Signing the Contract and What it Cost

As it was, these two began to reap a bountiful harvest of each.

Espy slackened his attentions, absented himself frequently, and when he returned to her side, Ethel’s manner was constrained and cold.

The girl poured her griefs, anxieties, and perplexities into no mortal ear. She would as soon have thought of telling them to a child as to Madame Le Conte; and so, feeling the need of a sympathizing friend and counsellor, she took to longing and looking for her mother more earnestly and constantly than she had since the return of her betrothed.

“Other girls have their mothers to go to,” she would sigh to herself. “Ah, that I had mine!”

Espy was not now always by her side, and on those days when she found herself alone at the Exposition she would go to Memorial Hall, and if able to make her way through the crowd to the place where his paintings hung, would stand and gaze, through gathering tears, upon Mrs. Kemper’s portrait.

Espy came upon her there one day, approaching her unperceived, and as he noted the sadness of her countenance, the pallor of her cheek, and saw her hastily brush away a tear, his heart smote him.

He pushed his way to her side, and putting his lips to her ear,

“Floy, darling!” he whispered, “come with me; take my arm, and let me help you out of this suffocating atmosphere.”

She made no reply, but suffered him to draw her hand within his arm and lead her away.

Neither spoke until they were clear of the crowd and had reached a shaded walk, where they might converse without fear of being overheard.

Then turning resolutely to him,

“Espy,” she said, “I cannot bear this any longer. What is wrong? what is it that has come between us?”

“Why,” he said, coloring and looking down with a mortified air, “what have I done that you should ask me that, Floy? I have found no fault with you, as indeed,” he added quickly, “I have had no reason to do.”

“No, you have not found fault, but a change has come over you,” she answered sadly, “and it would be kinder, far kinder to be frank with me. Why should you not be?”

“Because you have not been so with me,” he retorted half angrily.

“I have not? Espy, you must explain; I insist upon it.” And she looked so pained that his heart smote him.

“Forgive me, Floy, darling!” he exclaimed. “I am a brute to hurt you so! But why did you leave me to learn of your changed circumstances from others? Did you fear that I would covet your wealth? that I would love it instead of you?”

“Oh, Espy! as if I could have so base a thought in connection with you!” she cried reproachfully.

“But why not tell me?” he said, coloring deeply.

“Because I saw what delight you took in the thought that you were winning the means to make a home for me, and I would not deprive you of that till I must; and because I was determined that no one should say you sought me for my money.”

He was deeply ashamed of his suspicions, and said so frankly, begging her pardon.

“We will exchange forgiveness,” she whispered, flashing a look upon him that thrilled him to his heart’s core. “I was wrong too. Henceforth let us have not the slightest concealment from each other.”

“Agreed!” he said, tenderly pressing the hand he held, and gazing with all a lover’s ardent admiration into the dear face at his side, while his heart bounded with hope and happiness.

And she? – ah, in the fulness of her content and joy even her long-lost, long-sought mother was for the moment forgotten.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

“FOUND! FOUND! FOUND!”

“Yes, they’re splendid! they’re gorgeous! superior to the best: they must be! But what is it Shakespeare says?

“‘How vain the ardour of the crowd,
How low, how little are – ’”

“Oh, that’s Grey, mother! But never mind! Come – Floy!” as a lady in front of them turned suddenly round.

“Hetty! you here? and your mother too?” cried Ethel, who had been made aware of their unexpected vicinity by the sound of the words and voices so familiar to her ear two years ago.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Goodenough, “we were just looking at those splendid jewels from New York.”

“We have just come to the city,” said Hetty; “arrived last night; and oh, I am so glad to have met you! for I have something to tell you.”

The eager, animated look and tone said that it was something of importance, and Ethel’s heart gave a wild bound. Was it news that would aid her in her quest?

She drew out her watch. “One o’clock: a good hour for lunch. Come with me to Public Comfort. You must be my guests.”

“Thank you!” and they went with her.

“Are you here alone?” asked Mrs. Goodenough as they crossed the avenue.

“I have often come alone,” returned Ethel, smiling. “A friend was with me this morning; left me half an hour ago, and will meet me half an hour hence at Public Comfort.”

“A very particular friend,” thought Hetty to herself, noticing the light in Ethel’s eye, the deepening of the color on her cheek, as she mentioned him.

She had heard of Espy, knew something of what had been the state of affairs between the lovers.

“My dear, has he come back?” she asked in a delighted whisper.

Ethel’s blush and smile were sufficient to assure her that such was the case, and her kindly, affectionate heart was overjoyed.

They were so fortunate as to find an unoccupied corner in the ladies’ parlor at Public Comfort, seated themselves about a table, ordered their lunch, and while waiting for and eating it did a good deal of talking.

Hetty was the chief speaker. She began the instant they were seated:

“We’ve been to the sea-shore, mother and I, and it’s about some people we saw on the train, as we came up to the city, that I want to tell you, Floy. Such a nice-looking family – father, mother, one son, and two daughters. And the strangest thing is that the mother and the oldest girl look very much like you.”

At these words Ethel’s heart beat so fast and loud it seemed to her they all must hear it, and her hand trembled so that she was obliged to set down the cup she was in the act of lifting to her lips.

Hetty saw her agitation, and made haste with her story.

“The girl looked about fifteen. The mother, I should say, might be anywhere between thirty and forty, and very handsome; has the sweetest face! Her husband, a noble-looking man, watched over and waited on her as if it were the greatest pleasure in life to do so – with a sort of pitying tenderness, so it seemed to me. And I saw her give him such a look once, as if she thought he was – well, as mother says, ‘superior to the best.’ But when she was not speaking or listening to him there would come a far-off look into her eyes, an expression as if she had known some great sorrow, some life-long trial that she had schooled herself to bear with patient resignation.”

“Dear me, Hetty, how much you see that common folks like me would never think of!” put in her mother admiringly as the girl paused for breath.

Ethel, contrary to her usual good manners, made an impatient movement, and Hetty hastily resumed her narrative.