The conversation was taking a direction which frightened Mr. Tom. In the
next moment she might be asking advice about the choice of a husband.
It was plain enough that love had nothing to do with the matter, and Mr.
Tom did not wish to act the part of a practical-minded Cupid. "And now
let me ask a favor of you," said he. "Won't you give me time to think
over this matter a little?"

"That is exactly what I say to my suitors," said Olive, smiling.

Mr. Tom smiled also. "But won't you promise me not to do anything
definite until I see you again?" he asked earnestly.

"That is not very unlike what some of my suitors say to me," she
replied. "But I will promise you that when you see me again I shall
still be heart-free."

"There can be no doubt of that," Mr. Tom said to himself as they arose
to leave the garden. "And, my young woman, you may deny being a flirt,
but you permitted the addresses of two young men before you were upset
by your father's letter. But I think I like flirts. At any rate, I can
not help liking her, and I believe she has got a heart somewhere, and
will find it some day."

When Mr. Tom returned to the house he did not find his wife, for that
lady was occupied somewhere in entertaining her guests. Now, although it
might have been considered his duty to go and help her in her hospitable
work, he very much preferred to attend to the business which she had
sent for him to do. And walking to the stables, he was soon mounted on a
good horse, and riding away southward on the smooth gray turnpike.




_CHAPTER XXV_

_The Captain and Mr. Tom._


Captain Asher was standing at the door of the tollhouse when he saw Mr.
Easterfield approaching. He recognized him, although he had had but one
brief interview with him one day at the toll-gate some time before. Mr.
Easterfield was a man absorbed in business, and the first summer Mrs.
Easterfield was at Broadstone he was in Europe engaged in large and
important affairs, and had not been at the summer home at all. And so
far this summer, he had been there but once before, and then for only a
couple of days. Now, as the captain saw the gentleman coming toward the
toll-gate he had no reason for supposing that he would not go through
it. Nevertheless, his mind was disturbed. Any one coming from Broadstone
disturbed his mind. He had not quite decided whether or not to ask any
questions concerning the late members of his household, when the
horseman stopped at the gate, and handed him the toll.

"Good morning, captain," said Mr. Easterfield cheerily, for he had heard
much in praise of the toll-gate keeper from his wife.

"Good morning, Mr. Easterfield," said the captain gravely.

"I am glad I do not have to introduce myself," said Mr. Easterfield,
"for I am only going through your gate as far as that tree to tie my
horse. Then, if convenient to you, I should like to have a little talk
with you."

The captain's mind, which had been relieved when Mr. Easterfield paid
his toll, now sank again. But he could not say a talk would be
inconvenient. "If I had known that you were not going on," he said, "you
need not have paid."

"Like most people in this life," said Mr. Easterfield, "I pay for what I
have already done, and not for what I am going to do. And now have you
leisure, sir, for a short conversation?"

The captain looked very glum. He felt not the slightest desire now to
ask questions, and still less desire to be interrogated. However, he was
not afraid of anything any one might say to him; and if a certain
subject was broached, he had something to say himself.

"Yes," said he; "do you prefer indoors or out of doors?"

"Out of doors, if it suits," replied the visitor, "for I would like to
take a smoke."

"I am with you there," said the captain, as he led the way to the little
arbor.

Here Mr. Easterfield lighted a cigar, and the captain a pipe.

"Now, sir," said the latter, when the tobacco in his bowl was in a
satisfactory glow, "what is it you want to talk about?" He spoke as if
he were behind entrenchments, and ready for an attack.

"We have two of your guests with us," answered Mr. Easterfield,
"Professor Lancaster, and your niece."

"Oh," said the captain, evidently relieved. "I thought perhaps you had
come to ask questions about some reports you may have heard in regard to
me."

"Not at all, not at all," said Mr. Easterfield. "I would not think of
mentioning your private affairs, about which I have not the slightest
right or wish to speak. But as we have apparently appropriated two of
your young people, I think, and Mrs. Easterfield agrees with me, that it
is but right you should be informed as to their health, and what they
are doing."

The captain puffed vigorously. "When is Dick Lancaster coming back" he
asked.

"I can't say anything about that," replied Mr. Easterfield, "for I am
not master of ceremonies. We would like to keep him as long as we can,
but, of course, your claims must be considered."

"I should think so," remarked the captain.

"Professor Lancaster is a remarkably fine young man," said the other,
"and as he is a friend of yours, and as I should like him to be a friend
of mine, it would give me pleasure to talk to you more about him. But I
may as well confess that my real object in coming here is to talk about
your niece. Of course, as I said before, it might appear that I have no
right to meddle with your family affairs, but in this case I certainly
think I am justified; for, as Mrs. Easterfield invited the young lady to
leave you and to come to her, and as all that has happened to her has
happened at our house, and in consequence of that invitation, I think
that you, as her nearest accessible relative, should be told of what has
occurred."

The captain made no answer, but gazed steadily into the face of the
speaker.

"Therefore," continued Mr. Easterfield, "I will simply state that my
wife and I have very good reason to believe that your niece is about to
engage herself in marriage; and I will only add that we are very sorry,
indeed, that this should have occurred under our roof."

A sudden and curious change came over the face of the captain; a light
sparkled in his eye, and a faint flush, as if of pleasure, was visible
under his swarthy skin. He leaned toward his companion.

"Is it Dick Lancaster?" he asked quickly.

Mr. Easterfield answered gravely: "I wish it were, but I am very sorry
to say it is not."

The light went out of the captain's eye. He leaned back on his bench and
the little flush in his cheeks was succeeded by a somber coldness. "Very
good," said he; "I don't want to hear anything more about it, and, what
is more, it would not be right for you to tell me, even if I did want to
know. It is none of my business."

"Now, really, Captain Asher," began Mr. Easterfield.

"No, sir," the captain interrupted. "It is none of my business, and I
don't want to hear anything about it. And now, sir, I would like to tell
you something. It is something I thought you came here to ask about, and
I did not like it, but now I want to tell you of my own free will, in
confidence. That is to say, I don't want you to speak of it to anybody
in your house. I suppose you have heard something about my intending to
marry a woman in town?"

"Yes," said Mr. Easterfield, "I can not deny that I have, but I
considered it was entirely your own affair, and I had not--"

"Of course," interrupted the captain, "and I want to tell you--but I
don't want my niece to hear it as coming from me--that that whole thing
is a most abominable lie! That woman has been trying to make people
believe I am going to marry her, and she has made a good many believe
it, but I would rather cut my throat than marry her. But I have told her
what I think of her in a way she can not mistake. And that ends her! I
tell you this, Mr. Easterfield, because I believe you are a good man,
and you certainly seem to be a friendly man, and I would like you to
know it. I would have liked very much to tell everybody, especially my
own flesh and blood, but now I assure you, sir, I am too proud to have
her know it through me. Let her go on and marry anybody she pleases, and
let her think anything she pleases about me. She has been satisfied with
her own opinion of me without giving me a chance to explain to her, or
to tell her the truth, and now she can stay satisfied with it until
somebody else sets her straight."

"But this is very hard, captain," said Mr. Easterfield; "hard on you,
hard on her, and hard on all of us, I may say."

The captain made no answer to these words, and did not appear to hear
them. "I tell you, Mr. Easterfield," he said presently, "that I did not
know until now how much I cared for that girl. I don't mind saying this
to you because you come to me like a friend, and I believe in you. Yes,
sir, I did not know how much I cared for her, and it is pretty hard on
me to find out how little she cares for me."

"You are wrong there," said Mr. Easterfield. "My wife tells me that Miss
Asher has frequently talked to her about you and her life here, and it
is certain she has--"

"Oh, that does not make any difference," interrupted the captain. "I am
talking about things as they are now. It was all very well as long as
things seemed to be going right, but I believe in people who stand by
you when things seem to be going wrong, and who keep on standing by you
until they know how they are going, and that is exactly what she did not
do. Now, there was Dick Lancaster; he came to me and asked me squarely
about that affair. To be sure, I cut him off short, for it angered me to
think that he, or anybody else, should have such an idea of me, and,
besides, it was none of his business. But it should have been her
business; she ought to have made it her business; and, even if the thing
had stood differently, I would have told her exactly how it did stand;
and then she could have said to me what she thought about it, and what
she was going to do. But instead of that, she just made up her mind
about me, and away went everything. Yes, sir, everything. I can't tell
you the plans I had made for her and for myself, and, I may say, for
Dick Lancaster. If it suited her, I wanted her to marry him, and if it
suited her I wanted to go and live with them in his college town, or
any other place they might want to go. Again and again, after I knew
Dick, have I gone over this thing and planned it out this way, and that
way, but always with us three in the middle of everything. Do you see
that?" continued the captain after a slight pause, as he drew from his
pocket a dainty little pearl paper-cutter. "That belongs to her. She
used to sit out here, and cut the leaves of books as she read them. I
can see her little hand now as it went sliding along the edges of the
pages. When she went away she left it on the bench, and I took it. And
I've kept it in my pocket to take out when I sit here, and cut books
with it when I have 'em. I haven't many books that ain't cut, but I've
sat here and cut 'em till there wasn't any left. And then I cut a lot of
old volumes of Coast Survey Reports. It is a foolish thing for an old
man to do, but then--but then--well, you see, I did it."

There was a choke in the captain's voice as he leaned over to put the
paper-cutter in his pocket and to pick up his pipe, which he had laid on
the bench beside him. Mr. Easterfield was touched and surprised. He
would not have supposed the captain to be a man of such tender
sentiment. And he took him at once to his heart. "It is a shame," his
thoughts ran, "for this man to be separated from the niece he so loves.
She is a cold-hearted girl, or she does not understand him. It must not
be."

Had he been a woman he would have said all this, but, being a man, he
found it difficult to break the silence which followed the captain's
last words. He did not know what to say, although he had no hesitation
in making up his mind what he was going to do about it all. He arose.

"Captain Asher," he said, "I have now told you what I thought you should
know, and I must take my departure. I would not presume for a moment to
offer you any advice in regard to your family affairs, but there is one
thing Mrs. Easterfield and I will interfere with, if we can, for we feel
that we have a right to do it, and that is any definite and immediate
engagement of your niece. If she should promise herself in marriage at
our house we shall feel that we are responsible for it, and that, in
fact, we brought it about. Whether the match shall seem desirable to you
or not, we do not wish to be answerable for it."

"Oh, I need not be counted in at all," said the captain, who had
recovered his composure. "It is her own affair. I suppose it was the
news of her father's intended marriage that put her in such a hurry."

"You are right," said Mr. Easterfield.

"Just like her" the captain exclaimed. "And I don't blame her. I'm with
her there"

When Mr. Tom reached Broadstone he dismounted at the stable, and walked
to the house. Nobody was to be seen on the grounds. It was a warm
afternoon when those whose hearts were undisturbed by the turmoils of
love were apt to be napping, and those who were in the tumultuous state
of mind referred to, preferred to separate themselves from each other
and the rest of the world until the cause of their inquietude should
consider the heat of the summer day as sufficiently mitigated for her to
appear again among her fellow beings.

Mr. Easterfield did not care to meet any of his guests, and hoped to
find his wife in her room, that he might report, and consult. But, as he
approached the house, he saw at an upper window a female head. It stayed
there just long enough for him to see that it was Olive's head; then it
disappeared. When he reached the hall door there stood Olive.

Mr. Tom was a little disappointed. He wanted to see his wife
immediately, and then to see Olive. But he could not say so.

"Well," said the girl, coming down the steps, "it looks as if we had
arranged to meet. But although we didn't, let's take a little walk. I
have something I want to say to you."

Mr. Easterfield turned, and walked away from the house. He was a
masterful man, and did not like to have his plans interfered with.
Therefore he made a dash, and had the first word. "Miss Asher," said he,
"I am glad to hear anything you have to say, but first you must really
listen to me."

Olive looked at him with surprise. She also was a masterful person, and
not accustomed to be treated in this way. But he gave her no chance.

"Miss Asher," said he, "I have come to you to speak for one of your
lovers, the truest, best lover you ever had, and I believe, ever will
have."

Olive looked at him steadfastly, and her face grew hard. "Mr.
Easterfield," she said, "this will not do. I have told you I will not
have it. Mrs. Easterfield and you have been very good and kind, and I
have told you everything, but you do not seem to remember one thing I
have said. I will not have anybody forced upon me; no matter if he
happens to be an angel from heaven, or no matter how much better he may
be than anybody else on earth. I have my reasons for this determination.
They are good reasons, and, above all, they are my reasons. I don't want
you to think me rude, but if you persist in forcing that gentleman upon
my attention, I shall have to request that the whole subject be dropped
between us."

"Who in the name of common sense do you think I am talking about?"
exclaimed Mr. Tom. "Do you think I refer to Mr. Lancaster?"

"I do," she said. "You know you would not come to plead the cause of any
one of the others."

He looked down at her half doubtfully, wondering a little how she would
take what he was going to say. "You are mistaken," he said quietly. "I
have nothing whatever to say about Mr. Lancaster. The lover I speak of
is your uncle."

Then her face turned red. "Why do you use that expression? Did he send
you to say it?"

"Not at all. I came of my own free will. I went to see Captain Asher
immediately after I left you. Perhaps you are thinking that I have no
right to intrude in your family affairs, but I do not mind your thinking
that. I had a long talk with your uncle. I found that the uppermost
sentiment of his soul was his love for you. You had come into his life
like the break of day. Every little thing you had owned or touched was
dear to him because it had been yours, or you had used it. All his plans
in life had been remade in reference to you."

They had stopped and were standing facing each other. They could not
walk and talk as they were talking.

"Yet, but," she exclaimed, her face pale and her eyes fixed steadfastly
upon him, "but what of that--"

"There are no yets and buts," he exclaimed, half angry with her that she
hesitated. "I know what you were going to say, but that woman you have
heard of is nothing to him. He hates her worse than you hate her. She
has imposed upon you; how I know not; but she is an impostor."

At this instant she seized him by the arm. "Mr. Easterfield," she cried,
and as she spoke the tears were running down her cheeks, "please let me
have a carriage--something covered! I would go on my wheel, for that
would be quicker, but I don't want anybody to speak to me or see me!
Will you have it brought to the back door, Mr. Easterfield, please? I
will run to the house, and be waiting when it comes."

She did not wait for him to answer. He did not ask her where she was
going. He knew very well. She ran to the house, and he hurried to the
stable.

Having given his orders, Mr. Tom went in search of his wife. The moment
had arrived when it was absolutely necessary to let her know what was
going on.

He found her in her own room. "Where on earth have you been?" she
exclaimed. "I have been looking everywhere for you."

In as few words as possible he told her where he had been, and what he
had done.

"And where are you going now?" she asked.

"I am going to change my coat," said the good Mr. Tom. "After my ride
to the toll-gate and back this jacket is too dusty for me to drive with
her."

"Drive with her" exclaimed Mrs. Easterfield. "It will be very well for
you to get rid of some of that dust, but when the carriage comes I will
drive with Olive to see her uncle."

And thus it happened that Mr. Tom stayed at home with the house party
while the close carriage, containing his wife and that dear girl, Olive
Asher, rolled swiftly southward over the smooth turnpike road.




_CHAPTER XXVI_

_A Stop at the Toll-gate._


The four lovers at Broadstone walked, and wandered, and waited, after
breakfast that morning, but only one of them knew definitely what he was
waiting for, and that was Mr. Locker. He was waiting for half-past
twelve o'clock, when he would join Miss Asher, if she gave him an
opportunity; and he was sure she would give him one, for she was always
to be trusted. He intended this interview to be decisive. It would not
do for him to wait any longer; yes or no must be her word. She had been
walking down by the river with the best clothes on the premises, and he
now feared the owner of those clothes more than anybody else. He was a
keen-sighted young man, for otherwise how could he have been a poet, and
he assured himself that Miss Asher was taking Hemphill seriously.

So Mr. Locker determined to charge the works of the enemy that day
before luncheon. When the conflict was over his flag might float high
and free or it might lie trampled in the dust, but the battle should be
fought, and no quarter would be asked or given.

As for Mr. Hemphill and Mr. Du Brant, they simply wandered, and waited,
and bored the rest of the company. They did not care to do anything, for
that might embarrass them in case Miss Asher appeared and wished to do
something else; they did not want to stay in the house because she might
show herself somewhere out of doors; they did not want to stay on the
grounds because at any moment she might seat herself in the library with
a book; above all things, they wanted to keep away from each other; and
their indeterminate peregrinations made sick the souls of Mr. and Mrs.
Fox.

The diplomat did not know what he was going to do when he saw Miss Asher
alone; everything would depend upon surrounding circumstances, for he
was quick as well as wary, and could make up his mind on the instant.
But good Rupert Hemphill had not even as much decision of purpose as
this. He had already spent half an hour with the lady of his love, and
he had not been very happy. Delighted that she had permitted him to join
her, he had at once begun to speak of the one great object which
dominated his existence, but she had earnestly entreated him not to do
so.

"It is such a pity," she had said, "for us never to talk of anything but
that. There are so many things I like to talk about, especially the
things of which I read. I am now reading Charles Lamb--that is, whenever
I get a chance--and I don't believe anybody in these days ever does read
the works of that dear old man. There is a complete set of his books in
the library, and they do not look as if they had ever been opened. Did
you ever read his little essays on Popular Fallacies? Some of them are
just as true as they can be, although they seem like making fun,
especially the one about the angry man being always in the wrong. I am
inclined to side with the angry man. I know I am generally right when I
am angry."

Mr. Hemphill had not read these little essays, nor had he admitted that
he had never read anything else by Mr. Lamb; but he had agreed that it
was very common to be both angry and right. Then Olive had talked to him
about other books, and his way had become very rough and exceedingly
thorny, and he had wished he knew how to bring up the subject of some
new figures in the German. But he had not succeeded in doing this. She
had been in a bookish mood, and the mood had lasted until she had left
him.

Now he began to think that it would be better for him to give up
wandering and waiting and go into the library and prepare himself for
another talk with Olive, but he did not go; she might see him and
suspect his design. He would wait until later. He took some books to his
room.

Dick Lancaster wandered and waited, but he was full of a purpose,
although it was not exactly definite; he wanted to find Mrs. Easterfield
and ask her to release him from his promise. He could not remain much
longer at Broadstone, and Olive's morning walk with Hemphill had made
him very nervous. She knew that these young men were in love with her,
and he had a right to let her know that he was also. It might be
imprudent for him to do this, but he could not see why it would not be
as imprudent at any other time as now. Moreover, there might come no
other time, and he had control of now.

Mrs. Easterfield had not joined her guests because of her anxiety about
Olive. Mr. Easterfield did not appear. For a time he was very
particularly engaged in the garden. Mr. Fox grew very much irritated.

"I tell you, my dear," said he, "every one who comes here makes this
place more stupid and dull. I can't see exactly any reason for it, but
these lovers are at the bottom of it. I hate lovers."

"You should be very glad, my dear," replied Mrs. Fox, "that I was not of
your opinion in my early life."

But things changed for the better after a time. It is true that Mrs.
Easterfield and Olive did not appear, but Mr. Easterfield showed
himself, and did it with great advantage. The simple statement that his
wife and Miss Asher had gone to make a call caused a feeling of relief
to spread over the whole party. Until the callers returned there was no
reason why they should not all enjoy themselves, and Mr. Easterfield was
there to show them how to do it.

As the Broadstone carriage rolled swiftly on there was not much
conversation between its occupants. To the somewhat sensitive mind of
Mrs. Easterfield it seemed that Olive was a little disappointed at the
change of companions, but this may have been a mere fancy. The girl was
so wrapped up in self-concentrated thought that it was not likely that
she would have talked much to any one. Suddenly, however, Olive broke
out:

"Mr. Easterfield must be a thoroughly good man" she said.

"He is," assented the other.

"And you have always been entirely satisfied with him?"

"Entirely," was the reply, without a smile.

Now Olive turned her face toward her companion and laid her hand upon
her arm. "You ought to be a happy woman," she said.

"Now, what is this girl thinking of?" asked Mrs. Easterfield to herself.
"Is she imagining that any one of the young fellows who are now
besieging her can ever be to her what Tom is to me? Or is she making an
ideal of my husband to the disparagement of her own lovers? Whichever
way she thinks, she would better give up thinking."

But the somewhat sensitive Mrs. Easterfield need not have troubled
herself. The girl had already forgotten the good Mr. Tom, and her mind
was intent upon getting to her uncle.

"Will you please ask the man to stop," she said, "before he gets to the
gate, and let me out? Then perhaps you will kindly drive on to the
tollhouse and wait for me. I will not keep you waiting long."

The carriage stopped, and Olive slipped out, and, before Mrs.
Easterfield had any idea of what she was going to do, the girl climbed
the rail fence which separated the road from the captain's pasture
field. Between this field and the garden was a picket fence, not very
high; and, toward a point about midway between the little tollhouse and
the dwelling, Olive now ran swiftly. When she had nearly reached the
fence she gave a great bound; put one foot on the upper rail to which
the pickets were nailed; and then went over. What would have happened if
the sharp pales had caught her skirts might well be imagined. But
nothing happened.

"That was a fine spring" said Mrs. Easterfield to herself. "She has
seen him in the house, and wants to get there before he hears the
carriage."

Olive walked quietly through the garden to the house. She knew that her
uncle was not at the gate, for from afar she had seen that the little
piazza on which he was wont to sit was empty. She went noiselessly into
the hall, and looked into the parlor. By a window in the back of the
room she saw her uncle writing at a little table. With a rush of air she
was at his side before he knew she was in the room. As he turned his
head her arms were around his neck, and the pen in his hand made a great
splotch of ink upon her white summer dress.

"Now, uncle," she exclaimed, looking into his astonished face, "here I
am and here I am going to stay! And if you want to know anything more
about it, you will have to wait, for I am not going to make any
explanations now. I am too happy to know that I have a dear uncle left
to me in this world, and to know that we two are going to live together
always to want to talk about whys and wherefores."

"But, Olive" exclaimed the captain.

"There are no buts," she interrupted. "Not a single but, my dear Uncle
John! I have come back to stay with you, and that is all there is about
it. Mrs. Easterfield is outside in her carriage, and I must go and send
her away. But don't you come out, Uncle John; I have some things to say
to her, and I will let you know when she is going."

As Olive sped out of the room Captain Asher turned around in his chair
and looked after her. Tears were running down his swarthy cheeks. He
did not know how or why it had all happened. He only knew that Olive was
coming back to live with him!

Meantime old Jane was entertaining Mrs. Easterfield at the toll-gate,
where no money was paid, but a great deal of information gained. The old
woman had seen Miss Olive run into the house, and she was elated and
excited, and consequently voluble. Mrs. Easterfield got the full account
of the one-sided courtship of the captain and Miss Port. Even the
concluding episode of Maria having been put to bed had somehow reached
the ears of old Jane. It is really wonderful how secret things do become
known, for not one of the three actors in that scene would have told it
on any account. But old Jane knew it, and told it with great glee, to
Mrs. Easterfield's intense enjoyment. Then she proceeded to praise Olive
for the spirit she had shown under these trying circumstances; and, in
this connection, naturally there came into the recital the spirit the
old woman herself had shown under these same trying circumstances, and
how she had got all ready to leave the minute the nuptial knot was tied
and before that Maria Port could reach the toll-gate, although it was
like tearing herself apart to leave the spot where she had lived so many
years. "But," she concluded, "it is all right now. The captain tells me
it's all a lie of her own makin'. She's good at that business, and if
lies was salable she'd be rich."

Just as the old woman reached this, what seemed to her unsophisticated
mind, impossible business proposition, Olive appeared. Mrs. Easterfield
was surprised to see her so soon, and, to tell the truth, a little
disappointed. She had been greatly interested and amused by the old
woman's rapid tale, which she would not interrupt, but had put aside in
her mind several questions to ask, and one of them was in relation to
her husband's late visit to the captain. She had had no detailed account
from him, and she wondered how much this old body knew about it. She
seemed to know pretty much everything. But Olive's appearance put an end
to this absorbing conversation.

"Has you come to stay, dearie?" eagerly asked old Jane, as Olive grasped
her hand.

"To be sure I have, Jane! I have come to stay forever!"

"Thank goodness!" exclaimed the old woman. "How the captain will
brighten up! But my! I must go and alter the supper!"

"Mrs. Easterfield," said Olive, when the old woman had departed, "you
will have to go back without me. I can not leave my uncle, and I am
going to stay here right along. You must not think I am ungrateful to
you, or unmindful of Mr. Easterfield's great kindness, but this is my
place for the present. Some day I know you will be good enough to let me
pay you another visit."

"And what am I to do with all those young men?" asked Mrs. Easterfield
mischievously. She would have added, "And one of them your future
husband?" But she remembered the coachman.

Olive laughed. "They will annoy you less when I am not there. If you
will be so good as to ask your maid to pack up my belongings, I will
send for my trunk." She glanced at the coachman. "Would you mind taking
a little walk with me along the road?"

"I shall be glad to do so," said Mrs. Easterfield, getting out of the
carriage.

"Now, my dear Mrs. Easterfield," said Olive when they were some distance
from the toll-gate and the house, "I am going to ask you to add to all
your kindness one more favor for me."

"That has such an ominous sound," said Mrs. Easterfield, "that I am not
disposed to promise beforehand."

"It is about those three young men you mentioned."

"I mentioned no number, and there are four."

"In what I am going to ask of you one of them can be counted out. He is
not in the affair. Only three are in this business. Won't you be so good
as to decline them all for me? I know that you can do it better than I
can. You have so much tact. And you must have done the thing many a
time, and I have not done it once. I am very awkward; I don't know how;
and, to confess the truth, I have put myself into a pretty bad fix."

"Upon my word," cried Mrs. Easterfield, "that is a pretty thing for one
woman to ask of another!

"I know it is," said Olive, "and I would not ask it of anybody but the
truest friend--of no one but you. But you see how difficult it is for me
to attend to it. And it must be done. I have given up all idea of
marrying, I am going to stay here, and when my father comes with his
young lady he will find me settled and fixed, and he and she will have
nothing to do with making plans for me. Now, dear Mrs. Easterfield, I
know you will do this favor for me, and let me say that I wish you would
be particularly gentle and pleasant in speaking to Mr. Locker. I think
he is really a very kind and considerate young man. He certainly showed
himself that way. I know you can talk so nicely to him that perhaps he
will not mind very much. As for Mr. Du Brant, you can tell him plainly
that I have carefully considered his proposition--and that is the exact
truth--and that I find it will be wise for me not to accept it. He is a
man of affairs, and will understand that I have given him a
straightforward, practical answer, and he will be satisfied. You must
not be sharp with Mr. Hemphill, as I know you will be inclined to be.
Please remember that I was once in love with him, and respect my
feelings as well as his. Besides, he is good, and he is in earnest, and
he deserves fair treatment. I am sorry that I have worried you about
him, and I will tell you now that I have found out he would not do at
all. I found it out this morning when I was talking to him about books.
His mind is neither broad nor cultivated."

"I could have told you that," said Mrs. Easterfield, "and saved you all
the trouble of taking that walk by the river."

"And then there is one more thing," continued Olive; "it is about
Professor Lancaster. I am sure you will agree with me that it will not
do for him to come back here. I am just going to start housekeeping
again. I've got the supper on my mind this minute. You can't imagine how
everything has turned topsy-turvy since I left. I suppose he will be
wanting to go North, anyway. In fact, he told me so."

Mrs. Easterfield laughed. She did not believe that Mr. Lancaster would
want to go North, or West, or East, although South might suit him. But
she saw the point of Olive's request; it would be awkward to have him at
the tollhouse.

"Oh, I will take care of him," she said, "and he shall continue his
vacation trip just as soon as Mr. Easterfield and I choose to give him
up."

"You see," said Olive in an explanatory way, "I have not anything in the
world to do with him, but I thought he might want to come back to see
uncle again. And, really," she added, speaking with a great deal of
earnestness, "I don't want to be bothered with any more young men! And
now I will call uncle. You know I had to say all these things to you
immediately."

Mrs. Easterfield walked quickly back to her carriage, but she did not
wait to see Captain Asher. As a hostess it was necessary for her to
hurry back home; and as a quick-witted, sensible woman she saw that it
would be well to leave these two happy people to themselves. This was
not the time for them to talk to her. So, when the captain, unwilling to
wait any longer, appeared at the door of the house, these two dear
friends had kissed and parted, and the carriage was speeding away.

On her way home Mrs. Easterfield forgot her slight chagrin at what her
husband had not done, in her joy at what he had accomplished. He had
neglected to take her fully into his confidence, and had acted very much
as if he had been a naval commander, who had cut his telegraphic
connections in order not to be embarrassed by orders from the home
government. But, on the other hand, he had saved her from the terrible
shock of hearing Olive declare that she had just engaged herself to
Rupert Hemphill. If it had not been for the extraordinary promptness of
her good Tom--a style of action he had acquired in the railroad
business--it would have been just as likely as not that Olive would have
accepted that young man before she had had an opportunity of finding out
his want of breadth and cultivation.




_CHAPTER XXVII_

_By Proxy._


About half-past twelve Claude Locker made his appearance in the spacious
hall. He looked out of the front door; he looked out of the back door;
he peered into the parlor; he glanced up the stairway; and then he
peeped into the library. He had not seen the lady of the house since her
return, and he was waiting for Olive. This morning his fate was to be
positively decided; he would take a position that would allow of no
postponement; he would tell her plainly that a statement that she was
not prepared to give him an answer that day would be considered by him
as a final rejection. She must haul down her flag or he would surrender
and present to her his sword.

Claude Locker saw nothing of Miss Asher, but it was not long before the
lady of the house came down-stairs.

"Oh, Mr. Locker," she exclaimed, "I am so glad to see you! Come into the
library, please."

He hesitated a minute. "I beg your pardon," said he, "but I have an
appointment--"

"I know that," said she, "and you may be surprised to hear that it is
with me and not with Miss Asher. Come in and I will tell you about it."

Claude Locker actually ran after his hostess into the library, both of
his eyes wide open.

"And now," said she, "please sit down, and hear what I have to say."

Locker seated himself on the edge of a chair; he did not feel happy; he
suspected something was wrong.

"Is she sick?" he asked. "Can't she come down?"

"She is very well," was the reply, "but she is not here. She is with her
uncle."

"Then I am due at her uncle's house before one o'clock," said he.

"No," she answered, "you are due here."

He fixed upon her a questioning glance.

"Miss Asher," she continued, "has deputed me to give you her answer. She
can not come herself, but she does not forget her agreement with you."

The young man still gazed steadfastly. "If it is to be a favorable
decision," said he, "I hope you will be able to excuse any exuberance of
demeanor on my part."

Mrs. Easterfield smiled. "In that case," she said, "I do not suppose I
should have been sent as an envoy."

His brow darkened, and instinctively he struck one hand with the other.
"That is exactly what I expected!" he exclaimed. "The signs all pointed
that way. But until this moment, my dear madam, I hoped. Yes, I had
presumed to hope that I might kindle in her heart a little nickering
flame. I had tried to do this, and I had left but one small match head,
which I intended to strike this day. But now I see I had a piece of the
wrong end of the match. After this I must be content forever to stay in
the cold."

"I am glad you view the matter so philosophically," said Mrs.
Easterfield, "and Olive particularly desired me to say--"

"Don't call her Olive, if you please," he interrupted. "It is like
speaking to me through the partly open door of paradise, through which I
can not enter. Slam it shut, I beg of you, and talk over the top of the
wall."

"Miss Asher wants you to know," continued Mrs. Easterfield, "that while
she has decided to decline your addresses, she is deeply grateful to you
for the considerate way in which you have borne yourself toward her. I
know she has a high regard for you, and that she will not forget your
kindness."

Mr. Locker put his hands in his pockets. "Do you know," said he, "as
this thing had to be done, I prefer to have you do it than to have her
do it. Well, it is done now! And so am I!"

"You never did truly expect to get her, did you, Mr. Locker?" asked Mrs.
Easterfield.

"Never," he answered; "but I do not flinch at what may be
impossibilities. Nobody, myself included, can imagine that I shall rival
Keats, and yet I am always trying for it."

"Is it Keats you are aiming at?" she said.

"Yes," he replied; "it does not look like it, does it? But it is."

"And you don't feel disheartened when you fail?" said she.

Mr. Locker took his hands from his pockets, and folded his arms. "Yes,
I do," he said; "I feel as thoroughly disheartened as I do now. But I
have one comfort; Keats and Miss Asher dropped me; I did not drop them.
So there is nothing on my conscience. And now tell me, is she going to
take Lancaster? I hope so."

"She could not do that," answered Mrs. Easterfield, "for I know he has
not asked her."

"Then he'd better skip around lively and do it," said Mr. Locker, "not
only for his own sake, but for mine. If I should be cast aside for the
Hemphill clothes I should have no faith in humanity. I would give up
verse, and I would give up woman."

"Don't be afraid of anything like that," said Mrs. Easterfield,
laughing. "It may be somewhat of a breach of confidence, but I am going
to tell you nevertheless; because I think you deserve it; that I am also
deputed to decline the addresses of Mr. Hemphill, and Mr. Du Brant."

"Hurrah!" cried Locker. "Mrs. Easterfield, I envy you; and if you don't
feel like performing the rest of your mission, you can depute it to me.
I don't know anything at this moment that would give me so much joy."

"I would not be so disloyal or so cruel as that," said she. "But I shall
not be in a hurry. I shall let them eat their lunch in peace and hope."

"Not much peace," said he. "Her empty chair will put that to flight. I
know how it feels to look at her empty chair."

"Then you really love her?" said Mrs. Easterfield, much moved.

"With every fiber," said he.

Mrs. Easterfield found herself much embarrassed at the luncheon table.
She had made her husband understand the state of affairs, but had not
had time to enter into particulars with him, and she did not find it
easy satisfactorily to explain to the company the absence of Miss Asher
without calling forth embarrassing questions as to her return, and she
wished carefully to avoid telling them that her guest was not coming
back for the present. If she made this known then she feared there might
be a scene at the table.

Mr. Hemphill turned pale when, that afternoon, his hostess, in an
exceedingly clear and plain manner, made known to him his fate. For a
few moments he did not speak. Then he said very quietly: "If she had
not, of her own accord, told me that she had once loved me, I should
never have dared to say anything like that to her."

"I do not think you need any excuse, Mr. Hemphill," said Mrs.
Easterfield. "In fact, if you loved her, I do not see how you could help
speaking after what she herself said to you."

"That is true," he replied. "And I love her with all my heart!"

"She ought never to have told you of that girlish fancy," said his
hostess. "It was putting you in a very embarrassing position, and I am
bound to say to you, Mr. Hemphill, that I also am very much to blame.
Knowing all this, as I did, I should not have allowed you to meet her."

"Oh, don't say that!" exclaimed Mr. Hemphill. "Don't say that! Not for
the world would I give up the memory of hearing her say she once loved
me! I don't care how many years ago it was. I am glad you let me come
here. I am glad she told me. I shall never forget the happiness I have
had in this house. And now, Mrs. Easterfield, let me ask you one
thing--"

At this moment Mrs. Easterfield, who was facing the door, saw her
husband enter the hall, and by his manner she knew he was looking for
her.

"Excuse me," she said to Hemphill, "I will be back in an instant."

And she ran out. "Tom," she cried, "you must go away. I can not see you
now. I am very busy declining the addresses of a suitor, and can not be
interrupted."

Mr. Tom looked at her in surprise, although it was not often Mrs.
Easterfield could surprise him. He saw that she was very much in
earnest.

"Well," said he, "if you are sure you are going to decline him I won't
interrupt you. And when you have sealed his fate you will find me in my
room. I want particularly to see you."

Mrs. Easterfield went back to the library and Hemphill continued: "You
need not answer if you do not think it is right," said he, "but do you
believe at any time she thought seriously of me?"

Mrs. Easterfield smiled as she answered: "Now, you see the advantage of
an agent in such matters as this. You could not have asked her that
question, or if you did she would not answer you. And now I am going to
tell you that she did have some serious thought of you. Whatever
encouragement she gave you, she treated you fairly. She is a very
practical young woman--"

"Excuse me," said Hemphill hurriedly, "but if you please, I would rather
you did not tell me anything more. Sometimes it is not well to try to
know too much. I can't talk now, Mrs. Easterfield, for I am dreadfully
cut up, but at the same time I am wonderfully proud. I don't know that
you can understand this."

"Yes, I can," she said; "I understand it perfectly."

"You are very kind," he said. As he was about to leave the room he
stopped and turned to Mrs. Easterfield. "Is she going to marry Professor
Lancaster?" he asked.

"Really, Mr. Hemphill," she replied, "I can not say anything about that.
I do not know any more than you do."

"Well, I hope she may," he said. "It would be a burning shame if she
were to accept that Austrian; and as for the other little man, he is too
ugly. You must excuse me for speaking of your friends in this way, Mrs.
Easterfield, but really I should feel dreadfully if I thought I had been
set aside for such a queer customer as he is."

Mrs. Easterfield did not laugh then; but when Hemphill had gone, and she
had joined her husband, they had a good time together.

"And so they all recommend Lancaster," said he.

"So far," she answered; "but I have yet to hear what Mr. Du Brant has to
say."

"I think you have had enough of this discarding business," said Mr.
Tom. "You would better leave Du Brant to me."

"Oh, no," said she; "I promised Olive. And, besides, I think I like it."

"I believe you do," said Mr. Tom. "And now I want to say something
important. It is not right that Broadstone should be given up entirely
to the affairs of Miss Asher and her lovers. I think, for instance, that
our friend Fox looks very much dissatisfied."

"That is because Olive is not here," she replied.

"Not only that," he answered. "He loses her, and does not get anything
else in her place. Now, we must make this house lively, as it ought to
be. Let Du Brant off for to-day and let us make up a party to go out on
the river. We will take two boats, and have some of the men to do the
rowing. Postpone dinner so we can have a long afternoon."

Mr. Du Brant did not go on the river excursion. He had some letters to
write, and begged to be excused. He had not asked when Miss Asher was
expected back, or anything about her return. He did not understand the
state of affairs, and was afraid he might receive some misleading
information. But if she should come that afternoon or the next day he
determined to be on the spot. After that he might not be able to remain
at Broadstone, and it would be a glorious opportunity for him if she
should come back that afternoon.

It was twilight when the boating party returned. Under the genial
influence of Mr. Tom and his wife they had all enjoyed themselves as
much as it was possible for them to do so without Olive.

When Claude Locker, a little behind the others, reached the top of the
hill he perceived, not far away, Mr. Du Brant strolling. These two had
not spoken since the night of the interrupted serenade. Each of them had
desired to avoid words or actions which might disturb the peace of this
hospitable home, and consequently had very successfully succeeded in
avoiding each other. But now Mr. Locker walked straight up to the
secretary of legation, holding out his hand.

"Now, Mr. Du Brant," said he, "since we are both in the same boat, let
us shake hands and let bygones be bygones."

But the young Austrian did not take the proffered hand. For a moment he
looked as though he were about to turn away without taking any notice of
Locker, but he had not the strength of mind to do this. He turned and
remarked with a scowl:

"What do you mean by same boat? I have nothing to do with you on the
water or on the land!"

Mr. Locker shrugged his shoulders. "So you have not been told," said he.

"Told!" exclaimed Du Brant, now very much interested. "Told what?"

"That you will have to find out," said the other. "It is not my business
to tell you. But I don't mind saying that as I have been told I thought
perhaps you might have been."

"Told what?" exclaimed Mr. Du Brant again, stepping up closer to the
other.

"Don't shout so," said Locker; "they will think we are quarreling.
Didn't I say I am not the person to tell you anything, and if you did
not understand me I will say it again."

For some seconds the Austrian looked steadily at his companion. Then he
said, "Have you been refused by Miss Asher?"

"Well," said Locker with a sigh, "as that is my business, I suppose I
can talk about it if I want to. Yes, I have."

Again Du Brant was silent for a time. "Did she tell you herself?" he
asked.

"No, she did not," was the answer. "She kindly sent me word by Mrs.
Easterfield. I suppose your turn has not come yet. I was at the head of
the list." And, fearing that if he stayed longer he might say too much,
Mr. Locker walked slowly away, whistling disjointedly as he went.

That evening Mrs. Easterfield discovered that she had been deprived of
the anticipated pleasure of conveying to Mr. Du Brant the message which
Olive had sent him. That gentleman, unusually polite and soft-spoken,
found her by herself, and thus accosted her: "You must excuse me, madam,
for speaking upon a certain subject without permission from you, but I
have reason to believe that you are the bearer of a message to me from
Miss Asher."

"How in the world did you find that out?" she asked.

"It was the--Locker," he answered. "I do not think it was his intention
to inform me fully; he is not a master of words and expressions; he is a
little blundering; but, from what he said, I supposed you were kind
enough to be the bearer of such a message."

"Yes," said Mrs. Easterfield; "not being able to be here herself, Miss
Asher requested me to say to you that she must decline--"

"Excuse me, madam," he interrupted, "but it is I who decline. I bear
toward you, madam, the greatest homage and respect, but what I had the
honor to say to Miss Asher I said to her alone, and it is only from her
that it is possible for me to receive an answer. Therefore, madam, it is
absolutely necessary that I decline to be a party to the interview you
so graciously propose. It breaks my heart, my dear madam, even to seem
unwilling to listen to anything you might deign to say to me, but in
this case I must be firm, I must decline. Can you pardon me, dear madam,
for speaking as I have been obliged to speak?"