Talbot's Angles

"Just that. Do you think you're the only man who can do a brave thing? Do you suppose you can flaunt your heroics without making me feel that I am a small specimen who has no right to be smirking around as a complacent recipient of others' property? I will not have it. I am as capable as you of making sacrifices. I will not be outdone by you."

"Please explain yourself." Berkley spoke quietly, eyeing the other man's tense face.

"I mean this: I wish Miss Talbot to retain her property. I have taken your advice, but, as I told you before, it was not worth while. Not even for the sake of having her own again would she take me with the property."

"You wouldn't expect one of her caliber to do it for the sake of that only," said Berkley a little proudly. Then more gently, "I am no end of sorry. Believe me or not, I had hoped for a better report from you."

"Is that honestly said?"

"It is."

The man's face softened. "I believe you, Matthews. If ever a man has shown himself loyal, you are he. I see it all, and I bow to the inevitable. I never have had much of what I wanted in this world, and I suppose I shall never have. As yet I cannot be as generous as you, but some day I hope to reach your heights. I have the promise of a good future before me, and I can do without Cyrus Talbot's inheritance. What I came to say I have said. Stop proceedings. I relinquish all claim to Talbot's Angles."

What could Berkley answer? He realized that these were sorry days for Jeffreys, and the least said now the better. "Very well," he agreed; "it shall be as you wish. I consider it most generous of you. Of course nothing of any account has been done, and we will drop the whole thing for the present. Perhaps you will wish to reconsider it some day. If you do, I am at your service. Shall I hand you back your papers?"

"No. Throw them into the fire. I don't care what you do with them. I shall never want them."

He rose to go. Berkley followed him to the street where they parted, the one to return to his room, the other to his office where he tied up the papers and thrust them into his desk. That was done. What a storm of feeling those yellow sheets had raised, and now – "Poor devil," said Berkley to himself. "It was pretty hard lines and he has shown himself of good stuff. Confound it all, why did it have to happen so? At least I must have the delicacy to keep out of the way while the man is in town." The color rushed to his face, but receded almost as quickly. "I'm a conceited ass," he cried inwardly. "If she couldn't care for such a man as Jeffreys why should I expect her to care for me? Go to, Berkley Matthews. Crawl down from your pinnacle, and don't lay any such flattering unction to your soul." He set to work at one of his briefs, determined not to encourage himself in any illusions.

CHAPTER XX

"THE SPRING HAS COME"

During the remainder of Mr. Jeffreys' stay in the town Berkley religiously kept away from Miss Ri's brown house on the point, and even carried his determination so far that once seeing Linda in the distance as he was coming out of his office he bolted back again and waited till she was well out of sight before he came out. "What did I do that for?" he said to himself, smiling a little. He did not see Mr. Jeffreys again until one afternoon a week later when he came into the office.

"I am going around making my farewell calls, Matthews," he said. "I take the boat for Baltimore this evening. My unfortunate old trunk and I will soon be out of your way. Again let me thank you for all your kindness."

"I'm sorry to see you go," replied Berkley, "but I hope you will carry away some pleasant memories of our old 'eastern shore.'"

"I shall carry away many. I can never forget the hospitality and kindness shown me here."

"And about those papers; if ever you want to renew the case I am ready to help you, remember." He held out his hand.

"That matter is disposed of," returned Jeffreys with a little frown. "We will dispense with the subject if you please. I am going to Miss Talbot from here, and shall tell her that she need fear no more interference from me. To-day our paths separate. Have you seen her, Matthews?" he asked after a slight pause.

"No, I have not." Berkley looked straight into the other's eyes.

Jeffreys gave the hand he held a closer grip. "You are a good friend, Matthews. Let me echo your offer; if there is anything I can ever do for you, command me. Good-by."

Berkley laid his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Thank you, Jeffreys. I will remember. Good luck to you and good-by."

So they parted and the boat slipping through the darkness over the quiet waters of the river that night, bore away him whose coming and going both seemed made under unpropitious stars.

It was a warm afternoon in February, one of those days when Spring seems close at hand by reason of a bluebird's early note, and the appearance of some venturesome crocus in the grass. February brings such days in this part of Maryland. The morning's mail had given Linda the happiness of receiving a magazine in which were some of her verses, accepted and paid for. This step, which carried her beyond the satisfaction of seeing herself in print, merely by compliment, was one which well agreed with the springlike day. She was sitting at the piano joyously singing:

"The spring has come, the flowers in bloom
The happy birds – "

She broke off suddenly, for in through the window open to the floor came Berkley.

"Don't stop," he begged. "I love to hear you."

They stood smiling at one another, before either spoke again, then Linda turned back to the piano to finish the song while Berkley leaned above her to watch her slim fingers moving over the keys. "It just suits the day, doesn't it?" she said when she had finished. "Did you see that there was a crocus by the side of the walk? And this morning I heard a bluebird."

"And that is what makes you look so happy?"

"Not altogether. Sit down over there by the little window, and if you will be very good I will show you something."

He obediently took the place assigned him, where the window seat ran along the small raised platform, and Linda produced the magazine. "There," she said, opening to a certain page. "And it is paid for," she added triumphantly.

Berkley read the lines through. "You have climbed into fame, haven't you?" he said. "Are you feeling very high and mighty? Would you like me to sit on the floor at your feet. It would be very easy on this platform."

She laughed. It was good to hear the old foolish manner of speech again. "No, I won't insist upon that, though I can't tell what I may require if this continues. Do you like my verses, Berk?"

"Yes, very much. I suppose they are really better than these. He took from his pocket-book a little clipping, 'The Marching Pines,' but I shall always care more for these. I shall never be quite so fond of any others, perhaps."

"Why?"

Berkley did not answer, but instead asked, "Did Jeffreys tell you of his determination not to follow up his claim?"

"Yes, he told me." Linda looked grave.

"It was generous of him, don't you think?"

A half smile played around Linda's lips. "Yes, I suppose it was. He meant to do me a great kindness and I appreciate it."

"But you could not agree to share it with him. He is a good fellow, Linda, and I am very sorry for him. He was greatly cut up."

"How do you know?"

"He told me."

"That – "

"That he had asked you to marry him? Yes, he told me that. Poor old chap. I grew quite fond of him. Why didn't you, Linda?"

"I don't know. I didn't; that's all; I didn't, though I tried very hard."

"Don't you think he was actually heroic to give up the claim?"

"I am sure he meant to be, but of course you understand that I could not accept such a sacrifice from him and that if the law were to give him a right to Talbot's Angles, I couldn't think of doing anything but giving it up to him."

"But he refuses to allow me to go on. I have the papers and I am to burn them if I choose."

Linda smiled, a little mysterious, exultant smile. "That doesn't alter my point of view."

"And so you refuse to allow him to be a hero."