Talbot's Angles

"Yes, I believe you." She smiled a little.

"Please think it over. I would rather not have my answer now. I know there is much to bewilder you, and I would rather you did not give me an impulsive reply. I will not pursue the subject. I will come to-morrow. I would much rather wait."

"Thank you for your consideration," returned Linda. "I will think it over, Mr. Jeffreys. It is only right that I should. Must you go?"

"I think so. May I come to-morrow afternoon? At what hour?"

"About five. We have an engagement in the evening."

He arose, took her hand, pressed it gently and said earnestly, "I beg that you will remember that it would be my dearest wish to make you my wife under any circumstances."

"I will remember," returned Linda.

"Please give my regards to Miss Hill," continued Mr. Jeffreys, taking up his hat. "I owe her a debt of thanks for giving me this opportunity of seeing you alone." And he bowed himself out.

There were but few persons in the large drawing-room, and they had been quite sequestered in their little alcove. Linda returned to her seat, and lingered there, thinking, thinking. Presently she smiled and whispered to herself, "He never once said he loved, never once. 'As moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine,'" she murmured musingly. So he would marry her and take her to his city, where there would be no Aunt Ri, no warm-hearted neighbors to welcome her with cordial emphasis, as there would be when she went back to Sandbridge. Nevermore the flat, level roads, the little salt rivers, the simple every-day intercourse of friend with friend, the easy-going unambitious way of living, the smiling content. Instead, the eager struggle for greater ostentation and luxury, which she saw even in the city where she now was; the cold, calculating stares from utter strangers, when she went among them, interest lacking, affection wanting. But on the other hand, she would come back to her old home every year, and it would be truly hers. But how hard it would be to go from it again! And after a while she would be coming less and less frequently. She would grow reticent and unapproachable. Repression would silently work the change in her. She would have the opportunity of pouring out her thoughts on paper, to be sure, but – so she would at home. "No, no, no," she cried; "I'd rather a thousand times teach my restless boys for the remainder of my life. I don't love him, and that is exactly what is wrong. Where he lives has nothing to do with it. Goodbye, Talbot's Angles. You were never mine, and you never will be now."

She went to her room, tip-toeing gently that Miss Ri might not hear her in the adjoining one. She slipped quietly into a chair near the window and gave herself up to her thoughts. She must not let Miss Ri think her caller had remained so short a time, and the dear woman must not be told of what had occurred. When she heard a stirring around in the next room, she knocked on the door, which was quickly opened to her.

"Well, child, has your young man gone?" came the query. "What did he have to say?"

"He told me the same thing Grace did about Talbot's Angles."

"He did? The wretch!.. Linda, why did we ever treat him so well? He doesn't deserve it."

"Why, Aunt Ri, he can't help being the great-grandson of Cyrus Talbot."

"He could help coming down here and stirring up all this fuss."

"He sent his regards to you."

"I don't want them. What else did he say?"

"It appears that they have some new evidence, found in the paper which Grace directed them to. Some old receipts which seem to establish the fact that Cyrus Talbot really did have the right to rent the place to a certain John Briggs. I don't know how these receipts came into the possession of our branch of the family, but probably Briggs gave them to our great-grandfather to keep safely. At all events, Berkley Matthews and Mr. Jeffreys have worked it all out."

"I don't see how Berkley could have the conscience. It is outrageous for him to be party to a scheme for defrauding an orphan girl."

"Oh, Aunt Ri, you mustn't say it is defrauding; it is just legal rights. We may have been defrauding them."

"We'll see whether it is so or not. Judge Goldsborough was so sure; but then I suppose all these things were not known to him. I wish we could hear from him and learn what he has discovered in the papers he holds."

"We shall, in good time. Meanwhile, what difference does it make? I am used to having the place belong to someone else, and I am growing content to spend my days in teaching. I shall even be glad to get back to my boys."

Miss Ri swung around sharply and took the girl's face between her hands. "Verlinda, Verlinda," she said, "I wish I could turn a search-light on that heart of yours?"

"Why, Aunt Ri?"

"Oh, because, because, a woman's reason." Then she put her arms around the girl and hugged her close to her ample night-dress. "You are a darling child. Teach as long as you like; it will be so much the better for me than seeing you go off to Hartford."

Linda felt the color rise to her face. "How do you know that opportunity will ever be afforded me?" she asked lightly.

"If it hasn't been, it will. How did that miserable usurper look?"

"Very handsome; in quite correct evening dress, which suited him perfectly. Aunt Ri, it would be a privilege to sit opposite such a fine-looking man three times a day for the rest of my life."

"It would, would it? and have to use a knife to dissect him before you could find out what he really felt about anything? And even then you wouldn't discover a thing in his veins but ice-water."

Linda laughed. "You can be the most vehement person for one who pretends to be so mild and serene. I notice that where those you love are concerned, you are anything but mild, bless your dear heart. Don't be scared, Aunt Ri; I'll never leave Sandbridge, never. I'll never leave the dear old Eastern Shore for anyone. No, indeed."

"Who is vehement now, Verlinda Talbot? I verily believe that man has proposed to you. I am convinced of it. Oh, my dear, maybe after all you ought to consider him, for that would settle it all. You could live in the old home and be happy ever after, only, Verlinda, Verlinda, what would become of Berk?"

Linda gave a little smothered cry and Miss Ri felt the slender figure quivering, though quite steadily came the words, "We can't take Berk into consideration, Aunt Ri; he is fighting with all his might for Mr. Jeffreys, and so far as I am concerned, he doesn't think of me at all – in any direction."

"I don't believe it," returned Miss Ri. "I admit he is an enigma, but I don't believe a word of his not thinking of you. I've talked to his mother," she added triumphantly.

After that not a word would she say on the subject, but sent Linda off to bed, and if the girl needed anything to fix her decision regarding Mr. Jeffreys, it is possible that Miss Ri's last words helped to the conclusion.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE DELIBERATE CONSCIENCE

In spite of having already made up her mind when she left Miss Ri, Linda conscientiously devoted an hour's serious thought to the subject of Wyatt Jeffreys; for she told herself that it was only fair to him. She took down her hair, wrapped herself in a dressing-gown, and gave herself up to contemplation. "It wouldn't be so hard," she thought, drawing her brows together, "if he had determined to live at Talbot's Angles, for I should at least have my old home."

"And see Berkley Matthews whenever you went to town," something whispered.

"Oh, well," the argument came as if in reply, "would that be any worse than it will be now when I have to stay in town and run the risk of meeting him at any time?"

"But now there is a little hope," again came the inward voice.

"There isn't! there isn't!" Linda contradicted. "I can't believe there is. Look how he has acted: avoiding me openly, sending me only a little trifling card at Christmas, taking up this case which defies my rights. Tell me such a thing? It is not so."

"But Miss Ri has talked to his mother. Margaret herself told you that Berk never wearied of sounding your praises."

"That is all a blind. He doesn't care; he couldn't, and act as he is doing." She resolutely shut her ears to the voice of the charmer and turned her attention to the other claimant to regard. He had many fine qualities, but comparisons would crop up. Mr. Jeffreys had praised her work and had congratulated her upon appearing in print; but it was more on account of the recognition, than because of what she wrote. Berk, on the other hand, perceived the spirit rather than the commercial value. She had shown both men other little writings; Berk had commented upon the thought, the originality of some fancy; Mr. Jeffreys had praised the metre, or the quality which would make it marketable. "There is the difference," thought Linda; "Mr. Jeffreys does not lack intellectual perception but Berk has a spiritual one. I saw deep into that one day when I was talking to him about Martin. He may be flippant and boyish on the surface, but back of it all there is that in his soul which can penetrate behind the stars. If he loved anyone he would not care for her looks, her position, her wealth, or for anything but just her individual self. Mr. Jeffreys would weigh the qualities which go to make a satisfactory wife. It was his dearest wish. I was the first, he would try to make me happy; all that, and not a word of his feelings toward me. His heart did not speak, his deliberate conscience did, for I don't doubt he has one, and it makes him uncomfortable when he thinks of wresting Talbot's Angles from me. Well, my good man, keep your conscience. You have done your duty and there is an end of it. Go back to where you belong."

She pondered awhile longer and then took out her writing-materials. "I'll have this ready when he comes," she said to herself. "In case Aunt Ri is at hand and I do not have a chance to speak to him privately." She wrote the note, addressed the envelope and sealed it with an emphasis which had an air of finality about it, and then she went to bed. What her dreams were she did not tell, but no doubt Queen Mab galloped through her brain.

Prompt to the minute, Mr. Jeffreys arrived. Miss Ri and Linda, hurrying back from a call, found him there, and as fate would have it Miss Ri sat down for a chat. She would like to have the gossip of the town from Mr. Jeffreys. How was Parthy and how were the dogs, and what was going on? Had he seen Berk? and all the rest of it. The young man, whatever may have been his impatience, answered quietly and politely, giving at length certain little details which he knew would interest Miss Ri, and for this he deserved more credit than he received.

After half an hour he asked if Linda would take a walk with him, but Miss Ri objected, saying that Linda was tired and that she was going out to dinner and must not be late, which hint started the young man off, though not before he had given the girl a deprecating, inquiring look. She responded by handing him the little note she had written the night before.

"Here is what you asked me for," she said, the color rising to her cheeks and a little regret to her heart when she realized that she was dealing him a blow.

He looked at her searchingly, but she dropped her eyes, and he was obliged to go without receiving a spark of satisfaction.

As girls will be, in such cases, Linda was a little hard on the man whom she had just refused. She gave him less credit than he deserved, for he was honestly and fervently in love with her, though having lived in an atmosphere of repression, and where it was considered almost a crime to show a redundance of affection, he had betrayed little of what he really felt, but it is a comment upon his eagerness to state that he wasted no time in finding out the contents of the note she gave him. It was brief, but to the point, and was enough to send the young man back to Sandbridge on the evening boat which he had barely time to catch. He felt rather badly treated, for in her sweet sympathetic manner he had read a deeper concern than existed. Now he realized that it was nothing more than she would show anyone thrown upon her generosity, or at the most, presenting a claim to kinship of blood. He credited her with magnanimity in yielding up Talbot's Angles without showing resentment, and he valued her invariable attention to his confidences, as he reported the various ups and downs of his affairs, but in his heart of hearts he charged her with a little coquetry, failing to understand her spontaneous sympathy as a man of her own locality would have done.

He had the wisdom to believe that her decision was final, yet he lingered in Sandbridge till her return, giving himself up to brooding over his troubles more pessimistically, if less passionately than a more impulsive man would have done, and his cheerful little remarks to Miss Parthy, clipped off with the usual polite intonation, gave her no evidence that he was most unhappy.