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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
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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. .
The sun shone, the fountain sparkled as it
splashed, and Marguerite and Jasper, looking
into one another’s eyes, made of the goblet a a
loving-cup.
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