piazza which had become their living-room, and when - Marguerite and Dr. McKnight made their appear- ‘ance, there was for a few seconds a confusion of tongues and as great a variety of facial expression. Fritz smiled broadly as he met his happy sister. ae ¥ Po. rT) wy at) ey 248 THE WISE WOMAN. ‘Were n’t you thoughtful, to save me the trou- ble of coming to the station!” he remarked feel- ingly. “Isn’t a brother’s gallantry lovely, Miss Me- Knight?” laughed the girl, as she passed from him to the Wise Woman. The visible cloud upon Mrs. Ormond’s face reminded Madeline that she must not show a simi- lar one, so she threw off the resentment which the sight of the new-comers as traveling companions had aroused in her, and received Jasper’s greet- ing as smilingly as Katherine. “Aren’t you feeling well, Mrs. Ormond?” he asked. “It makes me a little sad to think of Gilbert. Just think, if he were here, your family and ours would be complete!” “It won’t be long, I fancy,” said McKnight, turning to look after Marguerite, as she and Kath- erine moved toward the house. “Don’t forget your promise, Miss Laird. You said you would try to recall me to the recollection of your aunt and uncle.”’ 7 “When did you ever see them?” asked Made- line in surprise. Jasper regarded her reproachfully. ‘You are as uncomplimentary as I expect they will be. You have forgotten my one visit to Pokonet which, as you could scarcely have been more than seven years old at the time, I suppose I shall have to forgive you.” POKONET. 249 “T will try to make it up to you on this your second visit,”’ returned Madeline graciously. Mr. Hodgson drew his niece aside an hour later, when the McKnights had gone home. “Say, Rita, is that your feller, — that man you come down with?” he asked in husky, confiden- tial tones. “No, indeed,” she answered, casting a quick glance about for possible auditors. “Ye’re as red’s apiny. Bet he is,” returned the old man triumphantly. “Hush, Uncle Silas. It would be very morti- fying if anybody should hear you, for Dr. Mc- Knight is attentive to one of the Ormond girls.” “What ’d he fetch you down for, then?” pur- sued the old man obstinately. “He didn’t. We happened to meet on the train.” “T’ve heerd o’ such happenin’s!”’ “You are entirely mistaken, and I hope you won’t try to tease me about this. You will spoil all my pleasure.”’ “Jingo! Ye’re in earnest, girl, ain’t ye? All right. Mum’s the word. Ye didn’t tell me which Ormond, though.” “You will find that out for yourself.” Mar- guerite gave a faint smile. “My eyes ain’t what they was,” grumbled the old man. . “They ’re good enough for that, Uncle Silas.” CHAPTER XVIII. MATERNAL ANXIETIES. “‘T will thy name repeat, Marguerite! ” sang Gilbert Ormond at the foot of the Hodgsons’ short, winding staircase, ‘“‘at least I shall repeat it till you come,”’ he continued. “All right; go on,” answered Miss Laird from some mysterious point above. “It is an innocent amusement.”’ The low ceilings of the old house brought its two stories into such neighborliness that communi- — cation by speech between the two was easy. “When are you coming?” inquired Gilbert a | little later. “Just as soon as I get ready,” responded Mar- guerite sweetly. “Girls are always late,” grumbled the lower M voice. “That is not original. I am almost certain that I’ve heard it before,” was returned from upstairs. At this moment Fritz put an inquiring face in ing. at the screen door, near which Gilbert was stand-— MATERNAL ANXIETIES. 251 “What is the matter with Marguerite? She is never late.” “Aha! Do you hear that, Mr. Ormond?” came triumphantly from above. “I don’t know,” replied Gilbert, answering ' Sheldon. “I have interceded, implored, besought, ~ all in vain. I don’t wonder she wants to remem- ber everything before coming down those stairs, though,” he added in a different tone. “Did you ever see anything so ingeniously uncomfortable as their build? Mother threatens she ’ll never come down here again without her alpenstock to help her climb them. Oh, you don’t say you ’re com- ing?” for here Marguerite appeared, and began to descend. Gilbert smiled up at her. “Was the little boy in an awful hurry to go to ride?” responded Miss Laird soothingly. “Well, he should; so there, there!”’ Mrs. Ormond’s ostensible reason for discontent had been removed a couple of days before by her son’s arrival. She came from the sitting-room into the little hall now. “You are really going on that drive, are you?” she said. ‘“Sha’n’t you find it very dusty?” “You must have forgotten last night’s showers,” returned Fritz good -humoredly. “Where are your apologies, Marguerite?” “TY found something important to do at the last minute, so please excuse me; but I think you are all very ungrateful to complain of sitting still a few minutes this beautiful morning. I don’t ‘4 vos THE WISE WOMAN. believe Katherine has fumed, have you, Kath- erine ?” The latter looked from her seat in the carriage, as her friends came out on the steps. “I defy anybody to disturb me,” she replied. “I did think, a minute ago, the horses would n’t wait any longer, though. Good - by, mother. Are n’t you going to the beach?” “Yes. Jasper and Madeline have gone on. I promised to follow; but I wanted to see you started first.” The speaker’s anxieties did not go with that couple who had departed across the field followed by her unspoken benediction. It was right here that the watchfulness of her maternal eye was required. “Are you going to sit there, Miss Katherine?” asked Fritz, regarding the girl, who was seated in the back of the carriage. “I am going to drive, and I hoped you were going to talk to me.” “Yes,” said Gilbert. “Get out, please, Kath- erine, and let Miss Marguerite take your place.” “Surely not, Gilbert,” said Mrs. Ormond, quickly. “It isn’t worth while to make any trouble.” | “Say, mother,” her son turned upon her, “who ’s taking this drive?” “Sensible people, I hope,” she answered. — “There is nothing that looks so countrified as. girls and men driving in pairs in a double car- riage.”’ MATERNAL ANXIETIES. 253 “Well, where are we?” demanded Gilbert. “We want to look countrified. There is nothing stiff and unadaptable about us, I hope.” Katherine had started to obey her brother, but her mother’s words and look made her hesitate. “Tt is certainly not very important,” said Mar- guerite carelessly, and she ended the discussion by stepping into the vacant place beside Kather- ine. “Oh, pshaw!” exclaimed Gilbert. “Mother, why didn’t you remember a little earlier in the day how healthful sea bathing is?” He and Fritz took their places, and the livery boy who had brought the horses moved off, chuckling. Mrs. Ormond smiled. “Saucy child! Well, good-by, young people,” she added, as the car- riage started. “Have a good time.” “Since you can’t hinder us, we will,” was Marguerite’s reply; but it was a mental one, and. she smiled encouragingly into Katherine’s sober face, which seemed to kindle from her friend’s look, and take on its usual bright aspect. Sheldon turned his horses’ heads inland, and drove through the outskirts of the pretty village among farmhouses covered to the ridgepole with clambering vines. Families of pink, infantile pigs gamboled in the grass, geese and ducks made the air occasionally vocal, and the sight and sound of nobler birds enlivened their way through strips of green meadow, and oak forests full of sweet fern and pierced by sunshine. .. 254 THE WISE WOMAN. The wood road wound and ascended insensibly, the horses pulling slowly through the sand, until, arriving at an opening, Fritz made them halt. Across undulating fields lay Pokonet, nestling among its trees, and beyond, between the billowy dunes, there showed painted ships upon a painted ocean. It was a winsome picture. ‘Now, Mr. Shel- don,” said Katherine, as they all looked upon it, “at last I defy you to think of steam!” “No,” answered Fritz pensively, “I was think- ing of sails. I was wondering if the accepted shape of sails is really the best that can be.” The girls laughed. “TI give you up,” said Kath- erine, and her tone made Sheldon look around at her. “Oh, don’t give me up, Miss Katherine.” “You are so hopelessly utilitarian.” “But you aren’t.” “T should hope not.” “Then that is the reason you ought to keep me with you, not give me up.” “If there were any hope of reforming you now,” said Katherine, “but of course I could n’t succeed where Marguerite has failed.” “In my bright lexicon there is no such word as fail,” remarked Miss Laird airily. ‘I have n’t tried to reform him. In fact, I ’m another.” “Another what? Utilitarian?” asked Gilbert. “You want me to contradict you, and, with my usual sweet compliance, I will.” MATERNAL ANXIETIES. 255 “You need n’t contradict me. I’ll prove my position,” returned Marguerite. “Fritz, if you don’t start those horses, we shall be late to dinner. We promised to stop in the village to get the mail. There, behold my common sense! ”’ _ “Oh, who wants the mail?” ejaculated Gilbert. “T have come to Pokonet, the world forgetting, and oh, how I hope, by the world forgot.” “That ’s it!” returned Marguerite triumphantly. “Fritz is quite right. It is a good thing that there is a utilitarian on each seat of this carriage.” “T can think of useful and necessary things too when I want to,” said Katherine with dignity. “When we are as near as the post-office, it will _ kill two birds with one stone if we stop at Ben- nett’s and get soda.” _ ““Katherine!’’ exclaimed her brother reproach- fully. “Do you think that is kind? Bennett isn’t quite Huyler, of course; but I think you slander his soda.” The drive was a long one, and the party were a trifle late to dinner. Gilbert did not fail to ascribe the circumstance to Marguerite’s tardiness at the start. “T sh’d think, Gilly,” said Mr. Hodgson, slowly looking up from his carver’s place at the table, “that Adam’s excuse would be jest a trifle _ too old-fashioned for you;” and Gilbert joined in the laugh at his own expense. “Mr. Ormond is such a conventional young man, uncle Silas,” explained Marguerite. “He 256 THE WISE WOMAN. must have a most respectable precedent for every- thing he does.” The girl, as she spoke, seated herself at her aunt’s right hand, a place she had gayly quarreled for with Katherine, claiming it as her right to relieve Mrs. Hodgson of all possible labor in serving. “How was the bathing, Madeline?” asked Katherine. ‘Did you miss me?” “No, it was a little rough, and I must say I preferred Jasper as a companion, to you.” Fritz met the speaker’s eyes with his good- humored gaze. ‘With your predilection for taking risks, Miss Madeline, I think, myself, Dr. McKnight is an excellent companion for you. He could rescue and resuscitate you in great shape.” “He can’t swim like Mr. Sheldon, though,” responded Madeline archly. “Jasper doesn’t pretend to be a professional swimmer,” remarked Mrs. Ormond. ‘How is it that I haven’t seen you in the water since you came, Mr. Sheldon? Is it too much like shop?” Katherine darted a swift glance at her mother, and then caught the little smile which curved Marguerite’s lips. “Well, I guess it isn’t,” put in Mrs. Hodgson. “It’s just about as much of a treat for Fritz to go swimmin’ as it is for anybody.” “The real truth is, though,” added Katherine, “that he loves shop not wisely, but too well. He MATERNAL ANXIETIES. 257 won’t play truant as he ought to, but likes best of all to browse about among those mysterious papers with Mr. McKnight.” Fritz looked at her with smiling eyes, stopping so long with some peas poised on his fork that the girl began to feel embarrassed. “The Wise Woman says,” she continued, in order to fill up the pause, “that you are one of the fortunate people of the world, because you love your work.” “But you mustn’t love it better than play, or we shall expect you to become translated, one of these beautiful summer days,” remarked Made- line. The peas found their destination as Sheldon glanced at the last speaker, and thereafter, all through the remainder of the dinner hour, he con- tinued to look at Madeline from time to time so fixedly that his sister noticed it with some uneasi- ness. Madeline was conscious also of this obser- vation, and decided that the negligée twist which her sunny hair had received after coming out of the water must be particularly becoming. She resolved to look in the glass when the meal was over, and get hints for the future. “TJ think four of you going to drive together was very exclusive,” she declared. “It should be the rule here that no one may do anything in which the whole party cannot join.” “A straw ride would suit you, perhaps,’ gested Gilbert. ’ sug 258 THE WISE WOMAN. “Oh, yes, a straw ride!” exclaimed Madeline, delightedly. “Let us have one the very first moonlight night. Now,” turning to Fritz, “see that you do not rush off to Newark just at the wrong moment.” “That depends on Mr. McKnight. If he pulls the string — why, up I go.” “Before I would be a puppet!” exclaimed Madeline saucily. “It won’t excite our compassion at all, if you are whisked away,” remarked Katherine. “You know you would rather ‘ see wheels go ’round’ at the Works than over the side of a hay wagon.” “Look here, I object to having Sheldon made out such a monstrosity,” said Gilbert. ‘I don’t see how he has managed to get up such a reputa- tion as a slave to duty. No one seems troubled by my yearning to be immersed in legal questions — rather than in salt water.” “There you are!” laughed Katherine. ‘You see you don’t belong in the Wise Woman’s most _ fortunate class.”’ “Go ’way. The person who wants to work in- stead of play in summer time is diseased. He ought to go to a hospital for nervous disorders.” Marguerite glanced across at her robust bro- , ther. “Fritz looks ready for that, doesn’t he?” she said. “I’m not very well, uncle Silas,” declared Sheldon. “How does the bluefish hold out? You | might give me a fraction of a pound more, any — MATERNAL ANXIETIES. 259 fraction you like, and see what it will do for my nervous system.” “You all spoil him,” said Mrs. Ormond vexedly to Madeline after dinner. “You pay that young man altogether too much attention.” “That was a mean thing you said to him, mother,”’ returned the girl, with warmth. “What, pray?” “About swimming being shop. Gilbert just glared at you.” “Well, upon my word! It isa pity your Mr. Sheldon can’t be kept in cotton wool.” “He isn’t my Mr. Sheldon.” Madeline tossed her head. ‘He might have been, if I had wanted him, but I didn’t.” The milliner’s brother commanded her admira- tion to such an extent that she liked to return repeatedly to this memory. It was a pleasure to voice it. Her mother regarded her in genuine amazement. “Will you explain yourself?” she said, in a por- tentous tone. Madeline shrugged her shoulder. ‘You need n’t look tragic. It is an old story. It happened at the period you twitted him with, — when he was bathing-master.”’ - Mrs. Ormond caught the girl’s hand. “My pretty child! What an escape!” she said sol- emnly. “You were so young, you might easily have been foolish.” The speaker looked carefully ‘about to make sure they were alone. “He is re q yey 260 THE WISE WOMAN. really very good-looking, with that attractive strength and genial manner which might have entrapped so young a girl. Don’t tall with him or be with him any more than you can help,” she - continued emphatically. “There is a charm to _ a girl about any man who she knows loves her, and even with that presumptuous fellow it might be dangerous. Pray, what right has he to be sen- sitive about any calling he may have followed? He is only a sort of superior mechanic, a work- man, a laborer. Oh, my good child, you have been so sensible. Now don’t play with fire!” Madeline listened to this speech with mixed sensations. It flattered her in one way, but she did not enjoy hearing Fritz belittled. Sheldon she realized had not apparently disturbed himself about her the past winter. It was only in her most complacent moments that she could fancy that he concealed deeper feeling than he showed. It was this fact which made her turn from her _ mother now with some impatience. “Oh, I am not a child,” she answered. “He stared at you so at dinner time,” said Mrs. Ormond uneasily. “Yes, but I can’t help that,” was the reply. “Of course we feel very sorry for him,” went on the mother, “but I shall be consolable when Mr. McKnight takes him back to Newark. How,” added Mrs. Ormond, and paused before continu- _ ing, — “how did Jasper seem this morning? ”’ ‘In his usual health, thank you,’’ smiled Made- line. MATERNAL ANXIETIES. 261 “This, my dear,” the lady spoke impressively, “is a very different matter.” “J wnderstand your wishes,” said the girl briefly. “T hope, my child, they are not displeasing to you.” “T wouldn’t advise you to make them too ob- vious,” remarked Madeline dryly. “This life is full of disappointments.” Mrs. Ormond looked at her a moment in si- lence. “I wish you would not make me unhappy by such suggestions,” she said at last. “You are a prize, Madeline, for a man who does not need to marry money, and you remember Thackeray says that any woman who has n’t a positive hump may marry any man she pleases.” “Thackeray never said a more false and foolish thing. You must have seen facts contradict that declaration. I have, more than once.” “T wish I knew just how much you mean,” said Mrs. Ormond, after another silent, baffled look. “Tell me one thing, Madeline. Do you know of any other girl to whom Dr. McKnight pays as much attention as he does to you?”’ “Of course not,” was the prompt reply, given with an indignant air which restored the mother’s smiling confidence. Mrs. Ormond strolled over to see the Wise Woman that afternoon. Surely, the latter was undeserving of the appellation if she could not see that two young persons who were created for each 262 THE WISE WOMAN. other should be helped on toward their mutual happiness by those who loved them best. She found Miss McKnight sitting out-of-doors and reading a book, which was closed with cour- teous alacrity as the latter rose to greet her guest. “You really ought not to settle down here, my dear, when our house is close by,” said Mrs. Or- mond. “The cozy corners at the Hodgsons’ are more numerous and attractive than here at the Berrys’.”’ ) ‘J suppose there is a certain charm about one’s own domicile, and I have adopted this. Sit down in this corner. You will find the few intrusive sunbeams rather agreeable. What is going on to-day?” “Oh, the usual things. You didn’t get down to the beach this morning. Madeline and Jasper had a fine time. The rollers were large, and if it had been anybody but Jasper with my baby, I should have been frightened sometimes; but they enjoyed it.” Mrs. Ormond sighed. “TI am so glad for every happy, care-free time my child has.” “Dear me. I fancied Madeline’s were numer- ous.” | Mrs. Ormond shook her head. ‘Indeed, I as- sure you the path of an attractive girl isn’t all roses; that is, provided the girl has a heart, and Madeline is all heart, poor little one.” Mrs. Ormond paused, but Miss McKnight, be- yond looking courteously attentive and potentially — sympathetic, did not give her a cue. 3 MATERNAL ANXIETIES. 2638 “To tell you the truth, Edna, — and oh, what a comfort it is that I can talk to you as to an own sister, — I shail be glad, unselfish as it sounds, glad to see Madeline married. Of course, no girl with sensibilities talks about those things, but it is a trying thing to have to refuse men.” Miss McKnight bowed gravely. “And when a girl is unavoidably thrown with a rejected suitor, it is painful, — one of the things that really wears upon her, you know.” “T can easily imagine that.” “Now there is that Sheldon ”’ — “What?” Miss McKnight started, as the in- voluntary exclamation broke from her. “ Aha!” thought Mrs. Ormond triumphantly. “You are very philanthropic and democratic in theory, but this begins to come home to you, does it?’’ Her face expressed nothing of her mental triumph, and she nodded. “Yes, indeed. You can imagine how it startled me to learn of it.”’ “T am so sorry to hear this,” said Miss Mc- Knight fervently. “Oh, there are no heights, apparently, to which that brother and sister are not willing to aspire,”’ returned Mrs. Ormond, allowing her chronic re- sentment to be manifest for the moment. “Iam sure you should be the last one to blame Madeline for this occurrence. I don’t want to say anything disagreeable, Edna, nor to meddle in your busi- ness. You have a right to encourage and receive any one you see fit; but certainly you made it 264 THE WISE WOMAN. very hard for the girls not to weleome those young persons as social equals.” Mrs. Ormond was vaguely conscious of her own obliquity in laying upon her friend the respon- sibility of an occurrence which took place years before Miss McKnight knew the culprit; but in her own opinion she had such just cause for complaint, she could not bring herself to weaken her cause by a slavish adherence to facts. Perhaps, owing to the Wise Woman’s habit of inattention to her friend’s monologues, she did not now clearly grasp the mother’s reproaches. She merely regarded her abstractedly, and re- peated: — “Tam so sorry! Why, I have seen nothing to make me suspect that this was coming.” Mrs. Ormond raised her eyebrows. “You should have seen him stare at Madeline all dinner time to-day. I don’t see how the poor child was able to eat. Children of nature may be very interesting to some people,” the speaker could not here eliminate all spite from her tone; “but for my own part, I prefer the more cultivated article. There is nothing more tiresome than transparent honesty.” Miss McKnight’s far-away gaze suddenly fo- cused itself on her friend’s eyes. ‘Are you quite sure Madeline’s answer was final?” she asked. Mrs. Ormond, her own mind filled with the — image of Jasper, thought she understood the rea- son for the anxiety in this question. MATERNAL ANXIETIES. 265 “Edna McKnight!” she ejaculated. “I am almost indignant with you for asking such a thing.” “Oh, I didn’t mean to criticise the child. I wasn’t suspecting her of coquetry, but a girl does n’t always know her own mind at first. Fritz may have surprised her nearly as much as he has me. I thought I knew him so well, and I never suspected this. The love of such a nobleman is a great and precious treasure, a greater thing, perhaps, than a light-hearted, popular girl like Madeline can immediately appreciate.” Mrs. Ormond reddened in her surprise, and tittered half hysterically. ‘Are you thinking of Sir Thomas Hodgson when you use such flattering terms?” “Indeed, I was never more earnest. Fritz Sheldon is one of nature’s noblemen, such as you meet once or twice in a lifetime. Madeline, in my opinion, has received a great honor.” “Indeed?” returned Mrs. Ormond, breathing fast with anger, but controlling herself by an effort. ‘Take it home closer still. How would you like to see Jasper marry a girl inferior to him in station and advantages? ”’ A slight smile softened the Wise Woman’s lips, as she slowly shook her head. “My likes would not figure. It is taking a grave responsi- bility to meddle in such matters.” “You would quietly let such a thing go on, supposing it were possible? ” / 266 THE WISE WOMAN. Miss McKnight bowed. “A mother should bring her children up to respect the highest stand- ard she can set before them. That is all she can do.” “Do you mean that you would not use all your influence with Jasper for or against desirable and undesirable girls of his acquaintance ?” “T certainly should not.” The decided reply sent Mrs. Ormond’s regard for her dear friend down to zero. “In my code, it would not only be unwise, in the case of a man like Jasper, it would be a—a vulgarity.” : “Theories are easy to build and to declare,” said Mrs. Ormond, scarcely conscious that she rose as she spoke. “I should have to remind you of this talk, I think, if actual occurrences brought the case home to you. You are willing enough - to give my child away to your protégé, but how should you like Jasper to marry Miss Laird, and — call Silas Hodgson ‘ uncle ’?”’ The Wise Woman had risen when her guest did, and now she met this excited challenge with — a smile. ‘All good girls are princesses,” she said calmly, regarding the other’s defiant coun- tenance, “but Marguerite Laird ’’ — she spoke the name with affectionate admiration and paused, then added impressively — “‘is a crown princess!” Mrs. Ormond remained dumb for a moment, and in that moment Jasper McKnight came hur- riedly around the corner of the piazza where they sat. MATERNAL ANXIETIES. 267 The guest regarded him, startled, and wondered in that imstant whether the flush on his dark bright face was from heat. She uttered a rather mirthless laugh. ; “You came just in time, Jasper. Your aunt and I had forgotten that summer is no time for argument, and were hard at it. Let us see. Do combatants shake hands after coming out of the ring as well as just before going into it? We will, at any rate. I really must be going, so good-by, Edna,” and Mrs. Ormond retreated in good order without, sore within, and repeatedly asking the same question of her own fast-beating heart, — ‘‘ Did Jasper hear ?”’ The young physician took the seat she had vacated, and began to whistle under his breath, meanwhile fanning himself with his hat, and meet- ing his aunt’s silent regard. She, too, was asking herself how much he had heard. “Aren’t you going to sit down?” he asked at last. “T was just wondering whether I would.” Miss McKnight spoke gravely. The thought of Fritz’s trouble had returned to weigh heavily on her heart. “Better sit down,” said Jasper. “I will read you something out of that magazine;” and she eomplied mechanically. CHAPTER XIX. THE BUOYS. Mrs. Ormonp kept the scene recorded in the last chapter locked in her own breast. She went : to her room with the headache as soon as she reached home, but the next morning found her refreshed, and ready to be at her usual post on the beach. All three girls walked down with her through the field to the sea. “Your daughters have excited my ambition so, Mrs. Ormond. “No matter how many duckings | I get, I am determined some time to swim as they do,”’ said Marguerite. “Yes? I don’t know that you ever can, though. There is something in beginning when one is very young.” “I think you must have thrown me in & Ja say- age when I was a baby, mother,” remarked Made- line. “It seems to me I was always at home in the water.” Mrs. Ormond looked over her shoulder across _ ‘the fields. : “Aren’t we to have any of our young men this ‘ morning?’ she asked. | THE BUOYS. 269 “Gilbert drove to the village to do an errand for Mrs. Hodgson,”’ said Katherine. “It was so kind of him,” put in Marguerite. “YT should think so,’? remarked Mrs. Ormond. “Gilbert always was too good-natured. He lets himself be im —”’ “Do see that crow, mother!’’ interrupted Kath- erine. “No, it isn’t a crow, either. I believe it isagull. It’s hard to be sure of anything, this daz- zling morning, except that everything is radiant.” The three girls were so, at all events. Mrs. Ormond regarded her daughters with satisfaction. As soon as Jasper had performed the one thing required of him, she felt that her cup of content would be full. She never gave more than a pass- ing thought to Katherine’s future. Katherine was one of the little-noticed requisites to daily comfort, not beautiful or brilliant, only necessary. She never considered what it would be to get along without Katherine. Midway of the field they met Fritz Sheldon. “You are going the wrong way,” cried Madeline gayly. “T had to take my plunge early,” he said, look- ing at Katherine, as they paused. “Mr. Me- Knight wants me this morning.” “How tiresome! He always wants you,’ re- turned Madeline. Her mother seized her arm and gently urged her along. “What are you going to do this afternoon?” asked Fritz, addressing Katherine. f 270 THE WISE WOMAN. ‘Anything that comes up,” she answered. “Want to go crabbing?” “Yes, indeed. It is chronic with me to want to go crabbing.” Fritz was lifting his hat to move on. “QOne condition, though,” she added, her eyes twinkling as she stretched forth a warn- ing hand. ‘You must promise not to try to in- vent some way to make crabs walk forward. I am opposed to vivisection. No taking off their lees and putting them on hind side before, or anything of that kind!” Sheldon’s rare laugh sounded heartily across the field, and made Mrs. Ormond turn back un- — easily; but Katherine was following sedately with — Marguerite, and the objectionable mechanic was — departing with satisfactory haste. i His was a singularly heart-whole laugh, Mrs. — Ormond’ could not help considering; but one should not look for deep feeling from that sper she decided. “Where is Jasper ?”’ she inquired, rather crossly. “T have n’t him about me,” was her daughter’s retort. The girls were in the water before Dr. Me- Knight appeared. Mrs. Ormond was sitting in the sand trying to arrange her board support to suit her, when she heard 1s voice. 4 ‘Let me do that.” “Oh, thank you, Jasper. Katherine didn’t sink it deep eneuen) and it has been slipping, i slipping, ever since.’ . THE BUOYS. aT The doctor fixed the board firmly in place, then stood up and waved his hat to the mermaids sport- ing in the waves. Mrs. Ormond followed his gaze complacently. Her girls were encouraging and helping Margue- rite, who pluckily submitted to many a choking tumble in her efforts to emulate their skill. “Poor Miss Laird!” said Jasper, laughing aloud in sympathy with the merriment in the water. “Yes,” remarked Mrs. Ormond. “I think she would better hold by the rope, and go in but very little way. She is too ambitious. She should be satisfied with small things.” “J think I will join them, Mrs. Ormond. Az revoir,’ and the doctor hurried away toward the bath-house. Now things were going as they should. Mrs. Ormond smiled unconsciously as she watched the shifting, dizzying play of water piling up and falling away from the shore. In a few minutes Dr. McKnight ran past her, jumping into the brine and bobbing up and down until his crisp, dark hair was flattened to his head. She watched with benevolent interest as laughing greetings were interchanged, then saw Madeline push out a little way, rise upon a big wave, then swim off a few strokes. “Why doesn’t Jasper stop talking to those girls, and go with Madeline?” she thought, not uneasily; she knew her child was at home, and 4 ' ¥ ’ Ret £ fre THE WISE WOMAN. the bathing-master was on the watch, but it chafed her always to see the young physician speak to Marguerite Laird. This feeling had been painfully increased by yesterday’s talk with his aunt. Mrs. Ormond had reckoned on her as an ally. Now she felt, and with some mortification as well as resentment, that she stood alone. Jasper continued to keep his back turned to Madeline. | “You are doing finely, Miss Laird,” he said encouragingly. “Oh, I don’t think so,’ she returned breath- lessly. “It is a knack, and I’m afraid Ill never get it. The undertow is like a giant hand that — drags at my feet and frightens me in spite of _ myself.” “Come, let me help you.” Jasper took the — hands which in the bewilderment of the seething water she willingly yielded, and drew her a little farther out. | The tide was rising, and the billows increasing. “T want to be a cork like Katherine,” she gasped, as a wave struck her, and she clung more tightly to the supporting hands. “You are not frightened, are you?” “A little.” “Trust me, and you shall be a cork.” A step further out, and a roller went completely. over Jasper’s head, while Marguerite found her- — self gently lifted above it. x THE BUOYS. 275 “It is glorious! you will be drowned!” she ejaculated, as the s.aile gleamed above her in his olive-skinned face, and he let her sink down be- tween two waves. “T take lots of drowning,” he answered, and up she went again, while the tide went roaring over his head. Mrs. Ormond from her sandy throne looked on. “Oh, it is convenient to be a novice, very con- venient,” she soliloquized wrathfully. “It is very nice to monopolize the attention of the only man in the party. Who is that with Madeline? Oh, it is one of those Deweys. Why, Edna, is that you?” she added aloud with a start, for she had been so absorbed that she did not notice the approach of her friend. ; Miss McKnight seated herself beside her. “Yes, I came down with Fritz.” “I thought he said Mr. McKnight needed him.” “Yes: but Robert decided after all to drive about a little this morning with Mr. Hodgson, so Fritz thought he could catch the bathers, and we hurried down. He is in the bath-house.” In a few minutes Sheldon approached in his bathing-suit. “Tt is a good thing you have come to help your sister,” said Mrs. Ormond. Fritz looked toward the splashing, laughing couple, who had now come into shallower water. “Rita seems to be doing very well,”’ he replied, 274 THE WISE WOMAN. with an equanimity for which Mrs. Ormond could willingly have stabbed him with her bonnet pin. “Hurry up!” said Miss McKnight. “The girls will be getting tired. I want to see you swim.” He obediently ran down the slope into the water, and took a header through a great green roller which sent its foam in irregular lacework nearly to the watchers’ feet. Miss McKnight looked on admiringly, Mrs. Ormond eagerly. Would he come back to Mar- guerite? His were the legitimate arms to support her as she “bobbed up serenely ”’ on the “emerald hills.” He returned, shaking the water from his eyes, but it was Katherine he approached. “You repented,” she said. “Mr. McKnight did, and I hurried back. Fate seemed determined not to allow you and me to have a social swim, but she has relented.” “T have been wanting to go out to the buoys,” said Katherine, “but I did n’t quite like to, alone.” “Better take that some time when you are fresh,” suggested Sheldon. “Do you call that far?” “Yes, for you.” “That shows how little you appreciate my powers,” said the girl gayly. “I must go now any way, to show off.” “TIT would n’t. You must have been in the water fifteen minutes already.” “But I haven’t been doing anything except float about and help Marguerite shriek.” THE BUOYS. 275 “That takes breath, though. Remember I’m an old salt. I’ve been bathing-master.”’ “And you seem to fancy yourself so still,” re- turned the girl, with a saucy smile. ‘‘Good-by, Mr. Sheldon, it may be for years, and it may be forever; but I prophesy it is for about twenty minutes.” | She struck out toward the barrels bobbing in the distance. In an instant Fritz was swimming beside her. “You did n’t suppose I would let you go alone?”’ “No, perhaps I didn’t,” she answered, her eyes twinkling at him as she laid her head to one side and cut through the water. “Don’t talk any more,” he said, “and swim quietly.” “Do see Katherine and Fritz,” said Marguerite to Dr. McKnight. “ Where can they be going?” “JT hope not far in that direction,’ returned Jasper. “I think it is risky for a girl to get far from shore. There is always the possibility of cramp for anybody.” “Fritz would n’t ask her to do anything risky,” said Marguerite, “and how beautifully they go; but how do they dare? Just think! Nothing beneath them but water and —and sharks!” Jasper smiled. “Are you going in, Miss Laird?” “Yes.” She smiled back at him. “Iam ever so much obliged to you, but I think I’ve had enough.” Oars" 276 THE WISE WOMAN. “T think so, too. Your teeth are beginning to chatter suspiciously.” Miss McKnight beckoned as they sought dry land, and they approached, and sat down in the sunshine near the two friends. “Bravo, Marguerite,” said the Wise Woman, kindly. ‘How soon do you think you will be venturing off there like Katherine?” “We ’ve been watching them. Isn’t she dar- ing, Mrs. Ormond ?” : “Katherine is an unusual swimmer for a girl, I’m told,”’ was the stiff reply. Mrs. Ormond was in the worst possible humor. For the first time in her life, she was incensed with Jasper. “All the same,” she added tartly, “I should sup- pose Mr. Sheldon would turn back by now. I should think he would remember that a girl’s | strength is hardly equal to his.” Marguerite flushed and bit her lip, and Dr. McKnight saw it. “I don’t believe you could give Mr. Sheldon any points in that matter, Mrs. Ormond,” he said quietly. “They can’t turn back now. It would make too long a stretch. They evidently mean to rest at the buoys.” Out amid the glass-green billows Katherine and Fritz swam on. The latter saw that his compan- ion’s breath began to come hard, and her white face looked strained. He pressed nearer to her Ma and smiled. “Shall we rest a minute? Lots of time,” he said, — reassuringly. “Put your hand on my shoulder.” THE BUOYS. AE She obeyed. “Those buoys—have such a funny way —- of floating backward,” she answered. His eyes seemed to send courage into hers. “I know; but we are really not far from them now.” “Yes, and I am quite able to go on.” She struck out again; but it was a very pale girl who finally grasped one of the buoyant casks and hung there. “T am going to seat you on that,” said Fritz, “You can’t,” she replied breathlessly. “T don’t take a dare, Miss Ormond, any more than you do.” With some difficulty he dragged her heavily from the clinging water and seated her on the barrel. The sun and air felt warm and reviving to her. “You did not dare me,” she said gravely. “I was foolish to insist.” “JT hope you don’t feel any bad effects,” he returned anxiously. He was balancing her unsta- ble throne, and supporting himself thereby. “It is my first long swim of the season, and I ought, as you said, to have been fresh when I started. For one moment there, it seemed to me there was nothing but water between me and China. I was panic-stricken.” Her lip quivered as she tried bravely to smile. Fritz looked at her solicitously, his heart shin- ing in his honest eyes. “You ought to have told me. Were you too proud?” “Perhaps, or too frightened, or something. You are awfully good not to crow over me.” 278 THE WISE WOMAN. Katherine looked so childlike, as she said Fi with her round bare arms and her eyes wide and serious under the red silk handkerchief, that her companion smiled. “You spoke to me just at the right moment, though,” she added. “Otherwise, perhaps, I might have lost my head.” “I hoped we were better friends than that,” said Fritz, his elbow leaning on the barrel, and his eyes still upon hers. “I find it makes me jealous to know that you are more reluctant to ask of me than of Gilbert. You would have told Gilbert you were frightened.” Katherine’s color rose quickly. “I did n’t know you were capable of such an unscientific emotion as jealousy,” she said, with a gleam of mischief. “Neither did I,” answered Fritz, with prompt frankness. ‘Promise me you won’t rouse it again.” “You want me to make you just as much trou- ble as I do Gilbert? ” “Exactly.” “Well, that is the way our acquaintance be- gan,” she said. “Perhaps that is the reason I am impatient of any retrogression,” he answered. Neither spoke for a moment, and Katherine’s color faded. “Do you dread the return trip?” asked Shel- don at last. She gave a quick look down into his upturned THE BUOYS. 279 face. “A little,” she answered. “IJ am disap- pointed not to find myself stronger. It all comes of staying away so long from Pokonet.”’ Her companion saw that she was really uneasy. “You do not need to dread it,” he returned, and the quiet strength which was always suggested by his tone and look and manner were never more observable than now. “Don’t let this be- come anything less than a lark,” he added lightly, with a smile. “I could swim in there with you as easily as not.”’ Katherine felt reassured, and laughed. “That would make my venture something very much . less than a lark,” she said. She pictured to her- self her mother’s face under the supposititious circumstances. From her uneasy perch on the shifting waves, she looked toward the figures on the beach. “There, I think I am rested now,” she said at last. “Then off we go,” responded Fritz cheerily. As a matter of fact, he was more anxious than Katherine to see her on dry land once more. “One moment, though; I suppose you would like to go in with flying colors.” “There ’s no mistake about that. I would like to.” ; “Then let me suggest that you accept my assist- ance the first part of the way.”” Sheldon wished she did not look so pale, but his tone was as cheer- ful as possible. “Girls are handicapped, any way, by their bathing-suits.” 280 THE WISE WOMAN. “Oh, it always seems so much shorter going back,” replied Katherine stoutly. “Thank you, but I shall be all right. Now, then.” | She slipped off the cask into the water, and struck out. “You are a good swimmer,” said Fritz heartily. He knew the paramount importance of mental conditions in the unstable element, and the best he could do was to give her a bit of stimulating praise and keep his eye on her. She went on bravely; but no one save herself could ever know how long those seconds seemed after the first half-dozen strokes had been taken. The sea was roughening. “Almost there,” cried Fritz gayly. It did not look so to Katherine. The beach retreated now as the buoys had done a little while before. She could not remember to float, or tread water, or use any of the means to rest which seemed so easy and natural when shallow water and a foothold were within reach. The waves were cruelly big, and noisy, and strong. She felt feeble and tiny among them. | Sheldon’s watchful eye never left her face. At last she gave an involuntary exclamation, and almost instantly she felt the firm support of his arm. She would not give up, though her breath was growing unmanageable. She would help him. She would not become a dead weight. ) The interested group on the shore were watch- THE BUOYS. | 281 ing them closely. The runaways were coming back, and Mrs. Ormond’s uneasiness had van- ished. “Katherine is entirely at home in the water,” she said complacently. “I consider such swimming as hers a very usetul accomplishment. ”’ “Why, Fritz has gone to her. What are they doing?” asked Marguerite, gazing curiously. Dr. McKnight’s face changed, and he started to his feet, and looked toward the pair with a sharp but undecided gaze. Their movements were suspicious, yet Kather- ine seemed to be swimming. “What is it, Jasper?” asked Miss McKnight. He sat down again. “I thought’”— He hesi- tated, then sprang to his feet, ran down the sands, and plunged into the water. The whole party rose; for his manner was startling. _ “What is the matter?” asked Mrs. Ormond, alarmed. “Katherine, Katherine!’ she cried, with sud- den sharpness, for the pair were now near enough for her to see that Sheldon was holding his com- panion in one arm, and that she had ceased to make any motion. Madeline came running from a little distance, and joined her exclamations to her mother’s as Fritz, at last gaining his feet, and dripping like a young sea-god, came walking through the shallow water, carrying Katherine, limp and unconscious, inhisarms. Dr. McKnight strode on beside him. 282 THE WISE WOMAN. ““Great heavens, is she dead?” shrieked Mrs. Ormond, wringing her hands. ‘What were you thinking of, Mr. Sheldon, to make her do such a thing! Oh, Katherine!” “She has fainted,” said Dr. McKnight curtly. “Stand back.” Fritz, not responding to any one, deposited his burden on the warm white sand. “Here, doctor!” he gasped. Mrs. Ormond was still hysterically calling upon her child and reproaching Sheldon, when Fritz rose from a last glance at Raho brushed the mother aside, and started off running. “Somebody else ought to go!” exclaimed Dr. McKnight, falling on hid knees beside the uncon- scious girl and chafing her hands. “ What strength that fellow has!” 7 “Where, where, doctor!’ exclaimed Margue- rite eagerly. “To the Life Saving Station. Brandy and blankets.” The girl sped off in her short skirt, running like a deer up the sandy incline between the dunes to _ the station close by. She met her ger in the © house. Several of the men were there, ‘eager to help. She insisted on sending one of them to the beach with the desired chides, and drew Fritz outdoors — in the sunshine, where she made him sit down. | “I’m all right,” he declared, rather breath- — lessly. | THE BUOYS. 283 “You will be in a minute,” she returned, stand- ing over him. “She didn’t swallow any water,”’ he said, look- ing up after a little pause, during which his breath- ing made the only sound. “That is good. Don’t take any girl so far out again, will you?” “Not if I can help it.” “Could n’t you help it this time?”’ A smile flitted over Sheldon’s tanned face. “I might have carried her on shore bodily in the first place, I suppose.” “Oh, that’s it.”” Marguerite paused thought- fully. ‘‘ Katherine will be ashamed.” ““T hope not.” Marguerite rested her hand on his shoulder. “Fritz, I have a new thermometer, or barometer, or something, to measure my own goodness by.” “Have you?” “Yes. I can always gauge my spiritual state by my sentiments toward Mrs. Ormond.” “Humph!” ejaculated Fritz. “Talks through her hat a good deal, doesn’t she? I’ve a vague idea she pitched into me when we came in just now.” “T should say she did.” “Never mind. She is Katherine’s mother.” Marguerite’s eyes widened a little at this un- expected argument. “And Madeline’s,” she sug- gested. “Yes, that’s more credible.” Fritz lifted a 284 THE WISE WOMAN. humorous glance to his sister’s face, and her expression took on a shade of relief. “It worried me yesterday, Fritz, to see the way you stared at Madeline at dinner,” she said. “I was afraid the burned child might be forgetting the fire.” Sheldon shook his head. ‘No fire there,” he returned quietly. “I guess I did stare at her. I was wondering how it could be that I ever lay awake all night to think about her. Just run out between those dunes, will you, Rita, and see what ’s going on, on the beach.” Marguerite obeyed, and soon returned. “Katherine is moving,” she reported, “and Mr. Dewey is just bringing a carriage across the sand to take her home.” “I hope that exhaustion didn’t go deep,” said — Fritz gravely. ‘Those were n’t the pleasantest moments I ever spent before we got in to where I could get a foothold. The poor girl wasn’t light — after she let go, and Neptune’s got an awful grip, but f didn’t like to frighten you by singing out.” “Dear old Fritz!’’ exclaimed Marguerite im- pulsively. “Ill try to forgive Katherine.” : He turned slowly toward her a look which startled her and burned into her memory. ” “You will have to forgive Katherine,” was all he said; but his tone gave her food for reflection. CHAPTER XX. A REPENTANT CULPRIT. “Lert her alone, and let her sleep all she will.” Dr. McKnight said this so imperatively, upon leaving Mrs. Ormond at noon, that the next morning dawned before she and Madeline had an opportunity to ease their minds to Katherine concerning her escapade. Mrs. Ormond came in her wrapper to her daughters’ room at an early hour. As Katherine opened her eyes to greet her, there were no signs of her adventure in her face. “T am glad you have come, mother,” said Made- line. “I haven’t dared to speak to her for fear she was still sleeping.” “For once in my life, the only time, I believe, I have slept enough,” remarked Katherine, re- turning her mother’s kiss. “How you frightened us, my dear!’ was Mrs. Ormond’s greeting. ‘Do you feel entirely natu- ral this morning? ” ; “Entirely. I am very sorry, and as mortified as I can be about yesterday. I ask everybody’s pe pardon,” replied Katherine meekly. “It is more than that boorish Sheldon has = 286 THE WISE WOMAN. done,” said Mrs. Ormond. “He didn’t come home to supper at all last night. I dare say he was ashamed to look me in the face.” “He was busy with Mr. McKnight, Marguerite told me,’’ said Madeline. “Oh, she condescended to say that much, did she? I never saw any one so dumb as that young woman can be when she chooses. She never opened her lips on the subject last evening. Any girl with feeling would at least have apologized for her brother if he had n’t the grace to come and do it for himself. He never came once the whole afternoon to find out how you were after half drowning you!” : “Yes he did, mother,’ said Madeline. “He came over from the McKnights’ for some of his drawing things, and he asked if Katherine was getting on all right.” “Very kind of him, I’m sure,” returned Mrs. Ormond, with a curling lip. Katherine looked from one to the other with large, bewildered eyes. ‘“Didn’t Mr. Sheldon tell you? But of course he didn’t. The idea of his apologizing to us! Why, mother, he said all he could to keep me from going out to those buoys. He knew I wasn’t in condition for it. I insisted, and went in spite of him. It was just one of those silly things I have always despised when other girls did them. I suppose he believes that I think it was fascinating of me to faint and make him no end of bother. Oh, the more I think — A REPENTANT CULPRIT. 287 of it, the more idiotic it grows!’ Katherine’s eyes became suffused. The others stared at her blankly. Madeline was the first to break the silence. “Well, mother, that leaves you in a pretty posi- tion,” she said. “I imagine you wish now you hadn’t been quite so vigorous in your denuncia- tions of Fritz.” “Don’t tell me you blamed him?” exclaimed Katherine beseechingly. ‘‘ Not to his face!” “Don’t ask me what I said,” returned Mrs. Ormond shortly. “I was nearly beside myself.”’ “Oh, that does put the crowning touch to the whole performance!” groaned poor Katherine, turning her head away in despair. It was such a novel mood for her that her mother hastened to speak : — “Of course, any one with Mr. Sheldon’s sense would make allowances for my excitement. Don’t mind that.” “T suppose a crowd gathered instantly and heard you,” mourned Katherine. “Fritz didn’t remain to receive all mother’s flattery,” said Madeline, with malicious humor. “He brushed her aside as if she were a gadfly, and lit out for the brandy and things.” “He wasn’t there when I waked up,” said Katherine, giving expression to a thought which had risen in her mind during each wakeful interval since yesterday noon. “Are you surprised at that?’ smiled Madeline. 288 THE WISE WOMAN. “I’m sure he had been led to suspect that his place was not in the very heart of our family circle.” Katherine kept her head turned away, and gave an inarticulate murmur. Mrs. Ormond felt uneasy. Madeline’s little pouts and vexations were frequent; but to see Katherine in the dumps was wholly novel, and to know herself the chief cause of offense was irri- tating. | “Now look here, child,” she said, patting the girl coaxingly. “Don’t you take that to heart at all. Ill turn the whole thing off in some joking way the next time I see Mr. Sheldon, and it will be all right. He is not sensitive. These thick- skinned, common people don’t mind trifles.” Katherine turned over quickly on her pillow, and looked at the speaker. ‘‘ Mother,” she said, “if Mr. Sheldon were a common person, this world would be transformed.” Mrs. Ormond’s face under this unexpected re- joinder was a study. She stood motionless, while the steady young voice went deliberately on. “He is the kindest, best-balanced, best man I ever knew.” Madeline, who had risen, regarded the speaker curiously. “Well,” said her mother, at last, “what do you expect me to do about it?” “Oh,” returned Katherine, the energy gone out of her voice, “I don’t know.” , “I think,” remarked Madeline pertly, “that A REPENTANT CULPRIT. 289 considering he has fished so many members of your family out of the water, it would be rather graceful of you to thank him. First, it was Gil- bert, I came next, and now it is Katherine. He used to rescue me on an average of once a day. I knew he liked it,” here she threw a glance at Katherine, “and it didn’t hurt me.’ Madeline had been inclined to envy her sister the sensation she made yesterday, and she might have been more disagreeable about it but for a new admirer at her shrine, a Mr. Dewey, whose incense was at present smoking high. - “Tf you think Mr. Sheldon’s claims can be post- poned until my toilet is made, I will go to my room,” said Mrs. Ormond, with a mixture of scorn and dignity. For a time after her departure, silence reigned in the room. Lach sister was busy with her own thoughts. Madeline had plenty that was pleasant to think of, yet she was not so entirely self-ab- sorbed as to be able to enjoy tasting the flattering sweets stored up in her mind while she suspected that Katherine was seriously unhappy. It was such a turning of tables for her to be obliged to adopt the role of comforter that she hardly knew how to begin. “Aren’t you going to get up, Katherine?” she asked, at last. “JT dread to go to the breakfast-table and meet them all,”’ was the answer. “You ’re making a mountain out of a mole-hill, 290 THE WISE WOMAN. truly you are, but if you want me to bring your breakfast up, I will.” “You are very good,” returned Katherine grate- fully. As soon as Madeline had left the room, she rose and made her toilet, then sat down by an open window and looked out through the long ailanthus branches. She had so much to think of, with such strange alternations of humiliation and pleasure, it seemed to her that her one peaceful plan of life would be to stay right here in this room alone for months, until she had lived down es one and compre- hended the other. It was a foggy morning; the sun had not yet burned the mists away. She idly watched what seemed a little snowy sail dipping rhythmically on the gray sea of the veiled field, and so real seemed the illusion, she smiled as she realized that it was the tail of a white hen out on a foraging expedition. To be alone was the next best thing to being asleep. She wished no one, thinking especially of Marguerite, would feel obliged to come to see her. The door of her room opened, and Miss Me- Knight walked in, bearing a breakfast tray. Katherine started uy in her surprise. “Dear Wise Woman! So early?” The visitor deposited the tray on a stand, and — returned the girl’s affectionate greeting. After 4 A REPENTANT CULPRIT. 291 all, the Wise Woman was the one person she wanted, and she had n’t known it. “Of course I could n’t wait to see my little girl. Well, how is it?” Miss McKnight held her off and looked at her. “T’ve slept myself well, but that is all,” re- turned Katherine, wincing under scrutiny. “I am in hiding.” “Indeed? Well, sit down here, and have some breakfast first of all, and then tell me what the trouble is.” Katherine obeyed, and began to eat the baked apple over which Mrs. Hodgson had poured her best cream. “Tt ought to be skimmed milk,” groaned the girl. “Why this humility? I fail to see that you have done anything to be ashamed of,” said the other, seating herself comfortably. The Wise Woman was one who always paid other people’s homes the subtle compliment of behaving as if their surroundings fulfilled her every desire. “That is because Mr. Sheldon didn’t peach.” “Explain yourself. Open confession is good.” “T would go out to the buoys. He tried to persuade me not to.” Miss McKnight smiled musingly. “Fritz is always level-headed. I have had a soft spot in my heart for him ever since we first met. It is ‘rapidly spreading over the whole extent of that organ, and I only hope it can be restrained from attacking the brain.” loam 292 3 THE WISE WOMAN. “I’m glad you appreciate him,” said Kather- ine, busy opening an ege. She looked up sud- denly. “You were there, dear Wise Woman, when he brought me in. You must have heard the things mother said to him,” the girl’s lips tightened, while her eyes filled; “and here I sit eating eggs!” she finished. “Just the right thing to do, my dear. One duty at a time. Eggs happen to be the first one this morning.” “Well, that’s why I’m in hiding. I am a little afraid of the Hodgsons, more afraid of Mr. Sheldon, and mortally afraid of Marguerite! You can appreciate why I want to get under the bed and stay there!” “Poor Fritz! Fate gives him some pretty hard knocks,”’ said Miss McKnight. Doubtless Kath- erine was aware of the fact which Mrs. Ormond communicated a couple of days before, and which had been coloring the Wise Woman’s thoughts ever since. “His sister thinks he is lucky, usually,” re- turned Katherine dejectedly. “Providence knows best,” said the other qui- etly, “but I don’t take Fritz’s great disappoint- ment very philosophically. A short-sighted mor- tal like myself would give such a man, one who is not capricious or shallow, the woman he wants. Even if the girl is not just the one I would choose for him, I should feel certain he would do her good.” A REPENTANT CULPRIT. 293 The cocoa Katherine was drinking suddenly met some obstruction in her throat, which vig- orously disputed the right of way. She choked, and set down her cup. Lifting a glass of water, she drank, taking some time between the sips. “Want to be patted on the back?” asked Miss McKnight laughingly. “Tt is all right now,” returned the other, but the sudden color faded from her face, and her visitor noted for the first time that the excitement of yesterday had left its traces. “Of course, if Mr. Sheldon is struggling with a great trial of that nature,” said the girl, push- ing back from the table, “yesterday’s pin-pricks would not affect him much. I can comfort myself: with that thought.” She did not meet the older woman’s eyes as she spoke, and the latter thought she understood the evasion. “Don’t hesitate to speak out, my dear. Your mother confided in me.”’ “ About what?” “Madeline and Fritz.” Katherine looked at her companion now, and her face warmed again. “Ts that what you were talking about, a minute ago?” “To be sure.” Miss McKnight wondered at _ the expression, unsympathetic to say the least, which grew on her young friend’s countenance. Katherine’s eyes made an approach to the fa- 294 THE WISE WOMAN. miliar twinkle. “That is ancient history,” she said. “What do you mean?” } “That happened two years ago, when they met down here. I don’t know how serious it was. It was only a matter of two weeks.” “Katherine, you make me feel ten years younger!” The two smiled at each other, then the girl moved back to the table. “Why, I am not through breakfast, am I? And oh, dear, I have to get back under the bed again! ” “What exasperates me,” said Miss McKnight reflectively, “is the number of unnecessary vibra- tions my nerves of sympathy have undergone.” “It is very odd, but mother must have misun- derstood. Perhaps Madeline threw out some hints, and didn’t explain the whole matter.” “Humph!” returned the Wise Woman. Katherine’s cocoa went down this time unhin- dered. Marguerite, knowing what visitor was upstairs, did not attempt to go at once to see Katherine. “It looks bad, her not coming down?” said Fritz interrogatively, as he paused on the piazza to speak with his sister after breakfast. 4 “I dare say she feels a little lazy,’’ returned Marguerite, “but it is easy to see from Mrs. Ormond’s and Madeline’s behavior that there is nothing very serious the matter with her.” Gilbert here came out on the piazza, leading A REPENTANT CULPRIT. 295 his mother with an air of some determination. They approached Fritz. “I’ve just been hearing from Madeline the true inwardness of yesterday’s adventure,” said Gil- bert, “and the Ormond family wish to express their thanks in due form as well as sincerely.” The young man kept an arm around his mother as he gave Sheldon’s hand a hearty shake. Mrs. Ormond cleared her throat. “I was under a misapprehension yesterday, which really seems very absurd now,” she said. ‘Katherine was fortunate in having you with her. She’ — “Don’t mention it,” interrupted Fritz hastily, noting her embarrassment. “If Miss Katherine is not ill from the experience, there is nothing to regret in it.” “You just stick right by us, Sheldon,” said Gilbert. “As a family life-preserver you give perfect satisfaction. We ’ve no wish to change.” Fritz smiled. “Very well; try to keep out of mischief this morning, though, for I am going to be busy. Good-by, Rita. I hope, Mrs. Ormond, that Miss Katherine will soon be downstairs.” “Thank you. I think she will.” “T haven’t seen her since the fracas,” said Gilbert. “I think I’ll go up and visit the inter- esting invalid. Come, mother.” “Miss McKnight is with her now.” “Yes, I know, but Madeline has gone up. I guess there will be room for two more. Shall you vo to the beach after a while, Miss Marguerite?” 296 | THE WISE WOMAN. “T will think about it,” replied the girl, lean- ing back against the pillows in the hammock ; and then she was left alone. She recalled Mrs. Ormond’s face and manner during the recent interview, and smiled as she rocked herself gently, touching the toe of her slip- per to the floor. . “Good morning,” said a voice beside her. Jas- per McKnight had approached noiselessly on the turf, and stood there leaning his arms upon the railing. He offered her a daisy. “TI thought the fields had entirely dropped the subject of Marguerite,”’ he continued, “but I just happened to find this, blooming alone.” She accepted the flower, and drew its stem through her belt. ‘Thank you. I ought to be satisfied with daisies for one season.” “What is the programme to-day?” “The usual delicious blank.” “That sounds well, but I think you are a rather energetic set.”’ “Indeed, and are you ‘ out of it’?” “Oh, I follow the procession, of course, but I am never guilty of an idea.” “We are all tolerably blameless in that line. I had ideas enough, though, in the still, small hours last night,”’ continued Marguerite with a signifi- cant nod, which Jasper received eagerly. Every approach to familiar friendliness from her to him was still a novelty. ‘I was in the waves all night, it seemed to me.” A REPENTANT CULPRIT. 297 “Was it a pleasant experience?” “ At first; but’’— She hesitated. “Tell me all about it. I scent something ex- citing.”’ : “Oh, it was exciting.”” Marguerite shuddered a little in the warm air. ‘I suppose I mixed our experience with Katherine’s. You were lifting me above the waves, and it was great sport at first, but after a while you didn’t come up, and —and then somehow you were lying on the sand —and they said you were dead, and I had done it, you know” — The girl bit her lip. “It was dreadful; I am foolish to remind myself. In the midst of the misery of it, while the Wise Woman was looking at me with awful eyes, I waked. Oh, such a relief; but all the same,” the girl paused, and a fitful smile played over her lips, “I was glad to see you just now standing there be- fore me in the flesh.” “T apologize humbly for making myself so dis- agreeable. We shall have to repeat yesterday’s ducking, and wipe out the impression.” “T don’t think I could let you,” returned Mar- guerite quickly. “Not when you know dreams go by contra- ries?” asked Jasper, unreasonably pleased by her solicitude. “Oh, I feel as if the shock of yesterday’s expe- rience had brought everything to a standstill for a little while,” she replied evasively. “How is Miss Katherine this morning ?”’ 298 THE WISE WOMAN. “T have n’t seen her yet, but I judge she is feel- ing pretty well.” “No need of me, then?” “JT don’t know. Shall I go and ask?” “No, indeed. Aunt Edna is with her, I be- lieve. I told her I would follow in case I could do anything.”’ “Yes, your aunt is with her, and I have been © sitting alone out here, feeling jealous.” Dr. McKnight’s smile made his dark face bright. “Jealous of which one?” “Surely,” remarked Marguerite, “ that con- fession of mine was rather cleverly ambiguous, wasn’t it? I didn’t realize it when I made it. It will be more interesting to let it remain a conundrum.” | “But I always guess conundrums.” Marguerite only smiled at Mr. Hodgson, who now walked around by the piazza, making her cheeks warm by the curious and lingering look © which he bent upon the unconscious doctor’s back. “Oh, good morning, Mr. Hodgson,” said the latter, lifting his hat, as the old man passed within his range of vision. “Good mornin’,” was the cheery response. “Why ain’t you with the sick one? Ain’t nothin’ wrong with Rita, is there?” To Marguerite’s supersensitive ears there was something direfully significant in the tone of this — question. i “T don’t know,” called back the doctor good- — 99 A REPENTANT CULPRIT. 299 humoredly. “She hasn’t let me feel her pulse yet.” This answer seemed to strike Mr. Hodgson as unusually good. They could hear him chuckling aloud as he moved off. Jasper turned back to Marguerite, and found her eyes confronting him with bright serious- ness. “Knowing that you and Katherine are intimate friends, and that you haven’t seen her since yes- terday,” he said, “it doesn’t take a high order of intelligence to perceive that you are jealous of my aunt for getting in ahead of you this morning. See?” Marguerite laughed in her relief that he had not thought twice about uncle Silas. “I do see that you are a very clever personage. Accept my ~ongratulations.”’ “‘So it is Katherine you are jealous of,” said Jasper in a different tone. “I thought so all the time. I mean I hoped so; but I wanted to make sure.” Marguerite colored. ‘‘ Why did you hope so?” “Oh, because I like to have you fond of aunt Edna.” “But it is degrading to be jealous of Kather- ine. She came first, and ought to come first. Promise me you won’t tell the Wise Woman.” “She would be complimented.”’ “No, don’t.tell her; I am not joking about it. I will tell you one other thing, a real secret this 3800 THE WISE WOMAN. time. You know it has been said that a woman. always tells a secret because she has to get some one to help her keep it.”’ “I’ve a positive talent for keeping secrets,” averred Jasper. “Even as a baby I refused to cry if there was a pin sticking into me, I was so instinctively secretive.” “Then I am sure I can trust you. It is only this; that I am jealous by nature.” “T can sympathize, for I am another!” “T never confessed it, even to Fritz; but that is why you mustn’t betray me to the Wise Wo- man.” “Do you believe love can exist without jeal- ousy?” asked Jasper. Marguerite hesitated a moment, surprised. “Yes,” she replied at last. “But I am talking now about love between a man and a woman.” “So am I, — yet I know nothing about it.” “Does n’t the fact of love necessarily include the possibility of jealousy?” persisted Jasper. “Yes.” He gave her a bright look, which was too seri- ous for smiles. “Yet you are right,” he said. “I, too, believe love may exist without jealousy.” His ardent look mastered hers. The long sec- onds passed, and he did not speak, and her wits — seemed paralyzed. It was an ineffable relief to — her when the screen door slammed and Gilbert — A REPENTANT CULPRIT. 301 Ormond appeared. He had hesitated for a mo- ment, regarding the tableau on the piazza, before _ making his noisy entrance. “Good morning, Jasper.” “Good morning,” returned McKnight, lifting the hat which had set negligently back from the crisp, dark hair above his forehead. “I hear I have no business over here this morning.”’ “No, Katherine is all right, and even my diges- tion is getting into shape. I haven’t told you before, Miss Marguerite, —I didn’t want you to lose any sleep fretting about me,— but when I first came down here the last coat was off my stomach, and it was doing its work entirely in its shirt- sleeves.” . ** Miss Laird has n’t asked me to sit down,” said Dr. McKnight. “Oh, please do,” said the girl, at ease again. “So I think I will go and hunt up aunt Edna. I must pay my respects to Miss Katherine.” When he had gone into the house, Gilbert sat down in a chair and, staring out across the fields, appeared to fall into reverie. Marguerite rocked softly in the hammock and watched him; but she saw him no more than he did her. At last a sigh broke from him which recalled her. “A penny for your thoughts,” she said. “You would think you made a poor bargain if I sold them,” he rejoined. “T am sorry if you are in any trouble,” she 302 THE WISE WOMAN. returned, after a moment of surprise at his changed and constrained manner. “That is easy enough,” he said roughly. His tone astonished and hurt her. He saw it in her face. He started up, approached the hammock, and took her passive hand in his. “T won’t ask you to forgive me,” he said, look- ing pale, then went on, unconscious that he was driving her ring into her finger. “You have no right to forgive me. I won’t be such a fool as to ask a question when I know the answer to it, but I’m trying to turn my feeling for you the other side out. If you get hurt sometimes, why, that isn’t much for you to bear.” The low, quick speech stopped. He released her hand, swung himself over the railing, and walked off across the field. Before he had gone far, he met Mr. Hodgson. “T seen ye git out o’ that piazza,” said the old man, nudging him and chuckling. “Three’s a crowd, ain’t it, hey? Rita says that there doctor — ain’t sparkin’ her. Hain’t I got eyes? He, he, he! Sticks to that porch of our’n like a sick kitten to a hot brick. Rita shets me up and” — “Of course, of course,” interrupted Gilbert. “Mum ’s the word. It isn’t the thing to tease a girl like that, you know. Better shut right up, just as she says. Don’t see anything, don’t hear anything. That’s the best way. I’m trying at it myself. Good-by, I’m off for a sail,’”’ and he strode away, whistling. ; CHAPTER XXI. A SIREN. THE open and flattering admiration which Gil- bert Ormond had exhibited all winter toward Marguerite Laird had seemed to her the reverse of portentous. Her attitude toward him in return had differed from her treatment of other men. Her easy responsiveness had never misled Gilbert, and until coming to Pokonet this summer, he had assured himself that he was satisfied with her friendship. It was seeing Jasper McKnight with her, and eatching with the quickness of jealousy. certain expressions in his face, which caused the repressed flame to leap up. Gilbert had startled Margue- rite grievously just now. She sat quiet after he had gone, and carefully analyzed her own past conduct. Her conscience acquitted her, if only on the proof of the genuine surprise he had given her. Lightning could not have been more un- expected out of a elear sky than such looks and words from the perennially gay young man. Strangely enough, Marguerite’s thoughts did not cling long to Gilbert, but fled to Katherine. Could the latter know the humility and timidity, 304 THE WISE WOMAN. equal to her own, which filled her friend’s breast at the present moment, her dread of confronting her would be removed. Marguerite recalled the never-to-be-forgotten look on Fritz’s face yesterday, there by the Life Saving Station. The new idea that he cared for Katherine had excited her. She had not forgot- ten his declaration of the past autumn that he had dene with love. Unimportant as such an asser- tion would be on the lips of most young men, with Fritz it was different. So wonted was she to crediting his well-weighed words, she was far from sure yet whether yesterday’s radiant look had meant more than an expression of the hearty and exceptional friendship she knew he felt for Katherine. | Supposing, however, that the most a man can feel for a woman had been indicated by the sig- nificant words and manner. Hard as the lesson would be in the beginning, to learn to take second place with Fritz, who else in all the world could she so willingly see in the first as her sweet and gra- cious friend? If Fritz wanted Katherine, he must _ have her. Must he? Marguerite’s heart quickened, and her color came, as she lay there alone in the hammock. Katherine doubtless felt for Gilbert all that she herself did for Fritz. She had the right to harbor toward Marguerite all the grief and resentment which the latter would assuredly suffer if her brother were doomed to disappoint- ment. a a in ae Ne A SIREN. 305 | As Marguerite reflected upon this, her state of mind was such that Katherine might have ap- peared upon the piazza with a manner as arrogant as her mother’s, and Miss Laird would not have resented it. Marguerite hoped that Gilbert had not made a confidante of any of his family, and she did not believe that he had. If he would only keep up the good work of concealment, how grate- ful she should be to him. When Jasper McKnight entered the house after leaving Marguerite, the light in his countenance was good to see. Madeline, who heard his voice inquiring for Katherine, came downstairs to re- ceive him. How full of life’s gladness his face looked. She did not remember ever before to have seen him like this. “Poor fellow, how pleased he is to find me!” she thought, as he gave her hand an extra pres- sure. After all, there was nobody like Jasper. Madeline felt a delicious anticipation of a life exactly suited to her tastes and ambitions, as she greeted him. What mattered the Deweys of the world, the moths who fluttered about her? Dr. McKnight embodied the substantial benefits which she demanded of the future. “ And I used to consider her the most attractive girl I knew,” Jasper was thinking meanwhile. A ‘memory of some of his aunt’s gently satirical words and looks came back to him vaguely, as he sat listening to Madeline’s chatter. 306 THE WISE WOMAN. “Whatever you gave Katherine yesterday acted like magic,” she said, as they sat together in the old low-ceiled parlor. “She always was a sleepy girl, but I began to think she would rival the famous seven; and she seems so refreshed and like herself this morning, only blue. You don’t know how odd it seems to have Katherine blue.” “Indeed? Depression is a symptom with such people. Perhaps I could help her.” “No;” Madeline shook her head archly. “It is not a case for you. Shakespeare says so many clever things about a mind diseased, and disor- dered looks, and all that. I can’t remember one of them to quote, I never can when I want to, but any way, Katherine’s mind is the trouble. She is crushed to think she insisted on going to the buoys against Mr. Sheldon’s advice, and then made such a failure of it. Mr. Sheldon is the only physician — she needs. She is in ashes now, but after he has forgiven her, she will rise like a pheenix.” “Her recovery is certain, then,” returned the doctor. ‘“Sheldon’s regard for your sister would stand a pretty heavy strain, I fancy.” He smiled at Madeline. She no doubt had noticed the sam signs which had impressed him. . “Why, of course Katherine is foolish to fret about it,” she returned. “You men like to for- give us, don’t you? You enjoy the sensation of — superiority it gives you. Don’t deny it.” “It takes considerable courage to contradict f you,” laughed Jasper, “but if you want candor, 1 _ A SIREN. 307 must express a doubt as to whether we can ever cheat ourselves into even a momentary belief in our superiority to a conundrum which we can never solve.” Madeline’s bright eyes regarded him curiously. “Are we girls all conundrums to you? You are not all conundrums to us.” “T should say not. We are humbly aware that you read us from the first like an open book.” The girl laughed. ‘“‘ Youdo protest too much.’ There, that’s Shakespeare, and I’m awfully proud of myself. Some of you are anything but open books.” She turned serious. “You, for instance. You are a very contradictory person. I don’t always know where to find you.” Supposably, the speaker meant this assertion metaphorically; but Dr. McKnight had some ado to avoid all betrayal of embarrassment. He was so uneasily conscious, that of late it had been lit- erally true. For some time now he had been men- tally divided between self-gratulation that he had never gotten in any deeper with pretty Madeline, and a chivalrous doubt as to whether he was treat- ing her fairly. He was aware that friends had coupled their names, and he only hoped, with a sincerity which had in it no egotism, that she entertained for him the same superficial senti- ments which he had discovered to be the extent of his own regard for her. “Now, you cannot pretend that I am a problem to you,” added the girl, lifting her chin saucily. 308 THE WISE WOMAN. “Aren’t we exceptions to the rule?” he re- turned. “Our lifelong friendship should count for something.” “It should count for a great deal,” answered Madeline, with a gentle change of manner. She lowered her eyes. The time had come. The sur- roundings were not as she had fancied them, It was nearer noonday than midnight. The moonlit beach was replaced by the cool, old-fashioned parlor, but there was something not unpicturesque in its quaintness. She was not too excited to be conscious of her own effective pose in the big chintz chair where she nestled, and she was not clairvoyant to see what a different picture obsti- nately presented itself to her companion’s mind, wherein he noted that a cambrie waist can match _ in color a pair of blue eyes, and that the solitary daisy clinging against said waist recalled all the pretty things he had ever heard about innocence : and a heart of gold. “It — it does count for a great deal,” said Jas- per, with probably more awkward hesitation than — his manner had ever been guilty of. Madeline believed that he needed encourage- ment. | “It seems odd now to recall the time when you seemed to me such a big boy to admire and look up to. You went away leaving me that memory, and then one day came back a man; not—not our Jasper McKnight any longer.” The young doctor would have needed to be a Jel A SIREN. 309 very timid lover not to have been inspired by the manner in which Madeline finished her sentence. He grew very uncomfortable, and laughed, to hide his sensations. ‘“‘Grown in one way, but how pitifully dwindled in another,” he returned. “Un- fortunately, the little girl and her standards had grown too.” “ Unfortunately?’ Madeline repeated the word with sweet and lingering reproach. “Why, yes, for my hope of inspiring awe.” “Ts that the feeling you are ambitious to arouse?” The girl asked the question with a caressing intonation, and shyly lifted her eyes. “You are a conundrum to me,” she returned, “and I am tempted” — what a delicious pause if (ah, that if!) he had been her lover —‘“‘to give you — up.” Her color rose softly, and she was bewitching. . -Dr. McKnight was conscious of her charm in a strange, external, regretful way. He felt more condemned than was just. What was there to say? He took desperate refuge in compliment, his one consolation being that it was not empty. “The combination of you and that chair makes me wish myself an artist!” he exclaimed, after a pause. “If you were on the beach now, you would not need to exert yourself to comb your hair and sing; we should have some brave vessel stranded inside half an hour.’’ Madeline’s low- ered eyes rose to his with a new expression. ie) wel. 310 THE WISE WOMAN. For him the siren’s spell was broken, and she perceived it. Once more he felt himself equal to the situation. “You surprise me, Miss Madeline, by considering me a conundrum. I really don’t deserve the implication of subtlety.” The girl’s fingers tapped the flowered arm of her chair. Dr. McKnight’s tone enlightened her more unmistakably than his words. Her revul- sion of feeling was extreme, and her nature so undisciplined that it was a question how service- able her pride would be to her in this exigency. “You are helping me to understand you better,” she said. “I do not need to be told in words that you are not the friend to me you used to be. I suppose I have your aunt to thank for that. A Wise Woman undoubtedly. It is not for me to question her wisdom.’ “Miss Madeline!” Dr, McKnight’s tone sounded shocked, and he groaned mentally. She — would refuse then to accept a tacit and peaceful | ending to the interview. “I hope you don’t really © believe that,” he added. “It isn’t true.” | Madeline gave a little laugh. “What less could you say?” she replied, with a shrug. “Oh, well, we have had a very good time together.” “No better than we shall have, I hope.” His — tone was very courteous, and although the posi- tion was excessively disagreeable, it was not mov- i ing. The sentiment looking out of Madeline’s ; eyes not only was not love, it could not be con- _ cealing love. A SIREN. 311 “T believe you think I care for nothing in the world but flattery,” she said, with a sudden burst of anger. “You are a girl whom one is tempted to flat- - ter,”’ was the answer she received, soft enough to turn away wrath; yet softness was not indicated in Jasper’s face as he said it. It was consistent with her nature that he should never have seemed so attractive to her as now when he was subtly and inexorably removed from her. She did: not deceive herself; she knew that if there ever had been a moment when she could have won him, the moment had passed. She would never be Mrs. Jasper McKnight of Wood- row Park. It was a name she had lately been fond of scribbling. Impotent grief and rage swelled in her, and there he sat, dignified, imper- turbable, affected by none of the emotions that tormented her. In the little pause during which they remained silent, Mrs. Ormond came to the door, saw them, and would have withdrawn; but Jasper was not so unperturbed as he looked. He perceived and grasped at her as a drowning man at a straw. | “Good morning, Mrs. Ormond,”’ he said, ris- ing precipitately to his feet, a point of vantage he had been longing for, and which he now vowed no persuasions should induce him to relin- ‘quish. Mrs. Ormond’s quick eye detected storm signals. “Come and take my part,” he added. “Here 312 THE WISE WOMAN. is your daughter accusing me of one thing and another, and threatening to give me up.” “Never mind, Jasper,” returned the lady gra- ciously, gliding up to him, and depriving him of his newly tasted sensation of freedom by slipping a hand through his arm. Mrs. Ormond was charmed to discover only a lovers’ quarrel, and impatient for the moment to bestow her blessing. “When she gives you up, she gives me up,” she declared gayly. “We stand or fall together.” Dr. McKnight would at that moment have exchanged all the rest of his sojourn at Pokonet for the safety of the warmest corner in Mon- taigne. ; “As a conundrum, as a problem, she gave me up,” he returned hastily. “Now I leave it to you, — Mrs. Ormond,” he disengaged himself under pre- | tense of jocosely facing her for inspection, — “JT _ leave it to you if I am an intricate individual.” She regarded him complacently. “I understand you well enough, my dear boy,” she answered affectionately. “Then good-by, Miss Madeline,” he said, with a gay show of triumph. “I will leave while I am in favor.” “Good-by,” she returned, rising languidly, and meeting his look with a little satirical smile. When the screen door had slammed after him, her mother turned to her with a laughing, coaxing ; : expression. : “Tell me all about it, you spoiled child,” she — A SIREN. $13 said, with a little affected air she was very apt to assume when Fortune was especially flattering. Madeline had sunk back in her chair dispirit- edly. She regarded her mother in silence. A sentiment of sincere regret for her helped to chain her tongue. “You are a silly girl, after all, Maidie. The amusement of playing fast and loose in this in- stance may be dangerous.”’ “I’m sorry for you, mother, reply. “Madeline!” Mrs. Ormond actually turned pale. Then she flushed angrily. “Was that brave fellow hiding something? If you have re- fused him, too, after all that has gone, I must say it, — you are a fool!” The girl shook her head. Her fires seemed to have burned out. ‘Better not call names,” she said. “It is all over.” “Tf you don’t tell me what you mean, I'll shake you,” ejaculated her mother vigorously, seating herself near and aig a trembling hand on Madeline’s arm. The girl drew back, and her eyes filled. “Have n’t I told you enough? Do you suppose I enjoyed the scene so much that I want to rehearse it?” “But I can’t understand. You didn’t refuse him?” . 66 No.’’ “Then he did n’t propose.” Madeline shook her head. 99 was the only 314 THE WISE WOMAN. “What of it?” Mrs. Ormond asked the ques- tion with a nervous energy that would not be put off. “Everything. Everything led up to it. If he had cared anything — he would have. Oh, don’t argue it, mother.” The girl’s voice rose pain- fully. “I have seen men in love. Don’t you suppose I know?” Mrs. Ormond sat back in her chair, and they looked at each other. Madeline was the first to speak. “I am sorry you had set your heart on this. It makes it awkward and hard.” The girl smiled with a shade of her old spirit. “But I am Made- line Ormond still, and you are not in a hurry to be rid of me at any price, are you?” Mrs. Ormond ignored this. “Did you get any | elue? Is there anybody else? ” “No one, so far as I know.” “Then, my dear, we can’t tell what the future _ may bring.” Mrs. Ormond pressed her handker- chief to her eyes. “I am so fond of J asper.”’ Madeline gave a cynical smile. “You would better consider it a case of unrequited affection,” she said. ‘‘J have been patient with you, mother, — but unless you conceal all yearning for Dr. Me- Knight after this, I promise you I will be as rude to him as I know how.” Mrs. Ormond knew the sincerity of this quiet threat. She dropped her handkerchief, and be- came dejectedly thoughtful. | rye ‘i a be . oe - = ‘aes CHAPTER XXII. “oWwEETS AND SOURS.” DrNnER must inevitably bring the members of the family together, so Katherine came down- stairs a little before the hour for it. Reconnoitring rather timidly through the door, she observed that Fritz had returned from his morning’s work, and was lounging near his sister on the piazza. Marguerite was now sitting in a rocking-chair with Mrs. Hodgson’s stocking-bag in her lap, and darning assiduously. Katherine perceived that the time and place were all that could be desired for presenting her erring self and getting her humble pie neatly disposed of, so she con- quered her shrinking and pushed open the screen door. Marguerite looked up as her friend appeared, but Fritz sprang to his feet and came to meet her. The girl scarcely smiled as she put her hand in his outstretched one. “You still feel ill,” were his first words. “T shall until you have accepted my apologies,” she answered meekly. ‘Marguerite, you are wit- 316 THE WISE WOMAN. ness to my solemn promise never to’? —his look embarrassed her, and she hesitated — “always to’? — “You hear, Rita,” said Fritz, “she promises always to—obey me. Isn’t that what you were going to say?” “He means it,” thought Marguerite, driving her needle with a nervous movement through the largest hole in Uncle Silas’ sock. “In the water, you know,” added Katherine. “I promise to obey you in the water. The next headstrong proceeding I indulge in shall be on land. I swear it.” She drew her hand away from Fritz, and went swiftly to his sister. “I’ve _ been so afraid of you,” she said naively. “J knew you would look at it just as I did. Forgive — me, please. Ill promise to be magnanimous to _ you some time when you put Gilbert in a hard place.” ¥ Fritz stood unconsciously smiling as he watched s them. Katherine’s arms were about Marguerite’s — neck, and her cheek pressed to hers. He did not even notice the color that surged over his sister’s face at this exhortation; but he saw her hand go up to Katherine’s clasped ones, and saw their lips meet in a kiss of peace. “Hello, there ye are, Kitty,” said Mr. Hodg- son, with much satisfaction, joining the group. “I’ve been lookin’ fer ye. It’s the best day’s work you ever did, Fritz, when you fetched Kitti- — wake out 0’ the water.” : is “JWEETS AND SOURS.” oLT “T think so, too,” answered Sheldon, as the eirl released Marguerite, and the old man’s rough hand caressed hers. “Poor little bird with her wings all draggled,” went on Mr. Hodgson. ‘When they brought ye home I was silly. Ma said I was; but I knowed that wa’n’t the kind o’ fun you come to Pokonet for. - Now you remember, Kitty, you can’t trust that old ocean only jest so far. Don’t you go monkeyin’ round exceptin’ jest when Fritz is with ye. It happened lucky yesterday.” “T’ve been promising Mr. Sheldon not to mon- key around when he is with me.” “Well, that’s all right,” returned Mr. Hodg- son, with an obstinate air, “but Fritz wants to look out fer ye. Why, ye’re our little girl Kitti- wake; ye know that, don’t ye? When they fetched ye home yesterday it went through me like a knife. I’m too old to go wallopin’ ’round after ye now, but you belong to Ma and me, and so does Fritz. So, two an’ two makin’ four, Fritz belongs to you, and, McKnight or no Me- Knight, he hain’t got any better business than to go “round after ye and see ’t ye don’t git into any trouble.” Katherine’s cheeks reddened under this em- phatic address, for, though she looked at the _ speaker, she felt another pair of eyes upon her. “You are exactly right, Uncle Silas,” said Sheldon. ‘You have a knack of getting at the kernel of things.” 318 THE WISE WOMAN. et The old man looked complacent, and patted Katherine’s shoulder. Marguerite’s heart swelled at the expression on her brother’s face, and the threads in the lattice she was weaving ran together before her clouded vision. “Here comes Gilly,” remarked Mr. Hodgson, looking out toward the field. “Lobster, Gilly,” he roared. “Where?” returned the young man excitedly, beginning to race toward the house, and not paus- ing until he had vaulted over the rail into their midst, where he struck a dramatic attitude. “You jest foller yer nose,” said Mr. Hodgson. “Ill back ye to find Ma’s lobster, no matter how | tight she covers it. There ’s the bell, now.” As they were moving into the house, Gilbert and Marguerite were last to goin. He held the door open for her, and met her eyes gravely as she passed. “TI am duly repentant,” he said. She gave him a gentle look. “Thank you,” she answered. Mrs. Ormond’s motherly thoughts were not so absorbed in Madeline’s affairs that she had not — eyes to perceive that of late something was wrong, or if not wrong, at least changed, with her idolized son. The difference was subtle, but she felt it - all the same, and knew it was not a desirable one. Poor Mrs. Ormond. The world was not turning around to suit her at all. Reproached by loving, easy-going Katherine, puzzled and worried by Gil- 4 “SWEETS AND SOURS.” 319 bert, so vitally disappointed by Madeline that she could scarcely grasp the fact, little wonder that she waxed restless and longed for change. She and Gilbert sat alone on the steps of the farmhouse after supper that evening, and she scrutinized him covertly. ‘“Aren’t you growing tired of Pokonet?’’ she asked after a silence, during which her son had sat apparently deep in ~ thought. “Tired of it?’’ he returned, rousing himself. “Why, no. I am sure there is no better place for rest.” “That isn’t all young people look for in a re- sort. I should think you would want more recrea- tion than you can find in this dull place.” Gilbert smiled. “Do you think I should pre- fer to be getting ready for a hop at some hotel, rather than to sit here and watch the sunset with you?” “Tt would be very natural that you should.”’ “You don’t know me,” returned the young man, deliberately changing his posture and lying down with his head in his mother’s lap. Mrs. Ormond’s hand smoothed his hair. “What do you all see in Pokonet?” she asked plaintively. “Lots to see here this year,’ he answered. “We’re gay. Didn’t you know it, mother? Gay.” “T’m not, and — neither are you, my son.”’ “Certainly Iam. I’ve a little different way 320 THE WISE WOMAN. of showing it, perhaps, from ten years ago; but you ought not to complain of that. I sha’n’t carry home such a quantity of riddled clothing.” “You have something on your mind, Gilbert, and I would give anything if you would tell me what it is.” The young man did not speak at once, and when he did, his irrelevance surprised her. “Do you think Madeline is a flirt?” ““My dear!” “Do you think she purposely draws men on to their doom? I’ve seen and heard things in a vague way. ‘There have been two or three fellows come to grief on her account. Prides herself on — it, Hobe t she?”’ “What girl wouldn’t enjoy her own power “ | charm?” returned Mrs. Ormond defensively. “Then you encourage her,” said Gilbert dryly. — “What a monstrous thought.” ‘““My son, what possesses you? You are not like yourself.”’ “No, I have a new insight into some things of late, and it has made these questions regarding Madeline occur to me. Decency deters a girl — from talking much about such triumphs, I sup- — pose, but rumors and hints of Madeline’s have — reached me, and I have taken it indifferently — enough. Only of late I have suspected what it a means to care for a girl, and to know that it is of no use. It occurred to me how savage it might make a man to find that while he had been in — rs “SWEETS AND SOURS.” O21 earnest, the other party had been playing him. I wondered if Madeline had disgraced herself in that way.” “My dear boy, you don’t mean what you are saying, coupling the word disgrace with your sis- ter’s name.” “I do couple it with the name of any girl, my sister or any other fellow’s, who stoops to that sort of business. How should you feel toward a girl whose vanity induced her to make that sort of victim of me? Supposing that she made me think of her the last thing at night and the first in the morning; that she led me on until every other interest of my life was merged in the thought of her and the hope of spending my life for her and with her; and, when the climax was reached, she demurely waked me to the bald fact that, in spite of all my dreams, I was nothing to her.” “Gilbert, is this true?” Mrs. Ormond’s voice, though low, was sharp. : “No. ‘S’posin’ a case, s’posin’ a case,’ as Mr. Hodgson says.” “T don’t want to suppose such a case. It gives me the heartache. Noone,” Mrs. Ormond leaned fondly over the blond head in her lap, — “no one could lead you on like that, Gilbert. You would see through such a wretched girl; and I don’t think, my dear, it is very brotherly in you to suspect poor Madeline of such cold-blooded be- havior.” Gilbert was silent for a moment before speak- p22 THE WISE WOMAN. ing. “I wish she had a direct, honest, unaffected manner like Marguerite’s.” “Indeed?” returned Mrs. Ormond coldly. “It would be strange if Madeline Ormond’s manner. did not compare favorably with Marguerite Laird’s.” “Not for a moment,” returned Gilbert, with exasperating deliberation. “It can’t compare with it for a moment. Iama plebeian who has never had the advantage of mingling with members of the nobility, but, according to my ideas of what such a thing should be, Marguerite Laird has the true grand air.” : Mrs. Ormond gave a short, unmirthful laugh. — “It is strange that I have never been able to see the marvelous attractions of that young woman.” “It cs strange how you have always disliked her.” i “I don’t know why I should dislike her,” re- sponded Mrs. Ormond, more coldly still. | “I wish,” said Gilbert quietly, “that I had inherited that taste of yours along with the shape of your nose and mouth.” “It isn’t necessary to dislike her,” responded — his mother, rather puzzled. | “No; but it would be comfortable.” “What do you mean?” asked Mrs. Ormond in sudden alarm. 4 “Nothing, except that Marguerite has earned your esteem from this time forth.” “Gilbert — my son, you are making my heart “SWEETS AND SOURS.”: S25 palpitate. Oh,” with an apprehensive groan, “that girl! Always that girl! What has she done now?” ‘Nothing, except to be her own gracious, grace- ful self.” “You frightened me so! I feared — why, you spoke so strangely, I actually for a moment had _the wild thought that she might have refused you.” “No, I would n’t put her to that annoyance.”’ There was silence for half a minute after the simple reply. Mrs. Ormond was mute and pale. At last she spoke, a great anxiety clamoring in her breast and making her voice unsteady. “You know, my dear son, that in any trouble of yours, from the smallest to the greatest, you can be sure of your mother’s sympathy; but are you sure—how can you be sure beforehand of Miss Laird’s feeling for you?” “The same way that Madeline’s lovers might have been sure of hers for them, had she been true and unselfish.” Mrs. Ormond’s anxiety changed to jubilation, which made her deaf to the slur upon her pet. Here was one bitter cup which might have been hers, but from which she had escaped. Her only son was mad enough to wish to give her this most undesirable daughter-in-law, and by a miracle the girl herself held back. “Surely, then, dear boy,” she said gently, “vou would better leave Pokonet, and at once.” “No, I will stay. I have looked the situation 324 THE WISE WOMAN. in the face, and know the work that is cut out for me. I’ll begin it right here.” “T would keep every trial from you if I could, dear,”’ said his mother. | He smiled as he patted her hand. He knew what was passing in her mind. “You can’t expect all your children to marry — to suit you,” he remarked. ‘That doesn’t often happen in families.”’ “I don’t suppose I ean,” she answered, willing, in her relief, to yield to this vague suggestion. “I am sure I have had a great deal of anxiety about Madeline,” she added plaintively. “Have you seen anything to criticise in her treatment of Jasper McKnight?” : “No. When he seemed to be the leading gen- _ tleman last winter, I had not passed into the criti- ‘ eal stage.” : “But I mean this summer — down here.” Gilbert gazed off into the twilight. “Qh, here, Madeline’s fluttering and twittering didn’t matter much either way. Jasper has a talisman which makes him invulnerable.” “I don’t know what you mean.” “Then I can’t tell you, mother,” rejoined the young man, with a sigh. Mrs. Ormond would have liked to pursue the subject, for Gilbert’s assertion roused her curios ity; but the thought of Madeline restrained her, and, after all, Gilbert could do nothing to alter existing circumstances. ; “SWEETS AND SOURS.” 325 “{ am quite ready to go away from Pokonet,” she remarked, echoing the sigh. Nevertheless, the next morning found her in her accustomed place on the beach, which was quite populous now at this hour. She sat in the sand, leaning against her wooden support, shield- ing her head with her parasol, and regarding the scene rather listlessly. Only when her eyes encountered Marguerite, their expression changed. It did not increase Mrs. Ormond’s regard for the girl to dwell upon the thought that the latter was aware of Gilbert’s passion for her. On the contrary, each time Marguerite in her white sailor hat passed within her range of vision, vexation and humiliation made tumult in her heart, in spite of the con- stantly recalled fact that things might have been much worse. “Glorious morning, Mrs. Ormond,” said a hearty voice beside her, to the accompaniment of the breaking waves. She looked up, and saw Dr. McKnight. The sight was scarcely more agreeable than Miss Laird’s fair, unconscious face. “Oh, good morning. If a cloud would pass over the sun, it would be a relief to the eyes.” “Tt is dazzling.” He dropped down on the- sand beside her. ‘It seems to me our people are lazy about going in this morning.” “Yes: but there is quite a sea on.” Mrs. Ormond made a heroic endeavor to address the 326 THE WISE WOMAN. new-comer with exactly her usual manner; but he must have been preoccupied if he did not re- mark that something of the maternal accent had departed from her tone. “When your daughters stay out, I think it may be discouraging to a good many timid ones.” Some unavowed sensation of delinquency made Jasper desirous of establishing himself in his friend’s good graces this morning, and his manner was a nice combination of frankness and deference. — “That is quite unnecessary, I am sure,” re- turned Mrs. Ormond. “The girls have always been very capricious about it, and go in or not, just as they happen to feel.” “Miss Madeline seems to have found a safe way of going to sea.” Dr. McKnight smiled as he looked off a few rods to where, in a boat drawn up on the beach, Madeline and Mr. Dewey sat and chatted. | Mrs. Ormond did not deign an answer. He had forfeited the right to speak Madeline’s name. _ “Good morning. Why this lack of enter- prise?” added Jasper, starting to his feet as Katherine and Marguerite. approached, arm in arm. | Mrs. Ormond glanced disapprovingly at the three happy faces as greetings were exchanged, and then all sat down again in the sand. : “Will you kindly move a little to one side, Miss Marguerite,” she said, at no pains to sweeten — her tone.. “I was watching the bathers.” ; “SWEETS AND SOURS.” Bot 29 “Oh, excuse me,” exclaimed the girl, precipi- tately changing her position to Jasper’s other side. “What has happened to annoy mother?” thought Katherine; but by this time she had hardened herself to bear the brusque manner in which Mrs. Ormond treated her friend at most unexpected times and seasons. She had a half- uneasy sense of Marguerite’s estimate of her mo- ther, and in her loyal love for the latter, it was a regret to her. “But in this world one cannot have every- thing,” mused Katherine; and this conclusion, as well as her happy face, blooming each day into greater attractiveness, went to prove that what- ever minor satisfaction might be ae life was giving her much. “TY have just been calling you timid,” said Jas- per to Marguerite, “because you don’t take a dip.” “A great mistake,’ she replied gayly. ‘You selected the wrong girl. Katherine quakes this morning when she even looks at the waves. Iam staying out merely to keep her in countenance.” “J deny the quaking,’ remarked Katherine. “Call me lazy, and I will admit it at once. I like to see other people make an exertion this morning. Did you ever race sand-fleas, Dr. Me- Knight? ”’ Upon Jasper’s disclaiming any such sporting experience, the girl drew a circle in the sand, 99 328 THE WISE WOMAN. making a slight depression in the centre of the miniature arena. “Choose your flea,” she said, her own hand coming down upon a good-sized specimen of ‘the semi - transparent little creatures bounding and burrowing about them. ‘Which are the swifter, the large ones or the small?”’ inquired the doctor seriously. “As if I should tell you! Marguerite, do you want to come into the race?” “Not if I have to pick up one of those tiny lobsters in my hand.” “Then stay out, faint-heart. Who called me timid a few minutes ago? Now put your flea right in the middle of the circle, Dr. McKnight, © beside mine, and the one that jumps across the line first, wins. I tell you beforehand, mine is a regular kangaroo. I saw it in his eye when I picked him up. Marguerite, you are my mascot, | and mother, you will be Dr. McKnight’s. Here, i come out of there!” this to her flea, who re-_ mained, apparently in reverie, in the valley out of which his companion was energetically struggling. — Mrs. Ormond darted a withering glance at the crown of her child’s sailor hat. She, sore with injuries of Jasper McKnight’s inflicting, to be— flippantly dubbed his mascot in an idiotie flea : race! It was too much. 4 “He ’s coming, Katherine,” said Marguerite, with enthusiasm. “Now, now!” for the tardy insect cleared his way with a short leap half way “SWEETS AND SOURS.” 329 to the encircling ring. Once there, however, his energy appeared spent, and he remained motion- less, staring with starting eyes seaward. “Didn’t you ever notice the ocean before?” Katherine demanded of him. “It’s been there all the time. Oh, go on, you old gravel-train!”’ This apostrophe appeared to have an effect, for the flea jumped, but short of the mark; while Jasper’s cleared the boundary with a flying leap. “Hurrah for our side!” said the doctor, wav- ing his hat. Mrs. Ormond could not refuse the hand he offered her in gratitude for her services. Madeline and her admirer had left the boat meanwhile, and after standing half a minute in close conversation, they parted. Madeline came up to her friends just as her mother and Jasper were apparently exchanging congratulations. “Your mother is a most efficient mascot, Miss Madeline,” he announced, and the girl regarded the signs in her mother’s flushed face with curi- osity. At any rate, Mrs. Ormond was putting a most commendable restraint upon herself, and her youngest smiled approvingly as she sank upon the sands beside her. “Why didn’t Mr. Dewey come and bid us good morning?”’ asked Mrs. Ormond hastily, to prevent any inquiries Madeline might be led into making. “He has to go home and pack.” “Going away?” “Yes; the old story, business. He is so dis- 330 THE WISE WOMAN. gusted, and so am I,” added Madeline, for she and her mother were practically téte-u-téte, Dr. McKnight having turned again toward his girl companions. “He was lots of fun,” went on Madeline regretfully. She looked thoughtfully out to sea a minute, then added: “Why do we stay in Pokonet any longer?” “I am quite ready to go,” returned Mrs. Or- mond promptly and impressively. “I can only regret that we came at all.” “But look at Katherine,” remarked Madeline. — “Did you ever see anything like the way she flourishes here?”’ ; “She would be just as well elsewhere,” rejoined Mrs. Ormond shortly. She looked critically, not at her elder, but at her younger daughter. She had so long taught herself to believe that Made- ‘ line regarded Dr. McKnight as she wished her to, that she looked upon her present indifference i in wonder. How could it be that recent events had made so little impression upon the girl that she could sit here within a stone’s throw of Jas- per, and apparently forget his existence. To the mother’s eyes the pretty face bore evidence of — strain. All pleasant excitement and vivacity had for the moment died out of it, and left the eyes | listless and the lips drooping. 4 “Let us leave Pokonet,” said Mrs. Ormond a abruptly. : Madeline returned her look with a curious ex- ‘ pression. “Yes, all in good time,” she answered, Ff “SWEETS AND SOURS.” 331 in a low voice. She glanced at Dr. McKnight’s back. “It wouldn’t do to go immediately,” she added. Mrs. Ormond followed the direction of her glance with just indignation. That young man might learn to know himself better after they had gone away. She drew a sudden and gratifying mental picture of Jasper McKnight, pensively musing on the fact that a subtle charm of land and sea had departed with Madeline Ormond. CHAPTER XXIII. THE BONFIRE. “Do you know how you are wasting time?” asked Fritz Sheldon, coming into the Hodgsons’ sitting-room one evening, and finding the family assembled. Miss McKnight and her nephew were also present. Sheldon and his employer had re- turned that day from a two weeks’ stay in New- ark, and in their respective ways, each was joyful to be back again. “There ’s a bit of a moon, I don’t say it gives much light,” continued Fritz, taking from his — pocket the bunch of letters he had just brought from the post-office. For an absent-minded man, — he showed remarkable forethought in transferring the one addressed to Katherine to the bottom of — the pile, so that in their distribution she came _ last, and he naturally took a seat near her. “But this is no evening to stay in the house, it is so pleasant and clear. I have been busy nearly all day, and I want to play. What do you say to building a bonfire on the beach?” ““Come on,” alacrity. “I’m sure it must be damp,” objected Mrs. 4 said Gilbert, springing up with THE BONFIRE. 333 Ormond, who had been so far watching in vain for an opportunity to secure an interview with Katherine and Gilbert. She and Madeline had been reading a letter from Mrs. Allington, and found it to contain an urgent invitation, so allur- ing that she could not wait to have the matter settled with the others. Even though Gilbert had expressed his desire to remain in Pokonet, she thought it more than likely that this definite plan would attract him. But now the room was in a pleasant tumult. Only Madeline looked doubtful and a trifle bored. The element which would have lent spice to the episode, namely, a masculine admirer, was lack- ing. Fritz Sheldon, in spite of his promising external, she had decided was come to be a most prosaic and poky individual. Very likely she her- self had had a large share in making him so, but the fact remained. As for Jasper— Madeline resolutely turned away from the thought of Jasper. “You are coming, of course, Miss Madeline,” he said, breaking in upon her doubts with a smile and that air of repressed exhilaration which she had perceived in him of late. “He shall not think I am moping,”’ she thought. “Oh, yes, I am going,” she answered gayly, skip- ping away to get her wraps. “You are coming, too, Aunt Edna,” continued the young man. ; “Not unless I am abducted, my dear. I am past the age that finds any warmth in starlight.”” 334 THE WISE WOMAN. “You will allow us to go unchaperoned?” he said, turning laughingly to Mrs. Ormond. “Yes,” she replied, in a tone to which he was unaccustomed. “I have such confidence in your discretion, Jasper, that I do not consider that any company which includes you requires another chaperon.” Then with a lighter manner she ad- dressed Miss McKnight. “It should be a part of our vacation, don’t you think go, Edna, not to have to play propriety?” The young people started off ina jolly, strag- gling bunch, across the field. Katherine, with a quick movement, stepped forward and slipped her arm through her brother’s. “Hello,” he said, looking around at her, “have I drawn you, Kitty?” | 1 “Yes, are n’t you satisfied?” She laughed — happily from the sweet inner consciousness that another wanted her more. : “Who is ever satisfied?” he returned, but he F gave her arm a little squeeze. | “No wonder you wanted to get us out of the | house, Mr. Sheldon,” said Madeline. “What a _ glorious summer night.” “fl Fritz turned to reply to her, and Dr. McKnight — seized his opportunity to fall in by Marguerite’s — side. “So little wind,” said Jasper contentedly; “ just the night for a bonfire.” | og “Tf there happens to be plenty of driftwood,” a returned the girl. | THE BONFIRE. 335 “And if there doesn’t,” the speaker’s teeth flashed in the moonlight, “we shall be just as well satisfied.” “Oh,. is that your optimistic frame of mind? You must speak for yourself. I want a fire.” Madeline and Fritz followed after. She was _ thinking what it would once have been to him to walk through this field with her under the clear stars. How strange that he should have become so stupidly uninteresting; there was really no more piquancy in a ¢éte-a-téte with him than there would be with Gilbert. Repress all recollection as she would, however, she suffered from pique and hurt vanity at the sight of Dr. McKnight. He had seemed to enjoy himself quite as well with Marguerite Laird, of late, as he had ever done with herself. His laughter came back to her now, and its heartiness brought a pang. He had no regrets. “The time may come,” thought Madeline con- temptuously, “when Marguerite will dislike to hear that laugh, too. He likes to amuse himself with her now, but he doesn’t mean to entangle himself with anybody.” They found the driftwood, and made their fire. The flames mounted high, their roar lost in the erash and hiss of the surf, and the company sat about in the fitful light. “Are you satisfied?’’ asked Jasper of Margue- rite. He was stretched on the sand beside her, in a position to lose nothing of the revealing gleams that flashed across her face. 336 THE WISE WOMAN. “Tt is fine. I wish the Wise Woman had come.”’ “She could not have left her friend. Mrs. Ormond would have had to come, too,” said Jasper; and after a hesitating pause they both laughed, like two children. “TY still wish for the Wise Woman,” declared Marguerite firmly. “We would have kept her on our side of the fire ’? — “TI see,” returned Jasper, as she waited, “and let the others have Mrs. Ormond. That is a fair division. There are four of them.” “You should n’t be so observing,” said Margue- rite, after another pause. “I didn’t know that others noticed her disapproval of me.” “T have grown to be observing where you are — concerned.”’ The breeze sent a rosy gleam over the girl’s | face. She shrugged her shoulders. “I never ; enter a room where she is but that she makes me _ feel that I ought to say, ‘ Excuse me for living.’ ’"@ “Of course, you know she is jealous of you.” “No, I don’t think that,” replied Marguerite quietly, setting aside the implied compliment. “Fritz has reminded me that Mrs. Ormond has an important redeeming characteristic. She is Katherine’s mother. I always keep that in mind, now.” “And Katherine is a very important person,” said Jasper significantly. 3 “She is my best friend,” returned Marguerite. THE BONFIRE. 337 “Ts that all you want me to see?” Jasper looked over at the quartette. Katherine still kept close to Gilbert; but guarding her other side was Fritz. Marguerite changed her position and smiled faintly. “You remember the secret I told you once about myself?” “That you were jealous?”’ “Yes. Well, the green-eyed monster gives me some trouble of late. I know it is ungrateful — selfish — wrong; but there is only one Fritz, and he has always belonged to me.”’ “That is what aunt Edna says;” Jasper’s tone changed and he spoke slowly. “She says Fritz fills your heart and eyes to such an extent that you do not see or consider other men. Such devo- tion to a brother is unusual — fortunately.” He gave a short laugh. “You see I have no sister to idealize me.” Marguerite’s heart moved a little quicker. “I don’t idealize Fritz. I see his faults, I’? — “Yes, but faults or virtues, it is still Fritz,” exclaimed Jasper impetuously; “he is all you see, when I am waiting and longing to have you see me.” He lifted himself on his elbow and looked into her face. } “Oh, I am perfectly aware of you, Dr. Me- Knight,’’ — began the girl, in a low voice. _ “Perfectly?” he interrupted. “Then you know that I love you, Marguerite. I love you”— He stopped suddenly, then went on eagerly, ‘“ Will you come and walk on the beach?” 338 THE WISE WOMAN. “No, stay here, please.” He had half risen, holding out his hand to her. “But we are not alone. Madeline Ormond is watching us.” “She cannot hear us,” returned Marguerite, who was trembling a little. “You have spoken now, and you must be answered now.” “No, no, not yet. I spoke too soon. I should have waited until Fritz was further out of the field. You have not thought of me.” “Yes, I have thought of you.” Jasper felt a sudden access of hope at the tone. “I haye— suspected what you tell me.” The gentle clear- ness of her voice, in spite of the evident effort it was to speak, filled her lover with a wild desire to kiss the hands lying loosely on her knee, but he felt Madeline’s curious eyes upon him. The white foam hissed, and spread nearer and nearer to the leaping fire, and the ““wh’sh, wh’sh” of the — bare feet of the patrolman and the thud of his stick sounded monotonously across the shadowy, — wet beach. “I thought at one time I should be worthy,”’ she went on, “but on searching myself I found out my mistake.” Jasper had been listening breathlessly. “My darling!” he exclaimed. He rose on one knee. “Come, let us come away.” “No, no,” uttered Marguerite, with a little — gasp. “Right here. You have not heard me, heard my reasons.” i “And I cannot. Iam too happy.” THE BONFIRE. 339 “Oh, wait; you have no cause to be happy. You must listen. It was not you I cared for.” Jasper became rigid. “There is some one else?” , “Yes; I found out that I was deceiving myself. It was sweet to think you cared, — but that was because I had learned that Fritz was leaving me, and I was so lonely deep down in my heart. That was one of the things that made me believe I eared for you. It wasn’t you, you see, it was the being first to somebody that was so consoling, and —and deceptive.”’ “T understand; but I am willing, Marguerite, willing to be a makeshift.” Jasper’s fear was removed, and he spoke eagerly again. “But that is not all.” “ Ah, I wish it were,”’ he ejaculated. “TI owe it to you to be perfectly frank, and there were other things that proved to me how far my feeling was from that which you deserved. I love” — “Qh, Marguerite!” involuntarily. “The Wise Woman” — “Heavens!’’ amazedly. “So much, that it is a great temptation to belong to her.” Dr. McKnight’s heart began beating again in its rightful place. ‘‘ Anything else?” he asked. “Yes, your position; your money; your home. They all attracted me.” “Then take them, in mercy!” he returned tenderly. S40 THE WISE WOMAN. ‘How can you suggest it?” exclaimed Margue- rite, tears in her voice. The firelight showed her her lover’s face, dark, yearning, yet half smiling. ‘You can’t overlook these — these obstacles?” he asked gently. “You do not take what I say seriously,” re- turned the girl. “I am earnest. Let us forget all that has been said, and never refer to the sub- ject again.” “Marguerite! ” His voice had a tone that stirred her. “It is the one thing in my life that I never can forget. Forgive me, if my hope will not die. I may live down these objections. I won’t trouble you, dear. I will try not to.” The girl drew a long breath. “I have been honest. He will not be deceived,” she thought, and she was just going to warn him again that she had considered maturely, when a shriek and laugh from their neighbors announced that the tide had crept upon them unawares. The fire died down. It had burned bravely. The patrolman plodded by and they hailed him. The wind sprang up and they all blew home before it; but Gilbert did not have Katherine’s company going back. Mrs. Ormond and Miss McKnight were sitting in the same place when the young people came breezily into the room. The former had been enjoying herself, for she had been descanting to her friend on the charms of the Allingtons’ sum- mer home at Bar Harbor, and reading to her the THE BONFIRE. 341 cordial invitation which had arrived for Mrs. Ormond and all her brood. She was determined that Edna McKnight should know the considera- tion in which she and her children were held by such people. Miss McKnight had confined herself to looking interested, nodding assent at intervals, and Mrs. Ormond had worked herself to a pitch of energetic enthusiasm which demanded the immediate settle- ment of plans. She could ill brook Dr. McKnight’s suggestion of Welsh rarebit, a suggestion noisily and hungrily assented to by his companions. Miss McKnight laughed quietly at her protesta- tions, and took up the paper, which she had laid down in order to listen to her friend’s confidences. “ Jasper probably finds business dull in Pokonet,” she said. “He will have to see us all through, to-morrow.” “ Aunt Edna, this hypocrisy pains me,” retorted her nephew, on his way to the dining-room and the chafing-dish. “As if Welsh rarebit were n’t your favorite ‘ wanity.’ ” “Oh, I have had to strain my digestion up to the point of countenancing you, of course,” re- turned Miss McKnight. Mrs. Ormond grumbled and foreboded, but she ate a generous slice of the dainty, and at last, to her relief, Miss McKnight gave the longed-for sign. “Come, Jasper, come. I can’t wait any longer,” 342 THE WISE WOMAN. called his aunt decisively. “It is my duty to see that you get some rest in the few days that remain to you.” Dr. McKnight looked vaguely toward the voice, and then back at Marguerite, by whom he was sitting. The girl was disturbed by. his manner — since their interview. It had all the unmistakable signs of these latter days, with something added which frightened her by its suggestion of the Sweetness which life might hold, if only she truly and disinterestedly felt for him what he did for her. “Come. You will want to bid the Wise Wo- man good night,” he said, with a smile, “since she stands so high in your affections,” Marguerite looked at him seriously. “TI hope you will not think it amusing to quote me to her,”’ she said. He shook his head slowly, looking down at her with a gaze which, for all her poise, she could not meet. “I should not quote you to anybody,” he re- plied. “I am miserly of every word you have ever addressed to me.” She made no reply to this. “It might surprise you to know how glad I am that you love aunt Edna.” 3 Here Marguerite did look up, with slow, ques- tioning dignity. He went on: “She deserves it. There is no one like her. Iam not jealous.” “Jasper!’? Miss McKnight advanced to the 74 THE BONFIRE. 343 dining-room. “Don’t you know these people want to go to bed? Good night, my girls.” Katherine and Madeline hurried forward and kissed her; then Ler brilliant eyes traveled to Marguerite, who advanced more slowly, and with an air of coldness to hide her embarrassment. The Wise Woman saw the excitement in her nephew’s face, and felt a little thrill. She took the hand of the graceful, reluctant girl, but did not address her. “Good night, Fritz — Gilbert. How rich I am to have such a flock of nice children;” then, turning, she kissed Marguerite softly, and moved away. When the house door had closed upon aunt and nephew, Katherine took Marguerite by both shoul- ders and held her against the wall. “T will meet you at sunrise — behind the sand dunes,” she said, frowning and smiling, “and it is to be to the death. You understand? The Wise Woman kissed you. She merely let Made- line and me kiss her. What do you mean by it? You came last. I won’t stand it.” Marguerite’s pale face had become crimson. She laughed, too, and her eyes were bright as with unshed tears. | Under the stars Miss McKnight was leaning on Jasper’s arm, as they mutely walked the short dis- tance home: He was so evidently unconscious of the silence that she did not break it. At last he threw back his head and gave a short laugh. 344 THE WISE WOMAN. “Supposing, aunt Edna, that justice to myselt compelled me to go into bankruptcy.” : Miss McKnight smiled in Sympathy with his almusement. “TI should expect you to do it unflinchingly, my dear.” | They had reached the farmhouse, and went up the steps. Jasper stood still and put his arms around his aunt, as he faced her. . “But what if it became necessary also to put an end to you?” he added. Miss McKnight peered up at him in the dark- ness, curiously. ‘Well,’ she returned; “I am certain you would do it as humanely as possible.” “I am sure she likes me,” she thought in a — flash. ‘Can she fear a severe case of aunt-in- — law?” “What enigmas you are talking,” she added — aloud. ‘Whose way am I in?” “Mine, mine, aunt Edna. Only mine;” and — Jasper kissed her as he spoke, in the impetuous fashion of his childhood. “I will get out of it, dear, any time you tell me,” she answered. “Yes? Well, wait till I tell you. Wait till I am certain whether you are an obstacle, or a particularly irresistible bait.” “I don’t understand why the old lady should — figure at all,”’ she remarked quietly. “Then you are a sham after all, and not a Wise Woman. I’ve found you out.” THE BONFIRE. 345 Miss McKnight patted his arm. “I would like to help you, Jasper, to get every good thing you want.” “Well, I’m not sure of anything, aunt Edna. Never felt so impressed with the doubtfulness of uncertain things in all my life; but I think —I think you are helping me. Good night.” Meanwhile, Mrs. Ormond’s opportunity having at last arrived, she summoned her children to her own room. “T haven’t done anything, mother,” said Kath- erine, her eyes dancing, as she pretended dread of some summary punishment. “It is enough, I think, that I have to wait till all hours of the night before I can get a chance for a little quiet talk with my children. Gilbert, you can perch on the trunk. I have only three chairs in this uncomfortable place.” “We have an extra one you can take as well as not,” declared Katherine, “if you care for more.” “It won’t be necessary,” returned Mrs. Or- mond shortly. ‘I have a letter to read you.” She looked around impressively, and then drawing Mrs. Allington’s letter from her pocket, she read it aloud with due emphasis on each cordial phrase. “© P.S,,’” she added at the close, with a quick but solemn glance in the direction of her son. “¢Frances desires that you will say to Mr. Or- mond that here will be opportunity to give him the revenge at tennis which he asked for the last time they met.’ ”’ 346 THE WISE WOMAN. “‘T don’t remember asking anything of the sort,” remarked Gilbert bluntly. “That makes no difference since Miss Alling- ton does,” replied his mother, dropping the letter in her lap. “Not a particle,” tittered Madeline. “Frances Allington admires blond men. She told me so. There, I forgot to tell you of it until this minute. How vexed she would be with me!” Gilbert grunted ungratefully. The memory of the tableau at the other side of the bonfire haunted him. He had been telling himself all the evening that he made a mistake, after all, to remain here. He saw what his mother was arriving at, and he lacked the energy to oppose her. Katherine had listened indifferently. Mrs. Or- mond eyed her with a vague appreciation of her fresh, happy face, as she proceeded. “You can all see that this is not the sort of invitation one would wish to slight.” | “Mrs. Allington says herself,” remarked Kath- erine, “that the invitation is possible only because of the failure of other friends to be able to keep these dates. I should not consider it at all press- ing. However, ‘if you and Madeline wish to go, that is another matter.”’ “Madeline and I? Don’t you want to go?” asked Mrs. Ormond. : The rush of color to Katherine’s face and the trepidation in her wide eyes at this unexpected question made a startling change in her. “I? a THE BONFIRE. 347 Oh, no,” she answered, her breath coming quickly as at approaching danger. Her mother laughed in an annoyed way. “Oh, you infatuated child! Now, Gilbert, I hope you are going to oblige me?” she added, turning to him coaxingly. “Tt is hardly worth while, considering the short time remaining to me; still, if you wish it, I will go.” “Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Ormond smiled in her relief. ‘This is Wednesday. We will start Saturday morning; so absorb a great deal of your Pokonet, Katherine, in the next two days.” “But I am not going, mother,” returned the girl, in distress. ‘‘ Why should I go?” “Every reason, my dear,” said Mrs. Ormond decidedly. -“‘We don’t want to leave you behind us, and you see by the letter, you are needed to balance the number of young men that have been asked.”’ “Young men!” repeated Katherine, in involun- tary scorn. “You know very well how an odd number in- commodes a hostess. Don’t say another word, my dear. Mrs. Allington is a person I would not disoblige for anything. I want both my little girls under my wing.”’ “Qh, mother!” Katherine’s face had grown pale, and she looked piteously at Gilbert, whose suspicions received confirmation then and there. “ Poor little Kitty,” he thought, “This is but 348 THE WISE WOMAN. the beginning of troubles.” Yet he could not resist the appeal in those soft eyes, which looked as if they could never twinkle again. “I should be very glad to stay here and look after Katherine, if you would allow that, mother. That would even up the men.” “Oh, yes!” ejaculated Katherine eagerly. Her mother gave her an accusing look. “TI have always thought you an unselfish girl, Kath- erine,’”’ she said severely. “The idea of accept- ing a suggestion which incommodes and disap- points several persons, simply because it makes it possible for you to stay with these — individuals whom you fancy so strongly.” Poor Katherine’s very ears grew pink. She dared not meet the eyes of any one in the room, but sat motionless and silent until Mrs. Ormond dismissed her for the night with a kiss. “It is too bad,” said Madeline sympathetically, when they were alone, “but of course I can’t understand how you can feel so about it. For my own part, I hate Pokonet. I never want to see it again.” CHAPTER XXIV. THE MARY LEDDY. “Tat four-master is on the bar, Ma,” an- nounced Mr. Hodgson, coming into the house the next morning from a trip of investigation to the beach. “You don’t say so,” replied his wife, who was busily assisting in preparations for breaktfast. She looked up with more interest than she usually manifested in her husband’s communications, but her excitement was nothing to that which shone in Katherine Ormond’s eyes, as, arrayed in a white wrapper, she suddenly appeared in the kitchen. “Hel-lo, Kittiwake,”’ said the old man, smiling at sight of his favorite. ‘‘What’s up so early in the morning ?”’ “T am; and is that really a schooner on the bar?” Mr. Hodgson nodded. “Stuck as tight as wax.” “I’ve been watching those masts for the last hour; and just now I saw you coming through the field, so I hurried down. I know a good stiff breeze sprang up last night, but there was no bad weather. What was the matter?” 350 THE WISE WOMAN. The old man laughed. “Some pretty green steerin’, I guess.” “Did the Life Saving men go out?” “Oh, yes; they worked there a long spell. Cap’n Morse says they cal’late they saved nine- teen lives, — ten men and a cat.” “Right close to us, and we knew nothing about it! I was awake awhile, and thought us sea roared louder than usual.” “Yes; there ’s a middlin’ big surf runnin’. Hope the wind lightens ’fore that schooner gits hammered to bits. She’s a pretty craft. They ’ve telegraphed to New York for the wrecker. Guess Fritz would n’t be snoozin’ very deep, if he knew what was on the bar. Ye might jest knock on his door as ye ’re goin’ past, Kittiwake;” but Katherine, with some hasty remark about being late to breakfast, whisked her white gown through the hall and up the staircase. In an hour the whole town knew of the stranded ship. The usually quiet road became lively with pedestrians and vehicles. LEverybody was eager to view the novel sight. Even Mrs. Ormond and her parasol were on the beach earlier than usual, although she protested that she could not see why people made such a fuss. She lifted her eyeglasses to inspect the hand- some new schooner, held helplessly in the grip of the sand-bar, while the waves plunged and rolled about its shining black sides. - “It is Alaa a matter of interest and concern THE MARY LEDDY. 351 when property is in danger,” said Miss Me- Knight. ‘Take that prosaic view of the case.” “The ship looks safe enough,” remarked Mrs. Ormond. “Yet they tell me it is in great danger of going to pieces.” Fritz and Gilbert had made short work of breakfast, and hurried away with eager, boyish interest in what was going on; but Mrs. Ormond had insisted upon her daughters attending to cer- tain affairs which had reference to their departure before she would permit them to follow. ““When you once get to that shore,” she said firmly, ‘I never know when I shall be able to get hold of you again. One child in the hand is worth two on the beach; but I propose to keep you both a little while.” The consequence was, that when Katherine and Madeline arrived tardily at the scene of excite- ment, Marguerite and Dr. McKnight advanced toward the dunes to meet them. “Didn’t I tell you the other day that you were a siren, Miss Madeline?” asked Jasper, as he lifted his hat. “Behold the consequence, over yonder. No storm, no apparent reason for the misadventure; but — we understand! ”’ Madeline’s delicate lips curved smilingly, and she shrugged her shoulders. She could accept ~ even Dr. McKnight’s badinage, with such a pros- pect of congenial surroundings as the following week held out to her. Pee ob2 THE WISE WOMAN. “Our brothers swam out to the schooner,” an-< nounced Marguerite to Katherine. ‘““Have they come back?” asked the latter, looking startled. “It was too far.” She spoke so apprehensively that her friend smiled at her in a way that roused her conscious- ness, and slid an arm around her as they walked along together. “Gilbert has not been accus- tomed of late to swimming distances,” continued Katherine faintly, her cheeks hot. “I always think of cramp and sharks and things, away out there. Oh, Marguerite, the pretty thing!” she continued, as they gazed at the schooner with its bare masts outlined against the vivid blue sky. “And it is such a gay, bright morning. One cannot think of disaster.” “One is averted, at all events,” replied Mar- guerite, pointing northward, “for there come those boys now.” The attention of the quartette was immediately _ riveted on the two heads that appeared above the waves, and they all went to meet the swimmers, who waded ashore, smiling and breathing hard, and sank down dripping on the warm sand, receiv- ing a volley of questions as they did so. They described the freshness and trimness of the schooner, Fritz addressing all his remarks to Katherine. “A ship seems so alive to me always,”’ she answered. “I can’t bear to think of its being captive and beaten by the waves that ought to THE MARY LEDDY. 353 bear it along. Oh, I wish we could see it. Don’t you think Captain Morse would take us out?” “Well, there is nothing small about you,” re- marked Gilbert, turning to his sister. “Is all you want just to have Captain Morse run out the life-boat and the men, so you can have a near view of that schooner?” Katherine was standing, her cheeks flushed, her eyes beaming, looking out toward the goal of her ambition. She had forgotten the bitterness of going away, forgotten the dull blank which the rest of the summer presented, and only knew that the sun was shining, the water sparkling, the air inspir- ing, and that lying at her feet was the being who made any landscape beautiful for her, and whose eyes she knew were this minute fixed upon her with a look which gave her a happy sense of power. “Yes, that is all I want,” she answered de- murely. Then she let her radiant look fall to meet the one that was upturned to her. ‘ Won’t you ask Captain Morse for me, Mr. Sheldon?”’ Fritz rose. “Nonsense, Katherine. You won’t do any- thing of the kind, Sheldon,” said Gilbert, highly disgusted. “Tt won’t do any harm to ask,” answered Fritz quietly. “Well, hell think you have your nerve with ou.” “And so I have,” said Sheldon, smiling at 354 THE WISE WOMAN. Katherine, and then starting off on a run down the beach. “Tell him I want it, too,” called Madeline atter him; then they all began to follow slowly. “You must remember, Gilbert, how good Captain Morse always was to us.” “That is very different. He used to put up with our being under foot, but just why that should give us the right now to meddle with his official business, I fail to see.” They soon came up to where Miss McKnight and Mrs. Ormond were sitting. “Mr. Sheldon has gone to see if Captain Morse won't take us out to the schooner,” announced ~ Katherine. Her mother was so glad to see her look like her happy self that she only gazed, and made no comment. “You have confidence in Captain Morse’s good nature,’’ remarked Miss McKnight. “I should suppose the life saving crew had had too busy a night of it to care to make pleasure trips to-day.” “They were all through before two o’clock,” returned Katherine, undaunted. “Mr. Sheldon was just telling us. I think the men have had as long a rest as they need. I only hope they will think so, too.” She looked so merry and mis- chievous, as she spoke, that Miss McKnight smiled in sympathy. “Here comes Fritz now,” she answered, “so you will soon know the result of his audacity.” THE MARY LEDDY. 355 As the young man approached, they all looked at him expectantly. “Well?” called Madeline. ‘‘ To be or not to be; that is the question.’ ” The messenger did not answer until he had drawn near. “I did n’t think the captain was going to consent at first,” he began. “‘ When I made the request, he scratched his head and smiled doubtfully, but in a minute he said that if Kitty and Maidie Ormond wanted to go out to the schooner, he guessed they ’d have to go.” “There, Gilly,” exclaimed Madeline, in tri- umph. ‘When?’ asked Katherine in the same breath. “T don’t know exactly, but I think before long. He said you would have to wear your bathing- suits. You had better get them on now.” “T’m in that?” asked Dr. McKnight eagerly. “Certainly; our party.” The girls were already running to their bath- house, and soon the conventional maidens who had disappeared were replaced by short-skirted, black-stockinged, bare-armed figures, their heads protected by red silk handkerchiets. “Katherine, those waves are tremendous,” said Mrs. Ormond anxiously, as the girl drew near. “Everybody has had to give up bathing.” “Tt’s a ‘middlin’ surf,’ Mr. Hodgson says,” she replied, her eyes twinkling narrowly. “T haven’t been consulted, but I hope it is safe.”’ 356 THE WISE WOMAN. “Tt doesn’t need to be safe, mother. What a superfluous thing safety would be with a life say- ing crew aboard! They ’re getting out the boat,” added Katherine joyously, and as the three girls started off, running, Mrs. Ormond and Miss Me- Knight rose and followed more slowly. Some men in sou’westers were pushing the heavy boat down along its wooden track to the water, Fritz, Jasper, and Gilbert assisting with a will. To launch it through the powerful surf was a matter requiring skill. An audience stood about to see the party embark. The experience was exciting at any rate to the delighted girls, who were helped over the high gunwale while the craft was still on the beach. Katherine took her place in the bow, waving her hand to her mother, who did not know exactly how to regard the novel excursion. “Do you suppose I do right to let them go, Edna?” she asked, at intervals of a minute, and Miss McKnight continued to respond patiently : “Oh, yes, I think so.” | “T suppose it’s all right, Gilbert,” Mrs. Or- mond called once. : “I’m not sure. I am expecting to be very sea- sick,” returned her son, jumping into the boat after Fritz and Jasper. . The men in their oil-skin suits stood at the brink of the water, waiting for the moment for — the final shove. The oars were laid in readiness _ across the gunwale. A wave wet the men to the : THE MARY LEDDY. 357 knees; a great roller was swiftly advancing. A push to the boat, a shriek and laugh from sea and shore, Katherine was spattered with brine, the boat stood at an angle of forty-five degrees, and for a second the laughing girl looked down from her height on all creation. The last man jumped in, and down slid the boat from the wave, while every oar was dipped to guide it over the next great billow. “T had no idea of it, Edna. Do see how they go up and down!” exclaimed Mrs. Ormond, clutching her friend’s arm. “Had you any idea they would toss so? I’m sure I couldn’t have consented, if I had known what it would be.” “It is a great lark for them,” returned Miss McKnight soothingly. “Captain Morse is very kind.” “How bright Katherine was when she was talk- ing to him,” said Mrs. Ormond, speaking distress- fully. “She has the sweetest nature I ever knew. Oh, that boat seemed such an elephant on shore, and there it goes nearly out of sight between the waves. The child seemed quite unhappy last night about leaving Pokonet so soon. Some girls would have been sulky to-day; but not Katherine. Dear girl! I do so love to have my children happy, and see them enjoy themselves.”’ “Katherine is a rare character,” returned Miss McKnight. She spoke sadly. Her heart yearned over her favorite, for she thought she saw per- plexity ahead for her. She wondered if Mrs. 358 THE WISE WOMAN. Ormond had some motive which did not appear in hurrying her away from Pokonet against her will. She wondered if she, too, had discovered Fritz Sheldon’s attitude. “The man who wins Katherine will secure a treasure,’’ she added ten- tatively. “Yes, indeed,” assented the mother, growing calmer as the boat receded and its alternations of position became less evident. ‘‘ But I never think about Katherine’s marrying. She has never had — a love affair, I am happy to say. She is just one of those calm, capable home-bodies, who are such comforts in a house.” Meanwhile, the girl whose mother was so confi- dent of her fancy-free condition was conscious of being divided from Fritz Sheldon by the boat’s — length. In its rise and fall they exchanged an occasional gay look or gesture. Fortunately, it was a set of steady heads that were undertaking the excursion, and the merry party were still merry when the schooner was reached. “The ‘Mary Leddy.’ How disappointingly commonplace,’’ said Marguerite, reading the name: on the stern; but the difficulty of boarding the vessel soon swallowed up all consideration of its name. Scarcely was their painter made fast be- fore a heavy sea struck the small craft, and the strong rope snapped like a thread. A second — effort was successful, however. The boat was lifted on a wave nearly level with the schooner’s — deck, then slid down into the trough of the sea. THE MARY LEDDY. 359 It was not an easy matter to select the right moment to step upon the rope ladder which was thrown over the schooner’s side; but the transit was finally accomplished, and the party stood on the spotlessly clean deck. The mate of the boat was on board, and re- ceived them courteously, both he and his men regarding the girls in their bathing-suits with ill- concealed astonishment. He showed them through the neat cabin, fin- ished in hard wood, and well carpeted and fur- nished. “She ’s too good to be knocked to bits,” he remarked regretfully. “You expect the wrecker by to-morrow, I be- lieve,” returned Fritz. ‘“We/’ll hope the wind will be favorable to you. All Pokonet will rejoice to see the Mary Leddy slip off the bar.” “How long will it take after the wrecker does get here?’’ asked Katherine. “T suppose it depends very much on wind and weather,’ returned Sheldon. He looked down into her face with the brightening expression which always grew in it when he addressed her. Katherine’s did not reflect its illumination. She turned and went up on deck. A pang had gone through her at the thought of how swiftly these golden hours were slipping by, and how ‘goon, in the fashionable conventionality of the Allington circle, time would seem to stand still. Fritz followed her as the needle follows the 360 THE WISE WOMAN. magnet, and paused beside her as she stood look. — ing across the water to the small black figures moving on the beach. He regarded the coquettish knot of the crimson handkerchief surmounting her dark hair, and her _ bare arms hanging loosely from the short, puffed sleeves. “This is the first time I have seen you wear that dress since our adventure,” he said. “Yes,” she answered, “and it is the last time I shall wear it this summer.” She looked up at him, as she spoke, with such — sweet pathetic eyes and lips that he laughed from sheer love of her. eS “Was it really such a fright?” he asked, and she felt blessedly conscious of the tenderness in his voice. “You mustn’t give up to that feeling. We will wash it away in another experience. Promise that you will go in with me to-morrow | morning, — or no, not to-morrow, I have to go. 5 away with Mr. McKnight to-morrow” — : “Must you?” interrupted Katherine involun- tarily; then flushed red as her handkerchief. The exclamation turned Sheldon’s face radiant. He knew that she liked him, but could it be that — she cared for him as he cared for her; that one _ day’s absence was a thing for her to dread as he dreaded it? “Yes, I must, I’m sorry to say,” he answered, as composedly as he could, being aware of the fact — that a sailor was lingering near and watching THE MARY LEDDY. 361 them furtively. “It is a business errand to exam- ine a piece of machinery. Mr. McKnight engaged that we would go to see it to-morrow, and untor- tunately I’m the Hamlet of the affair, and the trip can’t be made without me. Was it anything especial that you wanted to do?” In spite of himself, he could not keep all his happiness out of his voice. Katherine, since her involuntary exclamation, had held her face averted. “Oh, no,” she answered as carelessly as she was able. “I only felt selfishly like keeping our _ whole party together the one more day that is left tome. We go away on Saturday.” Sheldon looked aghast. ‘Go away. Where to?” His changed tone was so expressive that Katherine glanced up at him again. “To —I believe it is to Bar Harbor. At any rate, it is to visit the Allingtons.”’ “But why need you go?” Katherine’s lip curled. “I believe in order that Mrs. Allington’s guests, girls and men, should be equally balanced. I didn’t know until last night. My mother’ — “She is taking you away,” ejaculated Fritz. His companion had never before seen him moved from his steady balance. “Then to-day and to- _morrow ” — “Bee pardon, sir,” interrupted the sailor, de- spairing of waiting for this couple to move. “That coil of rope in front of you, sir.” He 362 THE WISE WOMAN. dove for it as the young people stepped back, and at the same moment Dr. McKnight hailed them. The sea was in a tumult; the men could not hold the boat any longer; they must go at once. “Sliding down a cellar door is nothing to this,” said Jasper to Fritz as the small craft rose slowly, and then plunged to the depths. How and when to drop into it from the rope ladder was a problem for novices. One by one the party descended, and at Cap- tain Morse’s word of command let go their hold on the rope. Fritz and Katherine came last. He preceded her, and stood below to help her at the difficult last moment. She was half way down the pliable ‘adder when she paused. One foot swung off, and her body seemed to sway. Fritz, watching her every movement, jumped and seized the rope, and was beside her with ineredible swiftness. Balancing himself with one foot below her, he seized the side of the ladder and threw the other arm around her body. “Are you dizzy? You frightened me!” he ejaculated, looking straight into her eyes. His mustache swept her cheek. She had been pale with sudden terror of the boiling, leaping waves that seemed hungering to reach and swallow her, and now she turned whiter still. | “My darling,” he breathed, pressing her to him. The wild, dizzying confusion below became as nothing to Katherine. Here, clinging to her — THE MARY LEDDY. 363 lover and he to her, was where she would fain have remained. They were together. Mr. Robert Mc- Knight with his odious business schemes could not rob her of him. Her mother could not rob him of her. Ah, if it could only last! The party below were waiting impatiently. “Now, dearest, we go,” said Fritz. Up rose the life-boat from an abyss. Lifting Katherine quite away from the ladder as he stepped down, he was ready for it, and deposited her safely on the unstable foothold, following himself. Madeline, sitting next her sister in the boat, surveyed her curiously. Katherine did not look like a person who had been in need of special assistance. Indeed, her appearance was such as might be expected in one who had just swallowed the elixir of eternal life and youth. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes full of new beauty. “Were you really dizzy?”’ asked Madeline. Her sister looked at her absently, and smiled. “Well, why don’t you answer?” asked the other impatiently. “Did you speak to me?” “Yes. J asked you if you were dizzy up there. Goodness, how this thing pitches! ”’ “No, I’m not dizzy,” replied Katherine. Her gentle, beatific voice and look, in connec- tion with the tableau on the rope ladder, impressed ~ even Madeline, who, having no affair of her own on hand just then, had more leisure than usual to think of her sister. Illumined by her new idea, 364 THE WISE WOMAN. she looked past the others at Fritz. He was en- grossed in helping the men. Captain Morse was standing in a picturesque attitude at the stern, using his oar to guide the boat. The waves had so increased in size that she often had to be headed around into them, to avoid swamping. An interested crowd on shore were watching their progress, Mrs. Ormond and Miss McKnight being among the number. The latter’s brother had come down to the beach to inquire Fritz’s whereabouts. _ When told that he was on the stranded schooner, the old gentleman’s manner evinced some impa- tience. | “I didn’t know Mr. Sheldon ever played tru- ant,’’ remarked Mrs. Ormond, twirling her parasol handle on her shoulder. “No, that isn’t much in his line,” returned Mr. McKnight dryly, looking seaward from under his white eyebrows. ‘Don’t I see a boat now?” “You may, Robert,” returned his sister. “All I can say, is, you have good eyes.” “He is right. They have started,” said Mrs. Ormond. ‘Dear me, what waves! I wish Cap- tain Morse had not been so good natured.” It was exciting to watch the homeward passage of the boat that held such a precious load and looked so small between the white-crested billows. As it was headed at last toward the beach, the girls waved their hands gayly to their friends. THE MARY LEDDY. 365 “How will they ever land ena that surf?” exclaimed Mrs. Ormond. She was soon to see. Everpbod stood up and came as near to the hissing, swift-creeping foam as they dared, while the life-boat was borne aloft on a great wave rolling and roaring shoreward. The men in oil-skins and bathing-suits jumped overboard and seized the gunwale as she shot upon the sand, and the next billow caught and splashed the girls amid a general shout of laughter. Captain Morse was profusely thanked for his obligingness, and a chorus of questions and an- * Swers arose. Mr. McKnight waited with what patience he might while B iealdon lent his strength to the re- turning of the boat to its place. Tt filled Kath- erine with apprehension to see the old gentleman here. He was a rare visitor to the beach, prefer- ring to take his recreation in fishing or sailing expeditions with Mr. Hodgson. She resented now the way he kept his eyes fixed on Fritz, wait- ing for an opportunity to get his attention, and her ears were sharpened to hear his first words, as the blue and white bathing-suit of his factotum drew near. “Those papers came by the morning mail, Shel- don,”’ he said, in tones of satisfaction. ‘Now we _ ean fix up the whole business.” Fritz assented with a calm exterior, stopped and talked a minute, then moved to where Kath- erine was standing removing the wet red handker- chief from her hair. 366 THE WISE WOMAN. ‘Some papers have come that make it necessary for me to work all: the afternoon,” he said, look- ing at her with an expression which assured her that for once his heart was not in the subject of steam pipes. | She said nothing, but she was thinking, “To- day and to-morrow; it is too cruel.” “Tt is business which Mr. McKnight has been particularly anxious to have accomplished before to-morrow’s trip. It is connected with it.” Katherine lifted her eyes and pushed back her pretty, tumbled hair. “I hate Mr. McKnight,” she said gently and deliberately. : Fritz flushed all over. “I must set my teeth and go through with it, Katherine. Katherine,” he repeated, drawing out the syllables like a caress. . “Coming, Sheldon?” called his employer. Presumably he had once stood where Fritz stood now, but his tone betokened that he had forgotten all about it. “Yes, at once,” called the young man; then in a totally different voice he added low: ‘We can’t afford to hate him, dear.” He held out his hand, and Katherine put hers into its strong clasp. “It is “ we,’ now, isn’t it?” he asked, recklessly holding her hand in the radiant noonday sun- shine, though the world seemed very full of super- fluous fellow-beings, who kept passing inconven- iently near. ; Katherine answered him with a smile, and a wknd SE hans THE MARY LEDDY. 367 glance that he thought perfect, though it was so tangled in her silky lashes. “Then auf wiedersehen, my own love,” he con- tinued, with parting intensity, “and pray that I may forget you for the next few hours ” — “Katherine, come, we are going.”” It was Mrs. Ormond’s voice in imperious accents. One last pressure of the hands, and Fritz set off running toward the bath-house, while Kather- ine turned to meet her mother, who was advancing with some nervousness in. her haste. The girl was slightly the taller, and beamed down upon the incensed face, lovely in the afterglow of hap- piness. “Really, I am annoyed with you, Katherine,” said Mrs. Ormond severely. ‘* Unconventionality and eccentricity are carried a little too far when they hold my daughter’s hand like that in broad, open daylight. If he doesn’t know any better, you do. What were you thinking of?” As if Katherine could ever tell anybody what she was thinking of. “T presume you would rather he did it in pub- lic than in private,” flippantly remarked Made- line, who had heard this reprimand. “Go and get dressed, both of you,” said Mrs. Ormond. “It is nearly dinner time.” When the girls were in their bath-house, Made- line broke the silence that had fallen between ‘them. “I’ve found you out, Katherine. I know now why you don’t want to leave Pokonet.” 368 THE WISE, WOMAN. Madeline had meant to continue her flippancy, and to be very off-hand; but the gentle, uncon- sciously exalted look which her sister turned to- ward her was moving, even to the selfish little autocrat. With a sudden dash at Katherine, she kissed her. ‘You don’t deserve that,’’ she said, “for you have been disgracefully close-mouthed, considering that I always tell you everything. I was never so- surprised in my life, I’ll confess that, flat; and mother will be wild. If you take my advice, you ’ll elope.”’ “Oh, don’t, Madeline,” said Katherine. She was glad to have the kiss, but she wished her sister would have stopped there. a 8 “T don’t feel that way,’ ran on the younger. “T want you to understand that. I believe he’s arising man; but I tell you, mother’s prejudice is a mountain. You would n’t care anything about a showy, expensive wedding, and think of the money an elopement saves. It would be so ro- mantic, too. I’d love to have one in the family, but I could never consent to elope, myself. When I am a bride, I want to have a crowd of people waiting and stretching their necks for the first glimpse of me. I suppose you don’t want me to say anything to mother?” “No,” returned Katherine. ‘Oh no, not yet. I’m hardly sure of it, myself — yet.” “T am, then,” retorted Madeline irrepressibly. THE MARY LEDDY. 369 “You ve no idea what a theatrical scene it was when old Poke — excuse me, Katherine, I thought he was a Poke until then — vaulted up that ladder and caught you in his arms. I was electrified. But it was an awful give-away. Come, don’t look haughty.”’ She laughed, and caught her sis- ter in her arms. ‘“ We’re different, but I’m truly glad if you ’re happy, dear.” Katherine returned the caress, and smiled at the speaker from the heights where her soul stood. “Then be glad,’”’ she answered. CHAPTER XXYV. THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. KATHERINE, sustaining the fire of her mother’s and sister’s comments, missed one little episode that occurred after Fritz left her. His way lay past his sister, and he paused in his hurry to seize - both her hands and look his joy for one swift moment into her eyes before hastening on. The events of the morning, and now this tri- umphant ebullition from grave, matter-of-fact Fritz, left no doubt in her mind as to how matters stood. His excitement communicated itself to Margue- rite in such degree that her limbs felt weak. She sat down in the lee of a neighboring sand dune te realize how glad she was for him; and as fast as. her eyes became misty she drew her hand impa- tiently across them, and told herself that it was always foolish to ery for joy. Had she not been willing at one time to leave him in loneliness for his own good? Was this not a thousand times better? — She would have a pleasant room somewhere, and go on making hats and bonnets in serene independence. What was this? She suddenly THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. OTL loathed the thought of millinery, and a dark face with a smile flashing from it like sunshine seemed to regard her. She put it away. It was the face of the tempter. She was nervous already from long consideration of it in imagination and in the flesh. The effect of a long vacation is enervating, she decided. She thought wistfully of Katherine. How happy she must be to know her own mind; to have no hesitations, or doubts. Again the dark, expres- sive face, with the brilliant eyes so like the Wise Woman’s, rose before her. Happy Katherine. Yet there was Mrs. Ormond. Fritz would have to become aware of her now. Marguerite won- dered if he would ever call that ambitious person- age “mother.” The thought struck her as amus- ing, and she began to laugh. This set free the threatening tears, and there in the protection of the sand dune she became overcome by a mild attack of hysterics, after which, Katherine and Madeline being safely out of the way, she went to the bath-house and made her toilet, reaching home after the family had sat down to dinner. Fritz was not present. Mr. McKnight had al- ready claimed him. | “What’s the reason ye ain’t eatin’, Kitty,” Mr. Hodgson was saying, as Marguerite entered the dining-room. “Haven't ye got a good piece, or are ye in love?” He grinned at poor Kath- erine. 7 “14 THE WISE WOMAN. “Thank you —I have everything — very nice,” returned the girl, busily attacking her plate, and glancing away from Marguerite’s eyes. Madeline choked on the water she was drinking at the moment of her sister’s ambiguous reply, and Mrs. Ormond smiled. Katherine seemed so alone among them, and she loved Fritz. Maregue- rite’s heart went out to her with new, sudden strength, and claimed her. | : “Yes, Mr. Hodgson,” said Mrs. Ormond. “Katherine is in love, and I am about separating her from the beloved object.” Katherine’s heart bounded. What did her mother know? What was she going to say pub- licly? The girl, in spite of her burning color, lifted her head slowly with unconscious pride, and fixed her eyes on the speaker. “She fell in love with Pokonet at a very early age, and she doesn’t get over it at all,” went on Mrs. Ormond. “I am going to take her away Saturday, and she is behaving as well as she can about it, but I know it is a pull.” “Yes, so Ma’s been tellin’ me,” said Mr. Hodgson dejectedly. “I’m glad Kittiwake don’t want to leave us. We always begrudge to see the last of her.”’ Katherine could not trust herself to send the : old man a look. She controlled herself only by © an effort, and Marguerite saw it all. It was news _ to her that the Ormonds were going, but out of regard to Katherine, she made no comment now. THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. 373 She hardly knew how to treat her friend. She did not want to take too much for granted in the present unacknowledged state of affairs; neither did she wish to be tardy in welcoming Katherine as a sister. Katherine herself settled her perplexities for the afternoon by disappearing. No -one knew where she was. Her mother inquired for her several times with considerable impatience. Made- line for once stood her sister’s defender. “Do let her say good-by to Pokonet in her own way,” she said. ‘You don’t need her. To-morrow will be plenty of time to see to the packing.” “But she might have said where she was going,” complained Mrs. Ormond. “Do you suppose she may have gone sailing with Fritz Sheldon?” “No, he is working with Mr. McKnight. The Wise Woman just said so. She is down on the piazza with Marguerite.” “Well, she might have said where she was going,” repeated Mrs. Ormond. Katherine came home in time for tea, and made a careful toilet; but the one she longed for did not appear. “Poor Fritz, this is hard on him,” said Mar- euerite, as she approached her friend on the piazza after supper. Katherine nestled close to her, but said nothing. Marguerite put an arm around her. “The Wise Woman has been here this after- noon. . Are you jealous?” Dit THE WISE WOMAN. Katherine shook her head, and the other laughed at her novel quiescence, and gave her a loving squeeze. “We never mentioned you. Now, how do you feel?” Katherine smiled. “Oh, yes, we did. The Wise Woman asked where you were. I replied that I didn’t know. She said something very nice, I guess I sha’n’t tell you what, about regret at your going away from Pokonet. I agreed and—that’s all. In- deed, Katherine, I was shocked to hear of your leaving. What shall I do with Fritz?” asked Marguerite tentatively. — The strangest little half-sigh, half-sob, broke from Katherine. “Be very good to him,” she answered. Of course, after that there was no need for hesitation. “I am very happy about it,” said Marguerite. “You are the one girl in all the world I should prefer to have for a sister.” The charm she had always exerted over Kath- erine was as strong as ever. The latter looked up with eyes full of feeling, and the two kissed each other. It was a charming, dreamy evening. The moon was at the half, the ailanthus branches stirred, q the sea broke on the sands with a gentleness which : augured favorably for the success of the wrecker — already working to liberate the schooner; but — THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. até Fritz remained away. Katherine would not have known that he came home at all that night, except for two things. One was a noise of wheels very early the next morning, which waked her from her light slumbers. Leaping from the bed, she reached the window in time to see Fritz and Mr. Hodgson driving away to the depot. Apparently Fritz thought she might be looking, for he took off his hat and waved it toward the house. She, kneel- ing behind the slats of the closed blinds, watched him out of sight; then the smile faded from her face, and she was stealing back to bed forlornly, when her eye caught something white beneath the door. Her glance brightened, and she stooped to pick up a letter. She opened it cautiously, not to wake Madeline. It was from him, and it flushed her as the sunlight reddens a rose. There was but one portion of it that would bear publication, and that was where the writer de- clared that he should make every effort to spend that evening with her, although it might after all prove impossible. She surprised those most interested by her eayety at the breakfast-table, and her spirits were sustained at a cheerful pitch during the packing of her trunk; but when that undertaking was accomplished, when nothing remained for her to do, the unreasonableness, the aggravation of the situation returned upon her, and grew in force. The day was dull and overcast. Marguerite was 376 THE WISE WOMAN. busy assisting her aunt; Mrs. Ormond and Made- — line were full of pleasurable speculations concern- ing the coming visit. Katherine had read her letter until she could recite it backward. She suddenly determined to go to see the Wise Wo- man. Why had she not thought of it sooner! Perhaps that clever friend might yet preserve her from her distasteful fate. A glow warmed the girl as she thought of a possible reprieve; of free- dom to stay on here where the sunny days and the breezy nights under the waxing moon would now be doubly sweet. “It has begun to rain,” objected Mrs. Ormond, when her daughter announced her intention. “T’m afraid you have forgotten your ~ fairy tales, mother,” Katherine replied. “Did the puz- zled princess ever allow a little rain to stand in the way of her going to consult the Wise Woman?” She buttoned her mackintosh, and Mrs. Or- mond made no further objection. There was an undercurrent of feeling in her mind that the girl was bearing up well under a disappointment. It was unfortunate that this last day should be rainy. Let the child enjoy it, if she could. Katherine arrived at her destination rosy from - the brief struggle with the wind. Miss McKnight received her cordially. “This will give us a heavy sea, won’t it?” she asked. “It is fortunate the schooner got off.” “Ts she off?’ asked Katherine, with interest. Wherever the Mary Leddy might sail, no breeze ‘ ey F iF rs THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. SUT could ever bear her out of the affectionate memory of one woman. “Yes, Jasper saw the last of her early this morning, after helping his uncle to get away. This is a great time for departures. My brother’s is only a short trip, but I hear you desert Pokonet for the season, to-morrow. How is it that you didn’t tell me?” “Tt came upon me so suddenly,’ — Katherine seated herself close to her friend, — ‘‘and since then I have been in a sort of dream. I only waked up half an hour ago, when my trunk was actually packed, and then I was panic-stricken, and I flew to you, as usual.” Miss McKnight regarded her in silence, her kindly gaze seeming to sink into the soul that was reaching out to her. “Think, dear Wise Woman, what is before me. Do you know what it is that I am going to?” “Yes, your mother read me Mrs. Allington’s letter.”’ “There isn’t any help for me, unless you help me,” said Katherine beseechingly. “You have so much influence with mother, I thought, possibly, if you came over and talked to her, and promised to take care of me’?— She paused, and her appealing eyes said the rest. Miss McKnight smiled slightly. ‘I am afraid it is impossible, my little Katherine,” she re- turned gently. “I have thought of it, myself, and wished I could do it, but I don’t see my way. 378 THE WISE WOMAN. This is not a time when I can step in between you and your mother.” The girl blushed. “Why? Do you—don’t you’’— She stammered and stopped. : The elder woman shook her white head, still — with the kind smile. ‘I suspect that just now you are a great responsibility.” Katherine was silent a moment, then she came — still closer to her friend’s chair. ‘But you like © — Fritz,”’ she said softly. ‘And your mother doesn’t,” added Miss Mc- — Knight quietly. The girl bit her lip. She had been too en- grossed with her own feelings ever to look this fact full in the face. | Her friend continued: “Perhaps it is as well for you to go away now, before anything happens, and wait’? — Katherine caught Miss McKnight’s hand be- tween both her own, interrupting her with a sort of eager embarrassment. “But several very nice things have happened,” she said naively. “It is too late to help anything. You might as well keep me.” ‘“‘Does your mother know?”’ RUN Ost “Katherine! ”’ “But I told you I have been inadream. Be- side, how can I tell her? ”’ “Tt will be hard. You will have need of great — patience.” i rae ont a Saks Se eesa 7 = oc te oe SRE er EY " Te, ie i en eR Is 0 ake See ne mies % wea. Feta 4S, crea eee t= <= THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. 379 “How much patience ought I to have? How ean [| listen to one word against him?”’ “You will have to make up your mind to bear that, and to wait.” Katherine looked up at her friend with eyes in which happiness struggled with perplexity. “What a beautiful thing youth is,” thought Miss McKnight, watching the changes that flitted over the sensitive face. “Oh, there’s nothing half so sweet in life as love’s young dream.”’ “He is a man worth waiting for, Katherine,”’ she said aloud. “Then I have pleased you, at all events,’’ re- turned the girl. “Yes, and so has he. I scarcely dare tell either of you how much.”’ The first suggestion of tears Katherine had ever seen in Miss McKnight’s eyes veiled their bright- ness as she spoke. “Think what you will be to me now,”’ said the girl impulsively. ‘I shall come to you and beg you to talk about him when mother ’’ — “Wait, dear. Iam so sorry for your mother.” “So am 1; but what reason has she’? — “Yes, yes; but she has given her whole life to her children, as every loving mother does, and now you are going to disappoint her. Try to keep her standpoint in mind continually, when the matter comes to discussion.”’ “Then you would n’t advise me to — to do any- thing without her consent?” a 380 THE WISE WOMAN. “No, indeed. You owe her everything. You can’t help loving Fritz, but you can comfort her heart by letting her know that you love her even while she is hurting your feelings, as perhaps she — will. Prepare yourself beforehand to be very patient. There is a wise and useful old proverb, I think it is Persian: ‘ Of the unspoken word you are master. The spoken word is master of you.’ It will be a good saying for you to keep in mind.” “Then I must be resigned to going to the Allingtons’,” said Katherine, with a rueful little smile, “and to letting Mr. McKnight carry Fritz off at the very moment when — when —and he has had to stay away all these two last days!” she finished incoherently. Miss McKnight laughed; but she caressed the girl with unusual warmth. “I congratulate you, Katherine, in spite of all the discipline, present and to come. I would rather see you married to Fritz Sheldon than to any man I know.” Altogether, Katherine’s visit to the Wise Wo- man was satisfactory, although she had failed in her object. She came away feeling braced and encouraged, and greeted her mother, when she returned, with a more cheerful face than that with which she had left her. “The wind almost takes one’s breath away,” she announced brightly. “Yes,” returned Mrs. Ormond. “Mr. Hodg- son says they are likely now to have a ‘spell o’ THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. 3881 weather.* How lucky we are, to be leaving in the nick of time.” “Lucky to be going to miss a big storm?” returned Katherine wistfully, as she pulled off her Tam o’ Shanter. “How is Miss McKnight enduring the day?” “She seems happy. Obdurate, though.” “What about?” “T’m afraid you would think me a hardened sinner, if I told you.” Mrs. Ormond looked into the bright face fondly. ‘You are the best child I know of,” she said. “Even if I don’t want to leave Pokonet?”’ “But you behave so well about it, my dear,”’ returned the mother, deprecating by her tone a reference to anything unpleasant. “T have been trying to get the Wise Woman to persuade you to let her keep me.” Mrs. Ormond looked gently reproachful. ‘You show an obstinacy in this matter, Katherine, that exhibits you in a new phase.” “Oh, I am obstinate, mother,” returned the girl, a certain excitement appearing through her - cheerfulness, as the thought of her heart’s happi- ness sent a flash through her. ‘However, the Wise Woman would n’t hear to me.” “Edna has far too good taste to interfere like | that,” said Mrs. Ormond, picking up the book she had laid down at her daughter’s entrance. “She said she would not have the responsibility 382 THE WISE WOMAN. of me,” pursued Katherine. Her pulses hurried. She wished her mother would question her. She longed to tell her the truth. But Mrs. Ormond was already reabsorbed in her story. Since Katherine had given up an annoying project, and was doing so cheerfully, she asked no more of her. However, Mrs. Ormond’s equanimity was not to remain serene. Fritz, not without some diffi- culty in overriding objections to his haste, suc- ceeded in returning to Pokonet that evening in a wild storm of wind and rain. The family, their numbers not as usual aug- mented by the McKnights, were sitting about the living-room in unusual quiet, all but Katherine occupied with reading or fancy work. She held a magazine, but her attention wandered, and her hearing was sharpened to take note of every sound. A hundred times some freak of the wind as it whipped the storm-beaten branches or wor- ried a window blind misled her, and made her heart leap; but at last it came, —the unmistak- — able rush of wheels approaching through the rain, nearer, nearer to the farmhouse. Her flushed face, half-eager, half-shy, glanced ~ up at Marguerite. The latter had heard too, and risen quickly. Meeting Katherine’s telltale look, she recollected herself and sank back into her chair. It was no longer her right to be first to — meet her brother. a Katherine endured a moment of painful henitas | THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. 383 tion, then she arose. She shrank from going to meet Fritz, but she shrank still more from wel- coming him here in the family circle. The inten- sity of the letter she still carried warned her. She slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her, and when Sheldon entered the house, he saw her standing there, smiling, blushing, shy, in the dim little hall. With a joyful exclamation he stepped forward. The wind Katherine loved shook the old door and rattled its latch boisterously, as she yielded to her lover’s strong embrace, and their lips met. In the sitting-room, Mr. Hodgson looked up from his paper. “I guess it was Fritz come in,” he remarked, beginning to rise. Marguerite smilingly pulled him back into his chair. “Don’t leave me, uncle Silas,” she said. “Hey?” he returned, looking over his specta- cles. “T say don’t leave me.” “But I said that was Fritz come in a minute ago.” “Well, I dare say the boy is drenched. Let him go and get dry the first thing.” As she finished speaking, the object of her re- marks entered the room. The whole place seemed vivified by his presence. Katherine did not reap- pear. She had stolen upstairs upon being ap- prised of Sheldon’s immediate intention. “Good evening, everybody,” he said, in hearty 384 THE WISE WOMAN. tones, and the company responded in their various fashions. Madeline, who had been alive to the silent interview in the hall, regarded him with eritical, yet approving eyes. His was, especially just now, the sort of face a woman likes to look upon. Mrs. Ormond regarded his greeting as a rather noisy interruption, and returned to her novel as hastily as might be. -She had just reached its climax. | “Set down, sir,” said Mr. Hodgson, pushing up his spectacles and crossing his legs. “Give an account o’ yourself. Tell us all about it.” “T will, later, although it will make a prosy story. First, I must disturb Mrs. Ormond. Mrs. Ormond, will you give me ten minutes?” The lady looked up from her book. She was loth to leave it, and her face plainly indicated the fact. “Did you speak to me, Mr. Sheldon?” she asked, holding her novel with the evident desire to return to it immediately. “Yes. You go quite early in the morning, I — believe. I have something important to say to — you, else I would n’t disturb you now.” Madeline admired his self-possession, the sim- plicity which was always a part of his unostenta- tious strength. Mrs. Ormond stared at him in genuine surprise, — and let her book slowly close on her finger. “‘ You — 9 — you don’t want to see me alone, do you?” THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. 385 “Yes, if you please.” The situation was cer- tainly growing awkward for Fritz, Madeline con- sidered; but it was likely to become more so be- fore it was less. She wished intensely that she might be an invisible listener to the conversation about to ensue in the parlor, whither Fritz con- ducted his astonished companion. He lighted the large lamp on the centre-table, and they sat down upon two haircloth chairs. “Ugh! it is cold in here,” observed Mrs. Or- mond, shuddering obviously. To her increased surprise Fritz arose, went into the hall, and returned with a shawl, which he placed about her shoulders. He was not going to allow the interview to be postponed on account of the weather. To take serious cognizance of Mrs. Ormond, to consider her attitude toward him, was a duty which had come to him along with his happiness, and he had given his mind to it at leisure inter- vals since yesterday. Closing the door again, he took the chair facing her. “I have not been fortunate enough as yet to win your friendship, Mrs. Ormond,”’ he began, without cireumlocution. “Isn’t that so?” The astonished woman recoiled from his blunt- ness. ; “Why, Mr. Sheldon, you surprise me. Have I been guilty of treating you in a manner” — “Yes, that is it,” he interrupted, impatient of evasions, yet smiling at her. “You have treated % 386 THE WISE WOMAN. me ina manner. Now, under most circumstances, I should n’t annoy you about this. You have no reason to like me that I know of; but the excep- tional circumstance has come about, under which it matters vitally to me whether or no you look upon me favorably.” 7 “Heavens! Madeline!” thought Mrs. Ormond, forgetting her novel. “Have you any special fault to find with me? Is there anything in my life or habits that you can specify as disagreeable to you?” he went on, looking seriously into his companion’s face. She began to find the situation flattering. Fritz was by no means the kind of man whose earnestness can be lightly met. She had long been forced reluctantly to respect him, and now he was appealing to her mercy. : “No, I cannot say that there is,’’ she returned with condescension. “I have not intended to convey any criticism of you by my actions. What right have I?” | “Hivery right,” Bete Fritz ee pas) love your daughter.” Mrs. Ormond swelled with a comfortable sense of importance. Poor fellow, he certainly had a fine face. What it was to be the mother of a belle! Yet even now a wistful pang assailed her. If only it were Jasper sitting there and looking at her with such penetrating eyes. a She did not speak at once, and Sheldon was surprised that she did not seem startled by his THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. 387 blunt declaration. On the contrary, her expres- sion was almost gracious. She slightly bowed her head with dignity. She had been through a similar scene before, and she replied to him now with a virtuous phrase which had served her well on the previous occasion. “T cannot coerce my children in these matters, Mr. Sheldon.” Relief lighted up Fritz’s strong features. “Then you are willing to accept me as a son-in- law?’ he asked. She regarded him kindly in her absolute cer- tainty. “I think there will be no question of that,’’ she answered. “Thank you, Mrs. Ormond!”’ He would have seized her hand in his gratitude. ‘You misunderstand me,”’ she returned hastily. “T mean that my daughter will not answer you as you hope.” ‘But she has done so.”’ Mrs. Ormond stammered in her bewilderment. “Has done so— wishes to marry you — Made- line!” “Pardon me,” said Fritz, gravely smiling. “I had forgotten for the moment that you had two daughters. My mind holds but one idea — Kath- erine.”’ “Katherine! ’? Mrs. Ormond repeated the “name in startled accents, and rose to her feet, pressing her hand to her heart. She had received a genuine shock. This was no longer a comedy. 888 THE WISE WOMAN. Rapidly her mind reviewed a hundred proofs that 4 what this young man stated was true. How la- mentably blind and careless she had been! But Katherine would be amenable. She always was. Just as she had given up Pokonet, so would she give up this ineligible suitor at her mother’s bid- ding. “Tt is my duty,” she began aloud, although her breath came short, “not to allow you to be misled by false hopes.”’ “Thank you; but they are not false.” “They are, Mr. Sheldon. It is my duty to say so at once.” The expression of her crimson face showed Fritz that her attitude was precisely what he had at first feared it would be. ‘“‘A moment ago,’ he answered, “you declared that you would not coerce your child.” ‘Katherine is very inexperienced.” “T would not have her experienced in these matters,’ said Sheldon, rising also, and looking down upon his companion, who was trembling with excitement. ‘‘We love each other, Mrs. Ormond,” he continued calmly. “I would rather marry her with your consent than without it, but life is before us, and we belong to each other.” The lady looked up, dumb with amazement at — this audacity. His eyes even more than his words assured her that she had two to reckon with in — this problem. There was nothing “amenable” — in the expression of Sheldon’s respectful face. a — P — a . ae : I ea I a mu i a ah ey Wi THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. 389 “I assure you,” she replied, when she could command herself, “that Katherine belongs to me as yet, and you will discover it. I will bid you good night, Mr. Sheldon.” ~The dignified bearing with which she swept from the room lasted until she entered Katherine’s chamber above-stairs. The girl rose at her entrance, and quailed be- fore her imposing, silent gaze. Only an instant, then she ran to the angry woman and threw her arms around her neck. “Mother, let us be kind to each other through it all,” she said breathlessly. “Katherine, how could you!” asked Mrs. Or- mond, with deep reproach. “T don’t know,” responded the girl, close in her mother’s neck. ‘I didn’t mean to. I just loved him without knowing what was happening.” “You must have known that it meant choosing between your mother and that struggling, un- known young man whom I could never accept.” “I knew you would say hard things, dear, so go right on, and get them all said; while I have my arms around you, it won’t hurt so much.” Mrs. Ormond made futile attempts to move her daughter back where she could see her. It cer- tainly detracted from the dignity and force of her remarks to be obliged to say them over the shoul- der of the culprit, and the smooth cheek of the latter against her own was disturbing to her train of thought. »~ 390 THE WISE WOMAN. “T refuse to regard it too seriously, Katherine, for you are a good, dutiful child, and in the end have never in your life refused to give up what I asked you to for my sake.” “T must this time, though, dear, because it isn’t I alone any more. It is F ritz, too. I shall _ do just as you say, of course, but I have to feel all this that has poured into me of late, and it’ will burn me up if you shut it in, mother; it will burn me up!” The low, excited speech finished in a sob, and Katherine’s frame was so racked with weeping that her mother put aside all thought of argument in endeavors to soothe her. She would make herself ill, and possibly be unable to ‘travel in the morning. The thought was most disquieting. CHAPTER XXVI. THE RECEPTION. THE autumn had come. Summer was a mem- ory. Its high light to Mrs. Ormond and Made- line had been the visit to the Allingtons. The mother’s pride had been delightfully flattered by the success her pretty daughter had made. Nev- ertheless, she told herself that she was never to enjoy undisturbed pleasure in this world. Kath- erine was a source either of annoyance or anxiety — all the time they were at Bar Harbor. Mrs. Or- mond could not deny that she behaved well. True, only her body was the Allingtons’ guest, her heart was ever straying, but it was a meek and obliging little body that sailed, and played tennis, and danced, whenever it was asked. It was intolerable to have a letter coming to the girl in the same masculine handwriting every day. Mrs. Ormond was in constant dread lest their hostess should discover the identity of the writer; yet something restrained her from forbid- ding the frequency of those letters. The radiance had gone out of Katherine’s face. 1t was patent to her family that she was enduring and waiting. “She begins to look like a plant in a cellar,” 392 THE WISE WOMAN. said Gilbert bluntly to his mother, on the morn- ing when he was obliged to bid the Allingtons good-by. “Yes, it is rather too cold and bracing here for her after the Long Island coast,’ returned Mrs. Ormond. She had discovered before this that Gilbert was actively, and Madeline passively, op- posed to her attitude regarding Fritz Sheldon, so the subject had been tacitly avoided among them. Gilbert ignored her reply. “Katherine has plenty of common sense,” he said. “If you gave her your sympathy, and she was not made to feel that she stood alone in the matter nearest her heart, she would endure the separation all right, — no doubt. As it is, you probably see that she — doesn’t eat anything. We must take her as we find her. Pretty good sort, too, only it is the kind capable of pining to death. You want to remember that, mother, for the present and fu: ture.” So it will be seen that there were thorns in Mrs. Ormond’s garden of roses, and when the glamorous summer life was over, and the return to Montaigne was made, the thorns did not lessen, for she was confronted by a glad and determined lover, who came with Gilbert to meet them at the train in New York, and greeted herself and seized upon Katherine with an air of assurance and pro- prietorship for which she had not been prepared. “He is a most indelicate person,” she declared to Gilbert. ‘Does he suppose he is coming to THE RECEPTION. 393 our house right along, as if it were a settled thing?” “Oh, you can forbid him the house, if you like,” said Gilbert indifferently. “It will be rather inconvenient and embarrassing for Kather- — ine to meet him elsewhere, though.” Mrs. Ormond gasped. “You can’t help it; I can’t help it,” went on Gilbert. .“‘He owns her. Look at her now.” Soon afterward, Gilbert called upon Miss Mc- Knight. “T think you will have to be charitable and help mother out,” he remarked. “Sheldon comes to the house constantly, and mother hasn’t yet either taken him to task, or welcomed him. She is on the fence, in a very uncertain and not too dignified position. I should be sorry to have her tumble off. If you would kindly help her to get down on the right side, we should all be infinitely obliged to you.” Acting upon this hint, Miss McKnight in a few days went to call on the Ormonds. She had already had plenty of occasions to observe Kath- erine, with an appreciation of the girl’s situation. Her lover was unwelcome in her mother’s home, her enjoyment of him thwarted and repressed in a hundred ways. No wonder that when he was not by, her eyes were serious and her smile rare. To-day, when Miss McKnight called, Katherine was away. That was as she had hoped; and after she had listened to a glowing description from 394 THE WISE WOMAN. Madeline and Mrs. Ormond of the joys of their : visit at the Allingtons’, she took her cue. “Mrs. Allington gives you a good character, — also,” she remarked. “She was speaking to me — about you yesterday; and she asked me a leading ~ question. She asked if Katherine were engaged to Fritz Sheldon.”’ “‘T hope you said no,” returned vee Ormond © energetically. “Oh, mother, what’s the use, with the Wise Woman?” suggested Madeline lazily. “T won’t deny that I am being tried beyond endurance, Edna!” ejaculated Mrs. Ormond, with nervous irritation. “T saw how matters were going, at Pokonet,” said Miss McKnight. “You know my estimate — of Fritz, so you will not be surprised to hear that — i regard the affair more hopefully than you do.” “YT tell mother he is a rising man,” put in Madeline. ‘“‘And a very prepossessing one to most people,” remarked Miss McKnight. “People without daughters, Ormond bitterly. “Oh yes, and with. If this affair of Kather- ine’s could have been postponed a year, there would be a dozen mothers in Montaigne eager to take him off your hands. I needn’t even post- pone it so long. There are plenty now. I per- sonally feel very happy that Katherine has chosen him.”’ 99 suggested Mrs. THE RECEPTION. 395 “T suppose you told Mrs. Allington so,” said Mrs. Ormond sarcastically. “No, I didn’t. I told her that the engagement had not been announced to me, and that as I was an intimate friend of the family, I did not doubt I should be among the first to hear of it.” “That was very discreet of you, I am sure,” returned Mrs. Ormond. Her dear Edna had not given perfect satisfaction the past summer, still she could not announce herself as the intimate friend of the family too often to please Mrs. Ormond. “Mrs. Allington went on to say very pleasant things about Fritz’? — “Did she really?” “Certainly. One never hears anything else from anybody but you.” Miss McKnight smiled encouragingly, and Mrs. Ormond felt doubtful. Was she fighting a shadow? She could not find any serious fault with Fritz. If she could only be sure that the best people were going to con- tinue to countenance and encourage him. ‘““What I came for to-day, really, was to talk to you about this matter,” said Miss McKnight frankly. ‘I know I am taking a liberty, but my regard for you all, and my vital interest in every- thing that touches Katherine, impelled me.” “We are glad you did come,” said Madeline, _ flinging her mother a glance. ‘ What we need is a fresh idea.” “Yes, say whatever you like, Edna,’ added _ Mrs. Ormond dispiritedly. i 7 oT ae - 396 THE WISE WOMAN. “TI suppose you have no expectation of turning — Katherine from this allegiance.” “Tf I had any support, I should have consider- able hope of it; but I have no support.” Madeline lifted her eyebrows at her mother’s words. It was not the first time she had been reproached for going over to the enemy, but Kath- erine’s attitude and situation had touched her into real sympathy. Moreover, the shrewd girl, less narrow than her mother, suspected that Fritz — Sheldon would be a credit to them in time to come. | “Then,” said Miss McKnight, “my advice to you is not to allow the fact of the engagement to leak out. That method is always undignified, — and in this case I suppose you would be loth to allow people to suppose that you were not pleased — with Katherine’s choice.”’ Mrs. Ormond bit her lip, and faced her friend with troubled eyes. “The thing to do,” continued the visitor, ‘is to give a reception for the express purpose of an- nouncing the engagement.” ‘ Mrs. Ormond writhed in her chair. j “I should be delighted to do it myself,” said Miss McKnight, ‘“‘but it would be better to have — it right here, and I should hope that you would in- — vite me to help you receive. Marguerite, too.” “You mean to go on being as helpful to those — young people as ever?” said Mrs. Ormond. “JI — thought last season they were only a fad with you.” t THE RECEPTION. 397 Miss McKnight knew that this was no lightly- put question. “T could not consent to forego their friendship, I assure you,” she answered; then, determined for Katherine’s sake to bring every persuasion to bear, she decided, against her own taste and desire, to bring her nephew’s name into the dis- cussion. ‘Even if my energy flagged in cultivat- ing them, Jasper would be assiduous enough for us both. He likes Fritz thoroughly, and pares rite has a very strong influence over him.” Madeline kept her eyes fixed on some fancy work, but Mrs. Ormond leaned forward in her interest. “ And you do not object?’ she exclaimed. “JT told you some time ago that I should never attempt to influence Jasper.” “But now that it comes home to you?”’ “Oh, I think you misunderstand me. Margue- rite is friendly to him. Nothing more,” said Miss McKnight calmly. She knew that if she exhib- ited a trace of the dread which she felt of starting a rumor, the rumor would be quickly set on foot. “But as for giving Marguerite my most affection- ate approval, that she has ungrudgingly,’’ she added. Mrs. Ormond grew thoughtful. What was good enough for Edna McKnight ought to be _ good enough for her. A certain relief and resig- nation stole over her. Late that afternoon, Katherine came home. 398 THE WISE WOMAN. Her mother regarded her critically, and was not altogether satisfied with the firm, controlled ex- pression which had of late grown about her lips and eyes. “Where have you been?” she anal “To see Marguerite.” ‘Do you think she would like to receive with us at a reception I am going to give in a couple of weeks? ”’ Katherine looked up, astonished and pleased. “YT am glad you are going to ask her,”’ she said. “We naturally would ask her, for the reception is to be the occasion of announcing your engage- ment.” “Mother!” In a second, Katherine’s arms were about her mother’s neck, and she was kissing her again and again, and pressing against hers a rose- leaf cheek wet with dew. _ “There, there,” said Mrs. Ormond; “what a fuss!”’ but she looked happy, too, and “teary round the lashes.” Katherine waited until she was alone with her sister before she asked: “Has the Wise Woman been here this afternoon? ”’ Madeline replied in the affirmative, and Kath- erine smiled like one satisfied. : The reception took place, and was a pleasant — affair. ‘Don’t look so absurdly happy!” Mrs. Or- mond said to Katherine, with a half-vexed laugh, before they went downstairs; but none of the THE RECEPTION. 399 guests could have suspected that their gracious hostess had ever known a moment’s disapproval of the young people, upon whom congratulations and good wishes were rained during three long hours. Marguerite Laird smiled a little satirically as she stood looking regal beside Madeline’s willowy prettiness. She was recalling that long-ago expe- rience in this very room, when the girl now chat- tering to her so gayly had bowed her out with airs of patronage. Times had indeed changed. One proof of it was the glance she was receiving from time to time from Dr. McKnight. The young man was doing his duty gallantly in the crowded rooms, and heroically refrained from claiming more than this occasional refreshment of the eyes. Mrs. Ormond, appreciative of his kindness and his savoir faire, coveted him more than ever. “That cold-hearted girl,” she thought, mentally apostrophizing Marguerite; yet she approved her cold-heartedness. If she would continue to hold Gilbert and Jasper in strictly Platonic regard, Mrs. Ormond was prepared to acknowledge her, and give her the friendship due to Katherine’s sister-in-law. Dr. McKnight, however, took quite a different point of view from Mrs. Ormond’s. When Mar- guerite came home from Pokonet, and he was again her neighbor, he began to manage to reach his office daily some time before his hour began. He had changed this from seven o’clock to five. 400 THE WISE WOMAN. What more natural than that he should make use of that leisure period to call at the opposite flat. Marguerite’s treatment of him was not suffi- ciently frank to be discouraging, neither was it such as to give him hope that the time had arrived to urge his suit once more. ‘Then, as soon as those calls of his threatened to become too fre- quent, the girl chose that hour of the afternoon to be absent from home. Several times Dr. McKnight made vain at- tempts to see her, but the afternoon following the reception, he rang Marguerite’s bell, and an ex- pression of satisfaction came into Lucia’s face as she opened the door. She approved of Dr. Mc- Knight. “She is at home to-day,” she announced, with a sympathetic intonation. “Lucia feels for me,” he declared, smiling, as he held Marguerite’s hand a second in her pretty parlor; “you go out so much. But I thought I should find you to-day. I reckoned on your fa- tigue.”’ ‘You were right,’ returned the girl, seating. herself. ‘I feel astonishingly tired.” ‘You are not well,” returned the caller quickly, observing the signs of the flushed face. “Oh yes, I am. I may have taken a little cold last night. There was a breezy open window near me. ‘The recent change in the weather was so sudden, too. Did you notice that delightful smell of frost in the air yesterday? So sugges- ye THE RECEPTION. 401 tive of walking through fallen leaves in the au- tumn woods.” “Ts your throat sore?” asked Jasper, continu- ing his scrutiny. Marguerite smiled and drew her head up. “Rude man, you haven’t answered my question; and supposing my throat is sore?”’ “Why, I am going to give you some medicine.” “Do, if it will amuse you, but I ought to warn you that I never take any.” She smiled at him with bright eyes. He tried to take her hand. She drew it away. “Give me your hand,” he said peremptorily; and he had always been so deferential that she obeyed him in sheer astonishment. “Yes,” he said, after feeling her pulse. “Now I will just try your temperature.” “Thank you, I have no curiosity about it.” ‘But I have.” She gave him a look of somewhat excited defi- ance. “I have never been ill in my life. Can’t you let me have a little feverish cold in peace? Really, Dr. McKnight,” more and more hurriedly, for he was unscrewing the case of his thermometer, “it isn’t any of your business, you know.” His dark eyes flashed at her. “I beg your pardon. It is more my business than that of any one in the world.” | “Fritz didn’t say I needed to have a doctor.” “ Ah, then you felt ill before Fritz went away.” “No, not ill.” She laughed nervously., “I 402 THE WISE WOMAN. only had a little headache, and—and growing pains. I told Fritz I expected to be as tall as he was by the time he came home again.” “Let me see if you have fever;” he knew she had a high one. ‘You might as well be relieved early in your cold, as to let it run on.” She drew back into the corner of the divan where she sat. His insistent face and the look in his eyes made her heart beat fast. “Tf you think I need a doctor, perhaps you will be kind enough to send me one,” she said, rather breathlessly. He smiled at her. ‘You are hardonme. I do not want any one else to take care of you.” “I would n’t have you for anything,” she re- turned, with decision. “I want somebody — expe- rienced; yes, experienced.” Jasper swallowed his hurt as best he could. “Dr. Granbury, perhaps?” he suggested, begin- ning to put away his thermometer. “Yes, Dr. Granbury. He paid me some ney nice compliments last night. I like him,” re- turned Marguerite hastily, smiling in her relief at so easily getting her way. ‘‘T will see if he can come some time this even- : ing. I hope you will soon be better,” said Dr. McKnight, with some stiffness. “Oh, I shall. It is nothing.” All the same, when she rose from her seat, she staggered. “You ought to be in bed,” he said, holding her hot hand close. THE RECEPTION. 403 She laughed into his grave face. ‘“ Ignomini- ous, but true, I’ve no doubt. I think I will fol- low your advice.” Jasper went downstairs immediately and _tele- phoned to Dr. Granbury. Driving swiftly home after his office hour, he told his aunt of Margue- rite’s condition. “T’m afraid it’s all up, aunt Edna. There’s no hope,” he said in closing, looking so white and miserable that she seized his arm. “No hope, and she but just taken with it, what- ever it is?’’ she returned, speaking with nervous energy. ‘What are you thinking of!” “T wasn’t thinking of her illness. That may not amount to much, but I’ve been hoping against hope that she cared for me more than she realized ; and to-day’’— He paused. “What has happened? Did she say anything decisive? Remember, she was n’t really herself.” ‘“She would have turned to me, would have leaned on me, naturally, if I had been anything to her. She refused to let me take care of her; evidently preferred any other physician.”’ Miss McKnight stared at the gloomy, pale face, and then laughed, — her soft, cheerful laugh, which lifted her nephew’s eyes to her in amaze- ment at such untimely levity. “You good-for-nothing, to give me such a scare! Did you really suppose she would let you take eare of her?’’ The mirthful laugh burst forth again. 404 THE WISE WOMAN. ‘““Why not? No one else will care for her as I should.” “Oh, now, dear, Dr. Granbury knew consider- able about his profession before you were born. Blind boy! If Marguerite had accepted your ser- vices, I should have warned you that you might as well give her up at once.” Jasper looked incredulous. “Do you really think that?” “T would n’t have given a penny for your chance. You are very nice, Dr. McKnight, and I am partial to you; but you are a man, and they are all dense just when they should n’t be.” Her nephew’s face brightened. ‘Go on and send your elders and betters to that poor child at once. I hope it won’t amount to anything.” Jasper found Dr. Granbury at home taking a hasty supper, and not in the best of humors. “Did you get my telephone message?” asked the young man. 3 “Yes; just came in and found it. What’s the case? ”’ | ‘Fever, pains in the limbs, and so on. I don’t know what it is.” “In your neighborhood, isn’t it?” asked Dr. Granbury, contracting his bushy eyebrows. ‘Yes, in my building. I” — “What do you bother me with it for, then?” “Tt is a young lady. She doesn’t want me. She wants an older man. She wants you.” “Pah!” growled the old doctor. “I’ve no Seo “Ps, Hae THE RECEPTION. 405 time to attend to these finicky notions. Let her take you or leave you. 1’m not going down to Montaigne to-night, to give a silly woman a dose of aconite.”’ “TI promised to get you,” said Jasper quietly. “Tt is Miss Laird. You talked with her last evening.” “Hey?” Dr. Granbury looked up, not relax- ing his scowl, but cautiously interested. ‘‘ Not the queenly, white girl, stood next to Chatter- box?” His companion nodded. “That’s the one,” he answered. “Aha!” Dr. Granbury gulped down the last of his tea. His frown cleared. ‘‘Won’t have you, hey?” he said, with a self-satisfied air. “Well, youll be older some day, my boy. Fever and aching may mean so many things. I guess I can spare time to see what ’s the matter with Miss Laird.” CHAPTER XXVIII. LA GRIPPE’S VICTIM. It proved that the wicked witch, La Grippe, prowling about in peaceful Montaigne, searching most unseasonably and greedily for a victim, had found Marguerite, rather down in resisting power from much mental conflict and self-analysis, and pounced upon her. The girl grew so ill that very evening that Fritz would not leave her. His note of explanation to Katherine made the latter implore to be allowed to go and nurse her friend; but Mrs. Ormond and Madeline both protested strenuously. ‘There was no telling what sort of illness Marguerite’s might prove to be. Naturally, Katherine, in much distress of mind, betook herself directly after breakfast next morn- ing to her never-failing Wise Woman, whom she found as busy as a bee, making plans to leave her house for a few days in the charge of the servants. “Don’t worry, my dear,” said Miss McKnight cheerily, while her caller followed her about. ““Marguerite is strong and elastic. Dr. Gran- bury says she has the Grip. A little while ago everybody had either malaria or nervous prostra- tion. Now it is the Grip. All the same, it is LA GRIPPE’S VICTIM. 407 very likely that the girl has a feverish cold, and will be about in a few days.” Katherine smiled. ‘You don’t seem to have a proper reverence for doctors’ opinions.”’ “Sometimes I venture to hope they are mis- taken. At all events, I am going to invite myself to stay with Marguerite a few days, and see to her a little.” . “Tt is such a relief to my mind,” said Kath- erine, with a sigh. “Lucia isn’t enough, I am sure.” She stayed with Miss McKnight until the latter’s preparations were finished; then they got into the carriage together and drove to the Ormonds’, where Katherine bade her friend good-by, earnestly re- questing to be allowed to be of use, if possible. Miss McKnight drove on to the post-office, returning by the railroad station. As she was passing, she thought she saw a familiar figure on the platform. She ordered the driver to stop, and looked again. In an instant, she recognized the tall, shawled. figure as Mrs. Hodgson, who, valise in hand, was standing, looking about her undecidedly. Catch- ing her eye, Miss McKnight beckoned to her. The horses moved up by the platform. “Why, I am so surprised to see you, Mrs. Hodgson. Get right in here with me, won’t you? James, you take the valise by you.” The new-comer accepted the invitation grate- fully. 408 THE WISE WOMAN. “Twas just thinkin’ of gettin’ a carriage,” she said. : Miss McKnight took her hand cordially. “I suppose, of course, you have come to see Margue- rite. I am sorry to tell you she is not well.” ““T know it,” returned Mrs. Hodgson, turning her faded eyes on her companion. “Poor Rita. Fritz telegraphed for me last night, and Pa told me to come right along. He can just about live at the Berrys’, take his meals there and all that, so I caught the early train this mornin’.” “Why, I was just on my way to nurse Margue- rite myself,” declared Miss McKnight. “See, here is my satchel.” Mrs. Hodgson smiled. “The child’s got good friends,” to look after her, though. They ’ve been lucky, those children have. Whenever I think about Fritz gettin’ Kitty Ormond, it makes my heart swell right up. He wrote us about it, and I didn’t know but Pad scandalize us in the neigh- borhood. He hurrahed right out on the porch, and scampered ’round the house like a boy o’ twenty. I can most generally manage him; but that day I had to just let him carry on.” Mrs. Hodgson sighed anxiously. “I only hope Rita ain’t goin’ to be taken now, to even up things.” “My dear Mrs. Hodgson!” Miss McKnight looked shocked. ‘Don’t think of such a thing. If you want me for anything, Lucia, Marguerite’s little maid, knows how to telephone me. TI shall hear from you often, any way.” she said. “I guess her aunt’s the one Beet SS ce ice LA GRIPPE’S VICTIM. 409 Whether or no Marguerite’s illness was consid- ered serious from the doctor’s standpoint, there was no doubt of its seriousness from her own point of view. Her fever ran high. Her own nose and eyes and mouth and tongue were spirited away, and their places supplied by misfits which La Grippe knows how to secure from some grim pawn- shop. The pains which the witch induced were so fantastic and versatile as to betray her nation- ality; but the thirst which Marguerite endured was worst of all. Her throat was painful and unmanageable, and under these circumstances it doubtless appealed to the witch’s sense of humor to hear the doctor state that the victim could have all the water she wanted; but not content with interposing physical obstacles to quenching the devouring thirst, La Grippe stood by, and into each refreshing glass dropped a pinch of original flavoring, which altered every drop to something repulsive. Water? There was no water in the world. This pure, sparkling liquid that they offered Marguerite under its name was the cup of Tan- talus. She remembered well how water used to taste, and a yearning for the joy of satisfying thirst colored all her thoughts in those feverish days. She would take her few, difficult, distaste- ful drops through a tube, and then lie back to think with feverish enthusiasm of fountains and rivers, of marshy, sedgy banks where rushes grew, and water-birds dipped their wings. 410 THE WISE WOMAN. “When I could drink, and water was good, why didn’t I drink more and oftener? Why did I do anything else?” she asked herself, trying to find a cool spot on her pillow, and maddened by the cool clink of pitcher and glass in her aunt’s hands. “Ah, aunt Althea,” she murmured one day, ‘mine has been a misspent life.” : “Dear heart, don’t fret,” returned Mrs. Hodg- son tenderly. ‘Most likely thinkin’ about what a worldly winter they ’’ve spent,’ she reflected, shaking her head. ““* As the hart panteth after the water brooks,’ ” continued Marguerite feverishly. “How much that means. How intense it is. I never dreamed before what strength lay in those words.” “She ’s a pretty sick girl,” said Mrs. Hodgson to Fritz that night at supper, and then she quoted the evidence of Marguerite’s awakened conscience. “JT tell you, sickness is powerful to search the heart, and when Rita come out with that, I knew she was thinkin’ some pretty serious thoughts.” Sheldon’s face was full of concern. “Rita’s a misspent life? What blessed nonsense,” he re- turned; “but what did the doctor say to-day? Did he seem anxious?” , “He didn’t show it any. That Dr. McKnight acts kind o’ queer, Fritz. He’s in here most every day on some excuse or other. I had to just pointedly tell him that Rita ’d taken against roses, _ and then he began to fetch other things; and he’s LA GRIPPE’S VICTIM. 411 asked me questions by the dozen. I tell you,” Mrs. Hodgson spoke confidentially, ‘‘it looks very much to me as if that young feller wanted the ~ case.”’ Sheldon smiled at his plate. His aunt’s put- ting amused him. Although he was unconscious of Miss McKnight’s strictures upon physicians, he knew that this time Jasper had not forgotten the individual in the case, and that he did want her with all his soul. “‘He is very friendly,’’ was all he replied. After supper, Fritz went, as usual, to have his evening visit with Marguerite. Mrs. Hodgson’s talk had awakened his anxiety, and it was a relief to find his sister’s greeting no different from what it had been during the last few days. He sat down by the bedside, close to the familiar little table with its bowl of crushed ice and its glasses. Eagerly, Marguerite slipped her burning hands into his. “I’m glad your hands are so big, Fritz, for they are always so cool,” she said, in the diffi- cult, breaking voice which La Grippe had sub- stituted for her own. “I’ve been thinking while you were at tea, what I would like best of any- thing to do. I would like to lie back in a river among the sedges near the bank, and draw the long, wet grasses through my hands. The first time I did it, the grasses would scorch and wither under my touch; the second time, they would dry as my hands passed up over them; but the third 412 THE WISE WOMAN. time, they would stay wet and cool, and I should be wet and cool, through and through.” “Are you so hot, poor little Rita?” _ ‘““T have been deciding, too, what creature best enjoys drinking.”’ “I guess it’s ducks, ain’t it, dearie?” sug- gested Mrs. Hodgson, who was standing at the foot of the bed. | “No, it’s horses. Tell me, Fritz, how they do it. Talk to me about it.” So Fritz, holding her hands, fell into her mood, and told her, as if she had been a little child, how the horses, hot and tired, came eagerly to the mossy trough where a spring welled up, and plunging their velvet noses into the refreshing water, drank and drank great draughts. “I can make a noise almost like it with a big sponge in a washbowl,” interrupted Marguerite, watching him with a beatific expression. ‘I tried to-day; and when I get well, I’m not going to live as I have done.” Mrs. Hodgson’s head here dropped to one side, but straightened up slowly in her surprise at what followed. “I am going to divide my time into three parts. You know these shallow, swift rivers that flow over little rocks and yellow sand ?”’ Fritz, smiling into the flushed face, assented. “One third of my life I am going to spend — lying in such a river with only my face out; one — third I shall sit among cat-tails and sedges watch- — ing the water-birds; and the remaining time I : LA GRIPPE'S VICTIM. 413 shall spend drinking at a fountain. I have the fountain all planned. There are two Naiads with rushes growing and clinging around them, and one holds a pitcher up high, laughing down at the other, who tries to reach it and can’t. I was going to have her hold a shell at first, but such a narrow bit of water came from the shell I could n’t bear it; so I changed that and used a pitcher that a broad stream could pour from. Whoever builds me that fountain I will love forever; for I am going to stand under it with a goblet” — “Hush, Rita, you must n’t talk so much, dear,” said Mrs. Hodgson. ‘“She’s as crazy as a loon,”’ she thought. “Fritz, it won’t do,” she added aloud. ‘“He’ll go away, Rita, if you don’t stop talking.” Marguerite sighed uneasily on her pillow, but meekly fell silent. She was quite sane now; but night was coming on with its fantastic hallucina- tions, and she knew that quiet was best. But the day of La Grippe’s triumphs and tor- ments came to anend. Marguerite could sympa- thize with the Irishman, who described the witch’s machinations as “a sickness that ye have six weeks afther ye get well;” yet her strength and fine constitution, aided by wise care and nursing, caused her convalescence to be swifter than is usual. It was a season she ever afterward remembered as a time of especial sweetness. The extra affec- tion shown her by Fritz as she began to be up 414 THE WISE WOMAN. and about again, the devotion of Katherine and Miss McKnight, constituted an atmosphere of love, through which she felt with a secret thrill the pressure of that other and different love, which evidenced itself in every form but speech. She no longer “took against roses,” and her bower was fragrant of them. Each day she drove out with Miss McKnight, and although she fre- quently protested against resting so deep in the lap of luxury, the delightful conspiracy to spoil her continued. Mrs. Ormond came to call upon her, and to express polite regret that Marguerite’s assistance at her reception should have contributed to bring about her illness. “IT would n’t know the place,” said that lady to her daughters upon her return. She had been considerably surprised and impressed by the evi- dences of taste and even luxury in the little home, which she last remembered furnished with the milliner’s rather meagre and utilitarian surround- ings. “Those were gorgeous roses,” she added. “J think Fritz is inclined to be extravagant, Katherine.” “Fritz didn’t do it. He is too sensible to send coals to Newcastle.” The girl smiled. “Then I suppose it was your Wise Woman,” remarked Mrs. Ormond tartly. “It is a wonder you aren't jealous, my dear. Your old place seems to be entirely usurped.” | “And the Wise Woman didn’t do it,” returned LA GRIPPE’S VICTIM. 415 Katherine. ‘Her nephew prefers to attend to that duty.” | “He will do anything for Edna,” observed Mrs. Ormond, thinking resentfully of a time when Miss McKnight might have exerted her influence and would not. “Not so much as he will do for Marguerite,” said Katherine. . Her mother stared, but Madeline exclaimed, her little face alert with curiosity and interest. “Do you really believe, Katherine Ormond, that he is serious ?”’ “Oh, he is serious enough. You won’t doubt it the next time you see them together.” Mrs. Ormond, who had been removing her call- ing costume, sat down, her bonnet untied and the strings floating. “Has Marguerite Laird got Jasper?” she asked, in a desperate voice. “Evidently she has,”’ answered Katherine, equa- bly; ‘but he has n’t won her yet.” Mrs. Ormond’s face brightened, and she clutched at the straw. She was not even yet prepared to be called upon to consider seeing Marguerite, of all people, in that coveted place. She sat a long time in her chair, her bodice unhooked and her bonnet awry, thinking. Should that strange girl remain cold, at least Mrs. Ormond would be spared seeing her the mistress of that mansion in the park. On the other hand, if she should yield, as no doubt she would, — her coldness in this case was probably only meant to draw Jasper on, — 416 THE WISE WOMAN. there would be an advantage in Katherine’s sister- in-law becoming Mrs. McKnight, since it was out of the question that her sister should ever fill that place. Mrs. Ormond finally rose, and snatched off her bonnet with startling energy. She was consumed with longing to confront her dear Jasper, all fet- ters of conventionality removed, and to indulge in the gratifying process of boxing his ears. That young man, meantime, was undergoing in these days a season of suspense still more sweet and bitter in its alternations than that which preceded his lady’s illness. By heroie effort, he forced his treatment of Marguerite to be equable and friendly on the few occasions of their meeting. Her temporary weakness gave her a new, gentle dependence of manner which tempted him almost beyond his strength; but Miss McKnight stood guard over her. “ Let the girl get well,” she said to him warningly. . “She loves you, any way,” he returned. In his optimistic moments, he told himself that Mar- guerite would not accept these attentions from his aunt, the daily drives, the dainty food, and so on, if she meant still to cut off the intimacy between herself and the Wise Woman; but in his moments of gloom, he saw these neighborly attentions in a very different light. Mrs. Hodgson had gone : back to Pokonet, and Miss McKnight had assumed supervision of the convalescent and her home. In what bad taste it would be for Marguerite to repulse her. LA GRIPPE’S VICTIM. 417 Miss McKnight was far from being as hard- hearted and obtuse concerning her nephew’s state of mind as he believed her. She had a tender appreciation of his suspense, and smiled upon the reckless floral offerings which were the only method. of expression he ventured upon. Her shrewd in- sight perceived hope for him, too, and sometimes she let fall oracular remarks, intended to convey comfort to him in the state of pale and silent dig- nity to which he at times withdrew. “Your father used to say that your mother’s great charm to him lay in the fact that he had to shake the tree to get her.” “You won’t let me shake the tree,’”’ returned Jasper curtly. ‘You will hardly let me see it. Hither you or Fritz or Katherine or Gilbert, — somebody is always under foot.”’ His aunt repressed a desire to laugh. “In- deed?” she returned contritely. “Then I am going to do something nice for you. I will bring Marguerite to lunch with us a week from to-day. By that time she will be strong enough, I am sure.” Jasper would not betray his pleasure at this. He was more than half jealous just now of his aunt; but he counted off the following days, as they passed, with eager impatience. He was un- usually busy this fall, but he registered a vow not to leave home at the call of the President himself on that particular Wednesday. It must be an eventful day. He would see Marguerite alone, and he should discover where he stood. ? 418 THE WISE WOMAN. He had found consolation in Fritz the past month. The latter, full of fellow-feeling, had reported to his eager friend Marguerite’s condi- tion, her every word and look, with all the fidelity of which his memory was capable. He had long ago learned Jasper’s hopes, and given them his sanction. When the anticipated Wednesday dawned, the sun rose in Indian summer glory. Frost and cold seemed an illusion, though their traces were seen in brilliant dashes that gleamed amid the verdure of the park, as Marguerite drove into it. To Miss McKnight’s relief, Jasper had not insisted upon going to call for the guest. There was not supposed to be a host in evidence on this occasion; but Marguerite, rolling along in lonely _ state in the Victoria, thought of him, nevertheless. It was his carriage in which she was luxuriously seated; it was his home that she was approaching. These were his grounds where the woodbine flung its threads of vivid color around the evergreens, and the yellow and scarlet maples glowed warm. “The day was made for you, my dear,” said Miss McKnight, coming out on the piazza to meet her as the horses stopped before the house. “J know. So many beautiful things are given me,’ answered the girl, feeling blessed and hum- ble as she stood there with her hostess, and looked down, down, through the vista of autumnal foli- age, to the town below. Jasper did not appear until lunch time, and LA GRIPPE’S VICTIM. 419 Marguerite supposed that his duties would call him away immediately after the meal; but when they left the table, he showed no signs of departure. He knew that it was his rose that Marguerite wore in the bosom of her dress. Did that. mean anything? Miss McKnight, as she led the way to a cozy, gauze-inclosed nook of the piazza, felt for them both. Their ease she saw to be assumed. There was not a subject they could touch upon, but led to some suggestions that heightened their constraint. Jasper’s pent-up feelings would not permit him to be talkative, and Marguerite was unnaturally glib. “Poor children, they are afraid of each other, and more afraid that I shall discover it,”’ thought Miss McKnight. ‘Well, I will rid them of one embarrassment.” She stifled a well-managed but obvious yawn. “Take that chair, Marguerite, I will warrant its comfort. This place is sacred to laziness.”’ Jasper regarded his aunt with evident and som- bre impatience. Was she going to pin Margue- rite down to a prosy three-cornered talk in this cushioned corner ? | “Are you addicted to naps?” continued Miss McKnight, addressing her guest. “I dare say you feel the need of a little rest in these days.” “No, thank you, I don’t; but if you are accus- tomed to a daily rest, please don’t mind me. I dare say it would do me good to stop talking awhile. JI shall be perfectly happy, reading.” 420 THE WISE WOMAN. “Well, I do like to lie down a little while,” returned Miss McKnight apologetically, scarcely able to refrain from smiling at the manner in which the anxious sternness in her nephew’s face melted away at her words. ‘If you two children can amuse yourselves together for half an hour ” — “Oh, I utterly refuse to detain Dr. MeKnight a moment,” interposed Marguerite, hastily turn- ing toward him. ‘Please go on just the same as if I were not here.” “Indeed?” he remarked, meeting her eyes. “You are very considerate; but I have a holiday. Come. It is plain that aunt Edng’ can scarcely keep awake.”’ “Don’t tire her, Jasper,” said Miss McKnight warningly. ‘““Wise Woman, don’t be so conceited.” He held open a screen door for the guest to pass out upon the lawn, and looked back at his aunt. “I won’t admit that you know how to take better care of Marguerite than I do.” ‘““God bless the child, and lead her to decide wisely,” thought Miss McKnight, watching the two figures move over the turf. She felt that the time for decision had come. A _half-humorous, half-tender smile touched the corners of her lips. “TI feel as if I ought to throw an old shoe after them,” she murmured; then the pair disappeared around the corner of the house, and she sighed and lay back on her wicker couch. CHAPTER XXVIII. IN WOODROW PARK. “Ar last!’’ said Jasper. He was scarcely conscious of having spoken aloud, until his companion darted at him a brief, half-timid look of surprise. “It seems an eternity to me since those Sep- tember days before you were taken ill,” he added explanatorily. “ And to me, I assure you,” she answered. “Since you recovered, you have been contin- ually hedged about. I have been waiting a long time, and I consider rather patiently, for an op- portunity to see you alone.” He paused, regarding her, and Marguerite did not answer at once. She had never shown em- barrassment with him before, and he hoped the red flag in her cheek was a favorable signal; but he was far from certain that it did not indicate distress. “JT had never been ill before,” said the girl. “TI suppose that is why the experience seems to have made the world over for me, just for a little while. I do not seem to myself quite the same person.” 422 THE WISE WOMAN. “Ts it a better world?” “It is more beautiful, more desirable than ever, yet I feel idle and irresponsible as yet —as if I had not fully waked up.” The speaker smiled. “This weather aids and abets me in my laziness. With the passing of Indian summer, I promise myself to stop dreaming.” “I dream, too, Marguerite; but I am always waking myself up, on principle.” “How attached you must be to this place,” said the girl, with swift irrelevance. “T am; or I was before I knew it worked against me. What do you think of yourself for setting a man at variance with his home and those he ought to love best?’’ Jasper ventured upon the jest with a beating heart. He shrank from end- ing the suspense which, nevertheless, had grown unbearable. If Marguerite persisted in her rejec- tion, he must accept it as final. She must know herself by this time. To-day must decide; yet to lose the hope of her would be to lose the zest out of life. She appeared to consider his raillery unworthy an answer, and continued to glance about her at the well-kept grounds, where the effect of rusticity had been carefully preserved. They were at the back of the house now, and Marguerite turned toward a wooded tract, where the autumn colors blazed in the soft, hazy air. That looks like real country,” she said. “I should like to spend hours in those woods, alone, watching the birds.” IN WOODROW PARK. 423 “So you can, any time but to-day. Give me to- day.” Jasper looked at her with a smile. “But I thought the only birds that interested you were wagtails and marsh-wrens, kingfishers, and all that sort of fowl.” The girl glanced at him questioningly a mo- ment; then turned away. “That was too bad of Fritz,”’ she said, laughing. She did not see Jasper make a signal; but im- mediately a man leading two horses emerged from the barn, and walked toward a wide, grass-grown trough. “The beautiful creatures!” said Marguerite gladly, and moved impulsively toward the animals. “They do seem to take solid satisfaction out of the flowing bowl,” remarked Jasper, as the eager heads bent to the clear water which the man pumped down. Marguerite cast a suspicious glance at her com- panion, but his eyes were fixed on the dilating nostrils of the thirsty creatures. “What a beautiful coat,” she said, smoothing the glossy side of the horse next her. “Yes, they are a fine pair; but I hope you will like them wisely, and not too well.” “What harm could I do them?” “None. I should be the sufferer.” Marguerite blushed hotly, as if the groom could understand. “JT am glad they happened to want to drink just now,” she said hastily. 424 THE WISE WOMAN. “Shall we explore the woods a little?” sug- gested Jasper, when the horses lifted their heads, satisfied. | Marguerite assented. Life seemed full to her, as she walked slowly with him along the grassy incline toward the shadow of the woods. None of those questions that had vexed her in the careful, responsible days, so little while passed, disturbed her now. The clear-cut, pale face of the man beside her filled all her sight, whether she glanced at him or no. The jealousies and criticisms of those who coveted him touched her no longer. All the fragrant air seemed hushed and attentive as they passed. It was the brief, enchanted sea- son when the whole world becomes subservient and sympathetic to the emotions of two souls. The wondrous stillness of the woods seemed eloquent to her as they passed within. The sun- light pierced through ardent colors amid the green leafage. A little brook, made full by fall rains, murmured mysteriously at the bottom of a ravine. They descended its bank, and sat down on a mossy log. “You didn’t tell me there was a brook!” said Marguerite, sighing blissfully. “That makes it - perfect.”’ ‘Tt is putting its best foot forward in honor of you, too,” returned Jasper. “It isn’t always so full; but see these grasses and reeds. If you still meditate the same occupations in life you planned a little while ago, you could scarcely find a better place.” IN WOODROW PARK. 425 Marguerite smiled. “I like it now almost as much as I thought I did then; but Fritz had no right to betray my confidence, and let you laugh at me, too.”’ “T am a lover of water as well as you. Let me show you the design of a fountain I am about ordering.” Jasper took from his pocket a paper, and unfolded it. Spreading the handsome drawing before Mar- guerite’s view, he remained silent. The girl, lean- ing her chin in her hand, regarded the picture with interest a second before she realized what it was; but in an instant she recognized her Naiads, sportively struggling among their clinging rushes for the possession of a pitcher, whose stream had once seemed to her craving as the water of life. “Dr. McKnight!” she ejaculated in her sur- prise, even the tips of her ears reddening. He rested his arm on his knee and looked into her face. “Do you remember what you said you would do for him who would build this fountain? ” “No,” answered the girl, gazing fascinated at the elaboration of her feverish dream. “You said you would love him forever,” said Jasper steadily, as pale as the paper before them. Marguerite turned her head slowly toward, him. “Then you have told — then Fritz wants ” — “For once it doesn’t matter what Fritz wants,” interrupted Jasper, his voice sounding hard in his self-repression. ‘This concerns only you and me. I have been a coward, Marguerite. I am 426 THE WISE WOMAN. a coward still. I dread what you will say to me, because it will be the decisive word. - There are women who yield to importunity; but you are not one of them. Never mind that plaything,” for Marguerite had looked mechanically back at the picture. “It was a pleasure to me to plan it, because it connected me with your thought, at a time when I could get no nearer; but now we are together. Marguerite!’? His voice stopped. The girl looked again into the white, controlled face, Bad under her gentle eyes its tension less- ened. “I have been so anxious not to deceive you,” she said softly. “That would be impossible.” “Yes, I should not deceive you unless I deceived myself first; but that was what I feared. There was a glamour about you, as I told you at Poko- net. I never could be sure that I considered you, purely — you, alone; but since my illness, since Tam well again, I’ — “Yes?” said Jasper eagerly, as she paused. “T am so happy,” said Margo coloring, and speaking the words slowly, — “so happy that it is unreasonable, unless ’? — “Unless what, my darling?” His arms were around her, and he was trembling under the revul- sion of feeling. She yielded to him with a look that blessed. “Unless it is— you, alone,” she breathed; and — the wood was as a wood in the garden of Eden, {halen IN WOODROW PARK. 427 for heaven’s own happiness glorified that nook where the little brook flowed jubilantly, scattering its diamonds over ferns and grasses, and singing a song of thanksgiving. The Wise Woman waited long for their return, but at last she saw them coming slowly up the velvety slope, the afternoon sunshine turning Mar- guerite’s hair to gold as the dark head of her boy bent above it. “Whatever is, is right,” she thought; for a little stricture suddenly tightened her heart-strings. Was it apprehension lest Jasper had been denied, or a moment’s jealous struggle in giving him to another? She did not know; but when the two came nearer, and she met Jasper’s warm, triumph- ant gaze, and the unutterable expression of Mar- guerite’s clear eyes, pure gladness shone in her welcoming face as she met them with outstretched hands. “Thank God, dear children,” she said tenderly, “you have come back — together!” In the following June, Mrs. Jasper McKnight gave a garden party in honor of her brother and his bride, who had just returned from their wed- ding trip. The weather was favorable, and the occasion festive. Mrs. Ormond sat with her friend Mrs. Alling- ton under an awning, and cast approving glances toward Madeline, who, in dainty summer costume and the most picturesque of large hats, was bring- 428 THE WISE WOMAN. ing the full battery of her charms to bear upon Mr. Ben Allington. “How swiftly events move sometimes,” said Mrs. Allington. It seems as if we had scarcely recovered from the surprise of Dr. McKnight’s engagement when here we are, his wife’s guests, and it all seems as natural as possible.” “Yes,” returned Mrs. Ormond blandly. ‘‘ Mar- guerite is a charming woman; a little eccentric and capricious in her nature, perhaps, — so unlike our dear Fritz in that, but still charming in her own way. Of course, Jasper has always been precisely like a brother to my children; so,” with a significant little smile, “perhaps we were not so surprised as others when his engagement was announced.” “Tt does seem such a happy circumstance that Miss McKnight and the young wife are so in har- mony,” said Mrs. Allington. “Miss MeKnight does not seem to have lost anything, and she cer- tainly behaves as if she had gained a daughter.” “Yes,” assented Mrs. Ormond. ‘“ We all have our little weaknesses, and I fancy Edna thinks more than most people of family and descent. You know Fritz and Marguerite quite pride them- selves on their good blood, and after all, it does tell, don’t you know. I hardly wonder Edna feels so. How charming Frances looks to-day,” added Mrs. Ormond suavely, looking across the lawn to where Gilbert was shielding Miss Alling- ton with her white parasol. ‘Oh, these young IN WOODROW PARK. 429 people! How they charm us, and what an anxiety they are!” Mrs. Ormond’s interests were at present chiefly centred, and, so far as Madeline was concerned, with good reason, upon the Alling- ton family. Mr. Ben Allington always gazed and pulled his mustache and listened, smiling as if he were bewitched, to Miss Ormond’s airy chatter. “Your heart must be at rest about Katherine,” returned Mrs. Allington. “I have stared at her, unconscionably, this afternoon. There is some- thing beautiful in her expression. I think the sight of a real love-match like that is good for us all.”’ “The dear children are certainly very happy,” returned Mrs. Ormond, and Miss McKnight, ap- proaching from behind and overhearing, could not restrain a smile at the modestly virtuous tone. “Which children are you talking about?” she asked gayly, drawing near. “Yours or mine?” “They are all four yours, and all four mine, Edna,” replied Mrs. Ormond graciously. “Ah, thank you. How do you like Jasper’s latest pet, our new fountain?” “T was remarking to Mrs. Ormond a few min- utes ago how charming and unique the design is,” returned Mrs. Allington, her eyes again seeking the marble figures. “Jasper’s own idea, I suppose,” said Mrs. Ormond. “No, Marguerite’s,” answered Miss McKnight. As she spoke, Marguerite and her husband ap- 430 THE WISE WOMAN. proached the basin into which the water bubbled from among the reeds, and flowed from the up- lifted pitcher with a cooling sound. : Marguerite, in her white gown, her coppery hair glinting, extended a crystal goblet to catch the plashing stream. Jasper held back the crisp folds of her dress, and both were laughing. Fritz and Katherine passed near the group under the awning, on their way to greet some guests. “Does Marguerite prefer that to frappé? ” asked Mrs. Ormond. ‘“ What is she doing?” Fritz smiled slowly. “Fulfilling a vow,” he answered. The orchestra on the lawn played a serenade. . 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