Talbot's Angles

"It just looks like her," commented Miss Ri. "You can always tell underbred people by the presents they give. No lady would look twice at a thing like that. Why didn't she send you one plain fine handkerchief, if she didn't want to spend her money for something handsome? It would at least have shown some refined taste."

"I don't believe she knows any better," returned Linda, by way of excuse.

"Exactly," replied Miss Ri.

From Berk came merely an unostentatious little card for Linda, though for Miss Ri arrived a fine potted plant. "I'll allow you to look at it," remarked the recipient with a little laugh.

Not even a card found its way from Linda to Berkley, though in her upper drawer lay a half-finished blue silk tie. She had stopped working on it long before.

Mr. Jeffreys saw them off on a cold twenty-sixth of December. That same evening Berkley arrived to take possession of the room Miss Ri had told Phebe to make ready for him. Phebe, with her head tied up in a new kerchief, and with an immaculate expanse of white apron, was ready to receive him, to show him upstairs and to wait upon him hand and foot. She adored Linda, had great respect for Miss Ri, but "a rale young gem'man" awakened all the love of service within her, and if he had done the justice she expected to the meal she served, he would probably have died of indigestion that very night, and the close of this chapter would mark the end of this tale. However, whether from lack of appetite or for other reasons, he ate with discretion, and then retired to the sitting-room, where he worked over a budget of papers till near midnight. With candle in hand, he then went upstairs. As he passed through the upper hall he perceived the door of a room open. He tip-toed up to it, stood for a moment on the sill, then entered softly and with the expression of one approaching a sanctuary. Phebe had removed all suggestion of disorder, but she could not remove the subtle reminders of a girlish presence, which were suggested by the pictures on the wall, the books on the table, by the little slippers peeping from under the foot of the lounge. An end of ribbon fluttered out from behind the door of the small wash-closet, which stood partly open. Berkley gently lifted the satiny end and laid it against his cheek, then to his lips. After this, he tip-toed out again, closing the door softly behind him. He had this once entered a holy of holies, but he must not be tempted again.

Meanwhile Miss Ri and Linda were settled at their hotel and were making plans for the next day.

"I suppose I must go to see Grace," remarked Linda.

"Oh, not right away," was Miss Ri's reply. "Wait till the memory of that scarf becomes a little more vague, then you will be able to thank her for it with some similitude of warmth. In the case of that gift, it is one of the instances when 'absence makes the heart grow fonder.' No, I have planned what we are to do to-morrow. In the morning we will go shopping; in the afternoon we will stay at home and receive calls; in the evening we will go to the theatre."

"Oh, but, Aunt Ri, I haven't been going anywhere."

"High time you did. I don't want you to do anything that might distress you, Verlinda, but I think a good play or two will do you a world of good. We will look at the paper and see what is going on. We must hear some good music. Perhaps there are to be some good concerts at the Peabody; we will find out. I don't believe in persons making a selfish indulgence of a sorrow. I am sure no one more than Martin would like you to have a pleasant, cheerful time. You need it, and we ought to do what is best for us."

"Very well," Linda acquiesced. "I am in your hands, Aunt Ri. I will do as you say."

Miss Ri looked pleased. "That is what I do like about you, Verlinda; you are always so sweetly reasonable. Come, let's go down to supper."

It was rather a pleasant sensation to be one of the company which occupied the dining-room, and Linda enjoyed looking about her quite as much as she did the partaking of the excellent meal. They had just finished, when suddenly she caught sight of a party at one of the tables across the room. "Aunt Ri, Aunt Ri," she said, turning toward her companion. "Who do you think is over there, just across from us, a little to your rear? You'll have to turn your head – the Goldsboroughs. Mrs. Goldsborough, the governess, the two little girls, and an older one. She must be the débutante."

Miss Ri turned her head, but by this time the little girls had caught sight of them and were smiling and nodding. "They've evidently come up for the holidays," said Miss Ri. "That Miss Carroll is quite a pretty girl, isn't she?"

"Yes, I thought so when we met her the other day at 'Mary's Delight,' It was nice of them to bring her, wasn't it? She told me that she was very happy with the Goldsboroughs, that the children were dears, and that she was quite like a daughter in the house."

"Julia would make her feel so. She is one of the kindest-hearted women in the world, and not the least of a snob. They are coming over to speak to us."

The two groups met half way, and walked to the reception room together. Freddy, the eldest daughter, was bound for a theatre party and must hurry away. "She was named Fredericka, for her grandfather," Mrs. Goldsborough explained. The other little girls, Julia and Mary, sat one each side of Linda, on the sofa; Miss Carroll drew up a stool opposite, while Mrs. Goldsborough and Miss Ri settled themselves further away for a good talk.

There were ever so many things going on in the city, the girls told Linda. One of their cousins was to have a tea, another had asked them to a box party, a third to a small dance. "We won't be out for two or three years yet," said Mary; "but we shall have just as good a time as Fred, if she is a débutante." Then there was much talk of this and that one who had come out that season; of Fred's engagements and the attention she was having, the twittering chat which young girls like. Miss Carroll smiled indulgently at the little chatterers, but once or twice gave Linda a look, as much as to say, "We know what it is worth." However, Linda enjoyed this glimpse into a frivolous world and went upstairs with Miss Ri without a thought to sadden her.

There was a morning's shopping, luncheon at a quaint little place on Charles Street, a return to the hotel, an afternoon with the friends who had been notified of their arrival and who called promptly, then the theatre, and Linda's first day in the city was so full that she dropped to sleep with never a thought of Sandbridge and the friends there who might be missing her.

The next day Miss Ri reluctantly consented to a call on Grace. The house where the Johnsons lived was in a new, rather than a fashionable part of the city. The room into which the maid showed them was pretentiously furnished, crowded with ornaments, ugly though expensive, the walls lined with poor pictures in gaudy frames. Money value, rather than good taste, was the keynote of the establishment, it was easily seen.

After keeping them waiting for some time, Grace swept in wearing a new gown tinkling with jets and redolent with sachet. She made many apologies for having kept them waiting. "Such a surprise. So sorry I couldn't have known." She had been up so late the night before, and the rest of it. Were they up for a shopping expedition? There were so many good bargains after the holidays.

She lifted her eyebrows and viewed Linda with surprise when told why they had come, where they were staying, and how long they intended to remain. She could not quite understand why Miss Ri should have invited anyone so uninteresting as she conceived her sister-in-law to be. Yet she did not voice her opinion, but only said gushingly, "Oh, then you'll be able to meet the dear Major. I do so want you to know him, Miss Hill, and you, too, Linda. Of course, the engagement cannot be announced except to the family, but he has given me the dearest ring, which I do not wear in public, naturally." She stretched out her plump hand and displayed the solitaire with much satisfaction.

There was some talk upon trifling matters, then Grace, turning to Linda, said, "Oh, by the way, what about that Mr. Jeffreys? I had a note from Mr. Matthews a few days ago, and he tells me there is a claimant for Talbot's Angles, and that he is going to law about it. Mr. Matthews asked me if I knew of any old papers which might be in the house down there. I told him Mr. Phillips had the key and he would go with him to see what could be found. It would be sad, would it not, Miss Hill, if, after my effort to do what would seem best for Linda, the property should pass into other hands?"

"Talbot's Angles? Are you sure it is Talbot's Angles?" asked Linda. "We have always thought it must be Addition, or even Timber Neck."

"No, I am quite sure it is the Angles. Of course, that is the most valuable of the three places now, though the Major says none of them are worth so very much; but then he has such large ideas. The amount at which we value the place would be a mere bagatelle to him."

The call was short. Miss Ri could not stand much of Grace, but they were urged to come soon again and to come in the evening, when the dear Major would be there. Grace was invited to have tea with the two at their hotel, an invitation which she accepted eagerly, and then the callers left.

"Aunt Ri," began Linda as soon as they had turned from the house, "did you dream it was Talbot's Angles?"

"Why, yes, dear; I half suspected it all the time."

"Why?"

"From the way those two, Berk and Mr. Jeffreys, acted."

"And that is why you wanted to consult Judge Goldsborough?"

"Yes, that was why."

"But he says there is not a shred of proof."

"He said so at first. Later, he was not so sure but there might be complications."

"I understand." Linda was silent for some time; then she spoke again, following out her thoughts: "Aunt Ri, do you think that is why Berk has avoided me? Do you think he has known all this time?"

Miss Ri hesitated before she made answer. "It may be that, Verlinda."

Linda gave a little sigh. "I am sorry he had to feel that way about it. I wouldn't have blamed him, for he was not to blame, was he? He couldn't help it."

"Not unless he chose to be disloyal to Mr. Jeffreys and dishonorable altogether."

"And that he could never be. We know that, don't we, Aunt Ri? Shall we see his sister and mother, do you think?"

"I am sure we shall. I wrote to Mrs. Matthews that we were coming."

No more was said on the subject just then; but, in thinking it over in the seclusion of her room, it dawned upon Miss Ri that Linda was much more concerned for Berkley's part in the transaction than in her own loss of the property. "Well," she exclaimed, sitting down to face the situation, "this is a revelation. How on earth is it going to end now, I'd like to know."

CHAPTER XVII

AS WATER UNTO WINE

The time passed as gaily as Miss Ri meant it should: in receiving and returning calls, in a little sight-seeing, in shopping, lunching, dining, a moderate amount of theatre-going. There was a visit to the old low-roofed, grey-shingled market one Saturday evening, when the Goldsborough girls, with their governess, begged Miss Ri and Linda to join them in a frolic.

"We want to buy taffy," they said, "and see the funny people. Do go with us; it will be so jolly." The expedition was quite to Miss Ri's taste and, that Linda might have the experience, she urged the going. A merry time they all had of it, pushing their way from one end of the long market-house to the other, and then parading up and down outside, where the country people, with their wagons, exhibited their wares on tables improvised from a couple of barrels with boards laid across. A little of anything that might be salable was offered, from bunches of dried herbs to fat turkeys.

"It hasn't changed a particle since I was a little girl," declared Miss Ri. "My uncle used to take me to market with him before breakfast on summer mornings, and would buy me a glass of ice cream from that very stand," she designated one with a bee-hive on its sign. "I wonder how I could eat such a thing so early in the morning, though then I thought it a great treat. On Saturday evenings in winter he always brought home a parcel of taffy, which tasted exactly as this does which we have bought to-night. And my aunt, I can see her now with a colored boy walking behind her carrying a huge basket, while she had a tiny one in which to bring home special dainties."

"That custom isn't altogether done away with yet," Miss Carroll told her. "Some of the good old housekeepers still cling to their little baskets."

"And a good thing, too," asserted Miss Ri.

One afternoon, Grace brought her Major to call, and they found him to be a stout, elderly man, rather florid, a little consequential, but quite genial and polite, and evidently very proud of his young fiancée.