Talbot's Angles

"He's not so bad," commented Miss Ri, "although he is not of our stripe. I was sure he could not be a West Point man, and he isn't. He served in the Spanish War for a short time, he told me. However, I don't doubt that it is going to be a perfectly satisfactory marriage. He likes flattery, and Grace is an adept in bestowing it."

Mrs. Matthews and her daughter, Margaret Edmondson, were among the very first to call and to offer an invitation to luncheon. "We shall not make a stranger of you any more than of Maria," said Mrs. Matthews, taking Linda's hands in hers. "I remember you so well as a little bit of a girl, of whom Berkley was always ready to make a playmate when you came to town. My first recollection of you is when I brought Berkie over at Miss Ri's request. You were no more than three and he was perhaps six or seven. You looked at him for a long time with those big blue eyes of yours, and then you said, 'Boy, take me to see the chickens.' You liked to peep through the fence at Miss Parthy's fowls, but were not allowed to go that far alone, you were such a little thing. From that day Berkie was always asking when Miss Ri's little girl was coming back, for you left that same evening."

Miss Ri looked at Linda. Her face was flushed and her eyes downcast.

"I shouldn't be surprised," put in Margaret, "if Berk were wishing now that Miss Ri's little girl would come back."

Linda withdrew her hand from Mrs. Matthews' clasp and turned from the gentle face, whose eyes were searching hers. "Oh, you are mistaken, Mrs. Edmondson," she said hurriedly. "Berk and I very seldom see one another; in fact, I have not laid eyes on him for weeks."

"He's working too hard," said Mrs. Matthews, turning to Miss Ri. "I thought he looked thin and careworn when he was last here. I wish you all would advise him not to overwork. He values your advice very highly, Maria."

"We all think he is working too hard," returned Miss Ri, "but if he listens to anyone, it will be his mother. I never knew a more devoted son."

"He is indeed," replied Mrs. Matthews. "Maria, I hate to have him in that comfortless hotel; he was always such a home boy."

"Come, Mother, come," broke in Mrs. Edmondson. "Miss Ri, if you get mother started on the subject of Berk, she will stand and talk all day. We shall expect you both on Thursday. Take the car to Cold Spring Lane and you will not have far to walk."

The callers departed and though Linda said little of them, Miss Ri noticed that she made no protest against the trip to the pretty suburb where they lived. She had not been so ready on other occasions.

Mrs. Edmondson, proud of her pretty new house, was ready to show off its conveniences and comforts, and to discourse upon the delights of living in a place which was not city and yet was accessible to all that one desired, for it was not half an hour by trolley to the center of the town. Her husband, a young business man, was making his way rapidly, Mrs. Matthews told Miss Ri with pride. "And he is a good son to me," she added, "so I shall never want for a home while I have three children. Margie insists that I shall never leave her; but, unless Berkley marries, I think I should make a home for him. I can't have him living in a hotel all his life." Then followed anecdotes of Berkley, of this act of self-denial, that evidence of devotion. "You know, Maria, that he is exactly like his father. The Doctor always thought of himself last."

"Mother, dear," interrupted Margaret, "they didn't come to hear Berk eulogized, but to see your pretty room. Come, Linda, let us leave them. Miss Ri is almost as bad as she is when it comes to Berk." She put her arm around Linda and drew her away, whispering, "Mother thinks I am jealous, but I am not a bit; I only don't want her to get the notion that she must leave me and go back to Sandbridge. After all Berk has done for us, I think he ought to have his chance to get ahead, and the very least I can do is to try to make mother happy here with me. Herbert agrees with me. I wish Berk had a home of his own, and then mother would be satisfied."

The two younger women went off to view other parts of the house, while their elders talked of those things nearest their hearts. They were old friends and had much in common. Margaret was a sweet womanly person, not a beauty, but fresh and fair and good to look upon, with the same honest grey eyes as her brother's, and the same sturdy frankness of manner. Linda thought her a trifle expansive, till she realized that herself was anything but a stranger, in spite of the fact that she had not met these two since she was a little girl.

"I am glad I wasn't brought up within hail of the monument," said Margaret as she exhibited her spick and span kitchen. "I should hate to be deprived of the privileges of my own kitchen, and I shouldn't like to believe I must live on certain streets or be a Pariah. There is too much of that feeling in this blessed old city, and I must say our Cavalier ancestors did give us pleasure-loving natures as an inheritance. Half the girls I know are pretty and sweet and amiable, but they never read anything but trash, think of nothing but wearing pretty clothes and of having a good time. However, I think they do make good wives and mothers when it comes to settling down. Someone said to me the other day, that Southern girls married only for love and that poverty came in at the door to mock them for being so silly as to think any marriage was better than none; that they didn't mind love flying out of the window half so much as they did going to their graves unmarried. There may be some truth in that, but I think they are generally pretty contented and are satisfied to take life as it comes."

Margaret was a great chatterer, and was delighted to get Linda to herself, to air her own views and to learn of Linda's. "Aren't you glad, Linda," she went on, "that you are making a place for yourself in the world? Berk has often said that you were quite different from most of the girls he knew, and that he wished we could be good friends. He says you can talk of other things than dress and gossip, and that you are quite domestic. Are you domestic?"

"Why" – Linda paused to consider – "yes, I think I am. I like to keep house. I did for my brother, you know; yet I like a good time and pretty clothes as much as anyone."

"Of course. So do I. But you care for other things, too. Berk thinks you are so wonderful to write so well, and to get along so successfully with your teaching."

Linda made a little grimace. "Berk is very kind to say so, but that is something for which I do not feel myself fitted and which I really do not enjoy."

"So much the more credit for doing it well. Linda, you must come to the Club while you are here. I know you would enjoy it. Mother and I both belong. There is another and more fashionable literary club, but we like ours much the best. The real workers are members of it, not the make-believes. It meets every Tuesday afternoon. We must arrange for you to go with us, and Miss Ri must come, too." Here the elder women entered, and Miss Ri reminded Linda that they were to go to a tea on their way home, so they departed, Linda and Margaret parting like old friends.

The tea was a quiet little affair which Linda had promised Miss Ri to attend, as it was at the house of one of the latter's particular friends, and here they lingered till dinner time. As they were going to their rooms a card was handed them. Miss Ri raised her lorgnette to read the name. "Mr. Jeffreys has been here," she exclaimed.

"The gen'l'man say he be back this evenin'," the elevator boy told them.

"Humph!" Miss Ri looked at Linda. "Were we going anywhere to-night?"

"No. You remember that we said we would be going all day and that we'd better stay in and rest."

"Then rest shall I, and you can see the young man. Now, no protests; I am not going down one step. I can trust you to go unchaperoned this once, I should think. I don't feel like talking to him. I have been talking all day."

Therefore Linda went down alone when the young man was announced, to find him sitting in a little alcove, waiting for her. He was in correct evening dress and looked well. Linda had never seen him so carefully attired and could but acknowledge that there was a certain elegance in the tall, dignified figure, and that he looked quite as distinguished as any man she had met. She, herself, was all in white, Miss Ri having persuaded her that such a dress was as appropriate as her frocks of black. She looked very charming, thought the young man, who rose to meet her, and his manner was slightly more genial than usual.

"It seems a very long time since I saw you, Miss Linda," he said.

"Only a week," returned Linda, seating herself on a low divan, her skirts making soft billows around her.

"You have enjoyed yourself and the time has passed very quickly, I presume."

"Very quickly. We have had a delightful week. And you?"

"There have been festivities in Sandbridge from which you were missed."

"And to which, probably, I should not have gone. No piece of news of any importance?"

"One which will interest you and which I came to tell you of."

He hesitated so long that Linda, to help him out, began, "And the news is – "

"About my claim." He hesitated, as if finding it very hard to go on.

"Oh, I think I can anticipate what you have to say," rejoined Linda easily. "My sister-in-law has told me that it is Talbot's Angles to which your papers refer. Is that true?"

"It is."

"And have you established your facts?" Linda asked the question steadily.

"Not perfectly; although the past week has given us some extra proof in the papers found at the house itself. Among them we found some receipts given by Cyrus Talbot to the tenant for rent. They read: 'Received from John Briggs one quarter's rent for Talbot's Angles,' so much, and are signed by Cyrus Talbot."

"By 'us' you mean Mr. Matthews and yourself?"

"Yes, it is through his efforts that we are able to get so much evidence as we have."

"I see." There was silence for a moment. Linda sat perfectly still and, except that she nervously played with a ring on her finger, appeared unmoved.

Mr. Jeffreys watched her for a moment, then he leaned forward. "Miss Linda," he began, "I know how you must feel, and it pains me beyond expression to bring you news that must be disappointing to you, but – " he halted in his precise speech, "but you need not lose your old home, if you will take the claimant with it."

Linda lifted startled eyes.

The young man went on: "I have thought the matter over and while I could not consider it expedient to live on the place, I would not sell it unless you wished, and would always, under any circumstances, reserve the house, that you might still consider it your home."

Linda laughed a little wildly. "It seems that is always the way of it. I am merely to consider it my home in every case."

He drew nearer and took her hand. "Then, will you accept it as I offer it? With myself? I would try to make you happy. I think if I had the stimulus of your companionship, I could succeed. We could make our home in Hartford, and you could return to Maryland when it pleased you each year. I have just received an offer from an insurance company. They wish to send me to England on business, and on my return they give me the promise of such a position as will insure me a future."

"It is in Hartford?"

"Yes; and it is a lovely city, you know."

"Where, as in Sandbridge, they are always ready to welcome strangers cordially? I think I have heard how very spontaneous they are up there, quite expansive and eager to make newcomers feel at home." She spoke with sarcastic emphasis.

"Of course, my friends would welcome you," returned Mr. Jeffreys a little stiffly. "Dear Miss Linda," he continued more fervently, "don't get the idea that there are no warm hearts in the North because you have heard of some cold ones. Once you know the people, none could be better friends. I would try to make you happy. Will you believe me when I say that you are the first woman I have ever wished to make my wife?"