Kitabı oku: «The Inner Flame», sayfa 16

"I wonder if I could see Eliza," said Phil in his natural voice.

"Yes, I think she's in her room," returned Mrs. Wright. "I'll go and see."

She disappeared, and Phil's eyes roved to the boulder cottage and fixed there. A smile touched the corners of his lips. He had not meant to carry prohibition too far with Eliza. It was genuine desire to save her trouble as well as the wish to surprise her after her vehement opposition to his scheme, which had made him warn her away. Now he was eager to make it right with her.

"I remember now," said Mrs. Wright, returning; "Eliza went down the hill this afternoon. I don't know just when she'll come back; but won't you sit down and wait for her?"

"Thank you, I don't believe I will. I'll come back later. I've been a runaway guest all this week," and with a smile of farewell, an eager look grew in Phil's eyes as he started to run across the field toward home.

In all his arrangements, each time he had gained an effect he had thought of Kathleen's amusement and appreciation.

As soon as he found that Eliza was out of the question, his eagerness burst forth to get the girls' point of view. He met Violet Manning returning from the woods escorted by Edgar.

"I open the studio to-morrow," he cried gaily. "Will you come to my tea at three-thirty?"

"Will we!" exclaimed Violet. "We couldn't have lasted much longer! I'm glad you let us see it 'before' so we can fully appreciate it 'after.'"

Violet was looking pretty and very happy. Phil considered for one moment whether he should ask her to pour. Even yet he felt that Kathleen lived in a remote rarefied air of elegance. Would one dare ask her to dispense tea in a chicken-house? But he wisely kept silence. Aunt Isabel might yet enter into what she continued to term his foolishness.

With a wave of his hand, he fled on his way, and found Kathleen, flushed from her walk, carrying mosses to the table in the wind-break.

"I've finished," he cried, vaulting over the railing and appearing beside her. "Want to see it?"

She looked up into his expectant eyes.

"Are we invited?" she returned.

"To-morrow, everybody is; but I thought I'd like you to see it right now – if you aren't too tired."

"A private view!" she exclaimed. "Who was ever too tired for that? But I'm of the earth so earthy, I shall have to go in and wash my hands."

"No, no, don't," replied Phil softly. "You'd meet Aunt Isabel, and this is to be clandestine. Wipe your hands on this," – he pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket, – "and come."

Kathleen laughed and brushing her fingers free of traces of the treasured moss, she wiped them and they started across the field.

"Here's hoping Violet and Edgar don't see us," said Phil, and took the path he had trodden so often straight to the hen-house, and which did not pass very near the Wrights.

As they approached, Kathleen looked curiously at the little cottage with its sloping red roof, nestling close to the ground on the breast of the hill and sheltered by the tall Balm-of-Gilead trees. Their rustling leaves held always a murmur as of rain and to-day fleecy white clouds piled against the blue sky behind the cottage.

As they drew near, Kathleen stopped and clasped her hands, and laughter bubbled from her lips.

"That's clever!" she exclaimed heartily, and Phil's eyes danced as she met them.

A swinging sign had been hung above the low door. Upon it strutted a splendid cock and above his proudly lifted comb appeared the legend: —

Villa Chantecler

Phil threw open the low door with a sweeping bow; and Kathleen paused on the threshold with a low cry of surprise; then stepped into the cool, dusky interior.

She found herself in a low-ceiled room with small-paned windows set high. A golden radiance streamed through, falling on the soft tone of floor and walls.

On a table draped with dull green a tall candlestick and ivory-tinted plate reflected gleams of light.

Kathleen sank on the cushions of a long, low divan.

"You can paint Rembrandt portraits in here!" she said. "Don't explain how you've done it. I don't want to know. It is the most restful, delightful studio I've ever seen – and smelling of ambergris?"

"No, only of bay leaves."

Phil waited and let her look at the hangings, the cushioned chairs, and spindle legs of the quaint table.

"You like it," he said after a pause of deep satisfaction.

She looked up at him. "I am making genuflexions to you in my mind."

He laughed. "But the best is yet to come. Sit where you are."

He moved to the back of the room and opened a door toward the ocean. It was as if a brilliant panel had suddenly been set in the dark wall.

Kathleen sprang to her feet.

"Like enamel!" she said softly, and approached the opening.

It led upon a terrace with a white railing. Tall white pillars at either end were crowned with dark-green bay.

"Is it a stage-setting," she said, "or is it practicable?"

"Come out and see."

Together they moved outside and the wind came up out of the sea across the sleeping field and swept their faces and set the young leaves of the orchard to whispering with sweet fresh lips to their gnarled stems.

Kathleen looked up at her companion, smiled and shook her head.

"You have added poetry to our island," she said. "I didn't think any one could do that."

Phil met her gaze.

"And you," he said, "have put the finishing touch to my satisfaction."

CHAPTER XXIII
PHILIP'S LETTER

Dearest Mother: – You remember I told you I had found a pig's ear and was going to make a silk purse out of it despite the scepticism of the neighborhood. Behold the purse! I call it the Villa Chantecler. It has taken me the whole week, but the result – well, Kathleen says I have added poetry to the island, and I suspect she is authority on poetry, although that too is hidden in one of the locked rooms I've told you about. She gives just enough of herself to each person to fit every occasion; but the way she took the first view of the Villa yesterday was like everything else she does; perfection. I didn't know I was going to write that. I didn't know I thought it. That's the beauty of having some one to whom you can think aloud. You find out what you do think; but she and I touch only on the high places and when we leave the island we shall fly apart for the whole winter again; with pleasant memories, however. She has a positive talent for letting people alone. I love such people!

Now, to tell you how I did my little trick. I could never have done it but for New England tenacity and thrift. They never throw anything away in this part of the world; and even importations like Aunt Isabel collect some lumber-room outcasts rather than injure the scenery by throwing them over the bank.

Jane Foster, adorable landlady and Lady Bountiful that she is, turned me loose in her attic, and told me to help myself. So, first of all, I made the hen-house shine with cleanliness. Then Cap'n James helped me drag up its dejected piazza which had capsized in the neighboring field. We nailed it to the house and painted it white.

Aunt Isabel had discarded a Crex rug, which I took for my studio, also a three-legged divan and chairs whose cane seats had surrendered. These I mended and cushioned. In Miss Foster's attic, I found what I should think were all the potato sacks that had ever been used in the Foster family. These made my hangings and cushions, although the poverty they implied nearly reduced Jane to tears. She implored me to use turkey red and found enough in the attic to begin on. The stuff smelled so new, I'm nearly certain the dear woman bought it and placed it there.

I found an old spinet under the eaves. Its voice had long departed; but its charming legs and framework were intact. I placed some boards across that and used my green bathrobe for a cover. I took a straight length of pipe, fixed it into a wooden stand, topped it with a spool, bronzed the whole thing, and behold, a stunning candlestick in which stands a tall wax candle.

Among the refuse I had carried out of the place, I had found charming old plates, heavy as lead, crackled with age, and cream and gray in color. These I disposed variously, and I am perfectly sure Cap'n James and Jane Foster have laid their heads together in order to condole over the fact that so pleasant a young man should have so gloomy and unpicturesque a taste when he expects to get his living by that same lame faculty. In fact, Cap'n James unburdened his mind one day. He said: —

"Ain't you goin' to have anything cheerful 'round here? It looks to me more fit for hens than it does for folks right now."

Under the house I found lengths of drain-pipe. These I used on my terrace at the back of the Villa, overlooking the sea. When I had placed these pillars at each end of the railing and crowned them with the polished bay that grows luxuriantly here, I had a quite Italian effect, I assure you.

Jane looks at me with pitiful eyes, and yesterday came down to the Villa with a framed chromo from her parlor wall.

"I just as lieves you'd use it as not," she said, "and anyway you might put it up till the folks have seen the place. Your own paintin's can go up later." I almost kissed her, she pitied me so, and I could see that she agreed with Cap'n James, who said the place gave him the "Injun blues."

There is a rough stairway that leads to the half-floored room above. I took a drain-pipe to make a newel post for that. It is surmounted with a bronze Mercury on a pedestal. The pedestal is a small, rusty tin wash-basin that I found under the house. I covered it with varnish and rolled it in sand, inverted it, and behold! I also gave an appearance of advanced age to the Mercury; so the general appearance is as of a treasure from Pompeii.

If only you and father could see and feel the beauty and the heavenly quiet of the place. I have a kitchen, too. The door was a wreck, and I tacked upon it a dark ornate window shade which tones in with all the rest.

Sometimes I feel as if I were only living to see you again. I know it's what I'm working for anyway; and I well know that you are working for me every day of your dear life.

I love you.

Phil.

CHAPTER XXIV
PHILIP ENTERTAINS

Philip still had Eliza on his mind, so when Kathleen had left him, he went back to the farmhouse and had the good fortune to meet Eliza returning home.

"I'm looking for you!" he called cheerfully.

She regarded him unsmiling. "Well," she remarked carelessly, "you look like a gentleman of leisure."

"Just what I am. You guessed right. My Villa is finished and I've been waiting for you because I'm going to let everybody in to-morrow and I wanted you to see it with me alone."

"My opinion ain't worth anything," said Eliza; "besides, it's pretty near time to get supper. Miss Foster went up to Portland to-day."

"I know she did. That's why I'm in a hurry to take you into the studio before the boat arrives. You know how discouraging you were, Eliza, and I wanted to surprise you. I'd have liked to surprise everybody, but, of course, I hadn't the nerve to keep Miss Foster out. The rent I pay didn't warrant it." The speaker twinkled down into Eliza's unresponsive eyes. "I'm going to give a tea to-morrow and I want to talk it over with you."

They had strolled near to the rustic bench where Mrs. Wright was still sitting with her work.

"Eliza is going with me to have a private view of the Villa," said Phil. "Your turn to-morrow. I'm going to give a tea. Will you come?"

"Most assuredly," answered Mrs. Wright. "As soon as you cleaned those windows, my curiosity began to effervesce."

"I can't go now," said Eliza. "I've waited this long, I guess I can wait till to-morrow. I've got to get supper."

Philip threw an arm around her and drew her forward.

"Boarders have come, Mr. Philip," she exclaimed. "They'll see you."

"I hope they will," he responded firmly. "If they don't know I love you, it's the best way to tell them."

Eliza walked along stiffly, perforce, toward the forbidden ground.

"Yes, I thought I'd make a grand splurge to-morrow, and give a tea," he continued. "I want you to preside."

"Do what?"

"Pour. I want you to pour for me."

"H'm. Ridiculous! Let one of the girls do it."

"Well, just as you say. Now, then," they were drawing near the little house, "prepare! Be a good sport now, and own yourself wrong if you think you are. See my shingle?"

Eliza's eyes followed his gesture and caught sight of the crowing cock.

"H'm," she said; then they went inside.

Eliza looked about in silence for a minute.

"It's clean," she said at last; and Phil knew she was moved to catch at a word of praise as one says of a neighbor's plain and uninteresting baby, "How healthy he looks!"

He began explaining his devices to Eliza and her heart was touched by his joy in all this cheap gloom.

By the time he opened the back door, she was ready to weep over him; and she said: —

"That's a real sightly piazza."

Then they moved into the little kitchen.

"I've been waiting for you to tell me what to do here," said the artist, and Eliza rose to the bait and began pulling things about and showing him where shelves must be placed.

"How are you goin' to give a tea," she asked, "with one broken mug?"

"Borrow cups and saucers from Aunt Isabel. That's easy; but," he looked down at Eliza, whose face had regained its usual alertness, "it occurred to me that perhaps I have some of my own – those that you packed for me and that ran away to the island."

"Mr. Philip, I'm a fool to forget those!" responded the other, after gazing at him in silence. "You shall have every one of 'em. They're all mixed in with the Foster things. I'll pick 'em out; and we'll lend you all you need beside."

"Would it interfere with supper proceedings if we were to do it right now?"

"Law! it ain't time to get supper yet," responded Eliza, so promptly that, as they hurried out of the door, Phil stooped to break a long blade of grass to bite.

A vigorous search was at once instituted for the china, and Phil and Eliza carried it down to the studio; and as they went, Mr. Wright came up from the water and joined his wife.

"We're to be let in to-morrow," she said. "He has finished."

"Well, it's been a job," remarked Mr. Wright, who had occasionally sat on a log and watched Phil at his roof-mending or some other strenuous part of the work.

"Yes, he ought to succeed," said Mrs. Wright. "He hasn't a lazy bone in his body."

"There aren't many of us that have at his age," remarked Mr. Wright. "Are there, Pluto?"

The cat had run to meet him like a dog. For him the scent of Mr. Wright's fishing trousers was as the perfume of Araby; and he followed him to the room in the shed where his friend changed them for habiliments more generally agreeable.

At last Phil returned to the boulder cottage where he found Mrs. Fabian and Kathleen in the wind-break. The latter was working at the table, sorting the moss specimens for her slides.

She looked up at him now with a new realization of his powers.

"Well, you said this morning to-day would finish the work," said Mrs. Fabian, closing her novel on her finger for a mark. "Are you through?"

"As nearly as I ever shall be," he replied, throwing himself into a chair near Kathleen's table and regarding her deft fingers at their work.

"Well, I'm glad," said Mrs. Fabian, "for we've seen nothing of you. I like the way you visit us."

He looked at her quickly to see if there were feeling behind the accusation.

"Now, you'll have to stay on a week when you are not so preoccupied."

"Not if he doesn't wish to, mother," said Kathleen, going on with her work. Her cheeks were still flushed from the warm tramp to the woods; the red glints in her hair shone lustrous.

"It does look like making use of you, doesn't it?" he said impetuously. "But you're so good to me, both of you. To-morrow you'll forgive me, Aunt Isabel, when you see I have a place to work and trouble no one. I do hope it won't rain."

"Oh, no," said Kathleen, handling a tiny bit of moss. "The moon holds the weather."

Mrs. Fabian laughed. "Kathleen, the astronomer," she said.

The girl nodded. "It may not be a scientific way to put it, but I've always noticed it here. It will be full to-morrow night. The weather won't change till the moon does."

"Delightfully consoling," said Phil, continuing to watch her averted face. It seemed to him this was the first time since Christmas night that his mind had been sufficiently at leisure from itself to concentrate upon her. He suddenly remembered that she used to like cigarettes. He had not yet seen her use one. Perhaps she was aiding Edgar in the stern limit which he was imposing upon himself.

"I wonder," he said, "if either of you would pour for me at my grand tea to-morrow."

Kathleen did not look up, but her cheeks grew warmer while she manipulated the moss.

"Oh, a tea in the chicken-house," laughed Mrs. Fabian.

The light jeering tone struck Kathleen as coming at a particularly unfortunate moment.

"I will. Be glad to," she said heartily.

"Whom are you going to invite? The fish?" laughed Mrs. Fabian.

Phil's naïveté was dashed by her tone. Kathleen felt it.

"Mother's jealous, Phil," she said, "because she has seen so little of you all the week. She is at fever heat of curiosity as to what you have been doing; and as for tea! Mother's an inebriate. She won't leave any for the fish. You'll see."

Phil looked at the speaker gratefully, and leaned toward her a little. "I have the right barrel at last," he said. "The one that ran away to the island. Do you remember?"

His eyes were so very speaking that Kathleen dropped hers to the moss. She nodded and smiled.

"It knew where it ought to go, didn't it?" she returned.

Mrs. Fabian's countenance had sobered. She knew the descendant of the Van Ruyslers so well that she understood that she had offended.

"Can't one make a bit of fun once in a while?" she asked in injured tones of Kathleen when next they were alone.

"Yes, once in a while," answered the girl, and kissed her.

"It'll be something funny for you to look back upon when you come out, Kathleen, that your first function after graduating took place in a chicken-house."

"I hope I shall not be homesick for it," thought the girl; but she only smiled.

"Kathleen is certainly touchy about Phil," mused Mrs. Fabian. "She glared up at me just the way she did last fall when I wanted to get Aunt Mary's silver. She is the queerest girl!"

The moon or something else did hold the weather and the artist could have had no better day on which to give his proof that where there's a will there's a way.

The company swarmed through the little house, laughing, admiring, questioning. At last they stood on the terrace.

"My dear boy!" exclaimed Mrs. Wright. "You could have no better view if you were a millionaire!"

"The only thing lacking," cried Violet, "is a white peacock. Where is the white peacock?"

"How about it, Edgar?" asked Phil. "Couldn't you stand out there for the lady?"

"The nightingale could never deceive us," said Mrs. Wright, bending her universally loving gaze on Edgar, whose chin was held rather higher than usual.

"That's so," cried Phil. "Sing us something, Edgar, right here and now."

"Certainly," responded the gifted one, regarding his host as he launched easily into song: —

 
"'I'm looking for a lobster and I think you'll do.'"
 

Mrs. Fabian did not join in the laugh. She had moved inside, and her lorgnette was fixed on a closed door.

"I must see in there, Phil," she said.

"Of course, you must, Mrs. Bluebeard," he replied. "You may all go in this once, but it's the last time ever, I warn you, for that is my kitchen."

They swarmed through to the little room, where Edgar perceived with a groan an oil-stove burning cosily in the midst of canvas, paints, easel, et cetera.

"I'll never go in again, I promise you," he declared.

At the host's invitation, the company arranged themselves on the rejuvenated chairs and couch, and Kathleen made tea at the spindle-legged table.

Mrs. Fabian's lorgnette was bent upon the newel post.

"However did you make him stand up, dear?" she asked, regarding the Mercury which had winged his way from her garret. "We haven't been upstairs yet, remember."

"And you won't go till you're tired of life," returned the host. "It abounds in trapdoors and, aside from my affection for you, the furniture down here couldn't stand being fallen on."

Being turned ceilingward, Mrs. Fabian's lorgnette discovered that branches of bay had been woven through the rafters in some places. She shrugged her shoulders.

"You'll get rained on in this dilapidated old place," she said. "A few bay leaves can't deceive me."

"Madam! Are you aware that you are talking about the Villa Chantecler? That roof is as tight as a drum."

Mrs. Fabian stirred the lemon in her substantially thick cup; and looked admiringly at the energetic host.

"I only hope, Phil," she sighed, "that you aren't too practical to succeed in your profession. So few artists would know how to mend a roof or even remember the necessity for it. I hope it isn't a bad sign."

Edgar, sitting with Violet on the railing, drinking tea, heard his mother's comment.

"A good deal in that, I think," he remarked softly. "I've never seen any of Phil's things except that rough black-and-white stuff he has in there. He never seemed to me to have a particle of temperament."

Violet was inclined to agree. She had seen nothing amusing in Philip's chaff about the peacock. She thought it quite as silly as were the other comments on the robin.

"I wish you would sing something," she said. "Do, and surprise them."

"I can't. I haven't even a banjo."

"I've noticed you have everything over at the house: banjo, guitar, mandolin, everything. You must leave one of them over here. Music would sound perfectly charming in this place."

"Any music?" asked Edgar, smiling.

She returned his look from the tops of her eyes. "Bold fisherman," she replied.

Her companion scanned the horizon: "The moon is going to be great to-night. It looks as if it would rise clear out of the water. Want to go for a sail?"

"I don't believe I can," replied Violet. "I have an engagement."

"An engagement!" returned Edgar, sceptically. "Are you going to read aloud to your aunt?"

Violet smiled at him provokingly. "You're not the only man on this island," she remarked.

A quick flush mounted to Edgar's forehead.

"Phil?" he asked quickly.

She nodded, mutely, and took the last swallow of her tea.

Her companion looked as if he might be in the throes of the red mood.

"That's beastly," he said, dismayed to think that in all Phil's preoccupation he had had sufficient forethought to secure Violet for this perfect evening. "Since when?" he demanded fiercely.

"Since yesterday," she returned demurely, apparently unconscious that the arrangement caused annoyance.

"Very well, then, we'll take the yacht," he said, "and let the crowd go. Phil can help me sail her. I was intending to take the motor-boat and you alone."

"I don't know whether Mr. Sidney would care to," she returned coolly, "but it's very kind of you."

Edgar regarded her, baffled. "What – what had you planned to do?" he asked. He knew the question was inexcusable and braced himself for a snub; but the sweet Violet, exultant at his open disturbance, administered none.

"Nothing special," she replied. "Mr. Sidney is invited to dine with us, in celebration of the completion of the improvements he has been making on the estate. That's all."

"Oh, absurd!" declared Edgar. "As if you couldn't dine any foggy night. Well, you don't need to stay after dinner. He isn't your guest."

Violet regarded him with an ironical smile.

"I've been taught manners," she said. "Beside, perhaps I want to stay. Didn't that occur to you?"

Edgar scowled and looked off on the ocean and back again. "I don't want to take the whole family out in order to get you," he said, fuming.

"I wouldn't," she answered, laughing. "It isn't worth the trouble."

Her companion clenched his even teeth. He didn't want to risk Philip's meandering about the island alone with Violet on such an evening as this was going to be. He would be sure to talk of his work and his hopes, and her confoundedly soulful eyes would look back at him comprehendingly, and a precedent would be established and —

"You see, Mr. Sidney expects to take all his dinners with us after he begins working here," went on Violet sweetly. "It will be so convenient just to run across."

Edgar gave her a furious glance, but the simplicity of her regard was complete.

Mrs. Wright came to the open door. "We're going now, Violet," she said. "Will you come? Our host positively refuses to allow us to help him put things away, and he will follow a little later. I've been hoping," turning to Edgar, "that you might be moved to sing as you sat out here."

The young man had sprung to his feet and was trying to banish evidences of the red mood from his brow.

"I wanted to take Violet out on the water to-night," he said. "It seems there's an obstacle."

"Yes, a large one," returned Mrs. Wright pleasantly. "Lots of evenings coming, but I don't know about letting my little girl go on the water at night."

"I guarantee her safety. I've come here ever since I was a baby, Mrs. Wright, and I'm an amphibious animal; but if Sidney should ever suggest it, remember he's a landlubber. Half the time they don't know enough to be afraid."

"Very true," returned Mrs. Wright, with her natural graceful sweetness of manner, which at least succeeded in making Edgar feel rude. "Come, dear," turning to Violet, "I'd like to have you come with me."

So the girl rose and yielded her cup to Edgar, who took it with dignity. He, the ex-cavalier of Mrs. Larrabee, not to be able to mould circumstances among these poor and provincial people!

He took leave of Philip, and tendered his congratulations with an air fitted to grace marble halls. "I believe," he added, "you don't dine at home to-night."

"No," replied Phil, "Miss Foster is very kindly entertaining her tenant."

Edgar pricked up his ears; and instantly ran after Violet. "Phil says Jane Foster invited him," he said vehemently. "I shall call for you by eight o'clock. I'll take the best care of her, Mrs. Wright. I assure you I will, and bring her in early."

He was off before he could be gainsaid, and Mrs. Wright noticed that Violet's expression was such as might be worn by a well-grown kitten who had been hilariously entertained in a game with a mouse which was as yet unfinished and highly promising.

The events of the week had thrown light on the happiness Violet evinced the day of her arrival under Edgar Fabian's escort. Mrs. Wright's tenderness for her orphan niece was alertly watchful. She put an arm around her now and drew her away from the house, and they walked slowly across the grass.

"It really is perfectly safe to go on the water with Edgar," said the girl, half laughing.

"For me, it might be," returned Mrs. Wright quietly.

Violet blushed deeply, and dreaded what might be coming.

"The Fabians are nice people," went on her aunt, "very rich people and able to give you pleasures, and I like you to be friendly with them; but I'm a little afraid of this situation."

"You needn't be," burst forth the girl impulsively. "Edgar doesn't really care much about me."

"That's the trouble," said Mrs. Wright quietly.

The reply was so unexpected that Violet felt a sharp twinge of mortification and a spontaneous desire to show her aunt that she was wrong. There were lots of small proofs that she might give her —

"No," she returned, suddenly serious. "He cares very much for me in a certain way: my understanding of his gift – and his hopes – and his career. His family mean to be kind, but they're so unsympathetic. They're not temperamental like him and – "

Violet paused because Aunt Amy was smiling. It was unkind to smile at such a time. Very well! Her lips should be sealed from this time on. She would never again speak to her about Edgar!

"He is very attractive even with all his conceit," said Mrs. Wright, who was quite conscious that the girl's slender body had suddenly a resentful rigidity. "A beautiful tenor voice and conceit seem to be inseparable in this mundane sphere; and if my little girl has understood and responded to his outpourings about himself she is charming to him." Mrs. Wright paused and then went on: "Look around, Violet, and realize that you are the only girl here to whom he can show attention. Did he show you any in New York? Did he go out of his way for you? You fell right into his reach on the train and he took the gifts the gods provided; and they were very sweet gifts."

The speaker squeezed her unresponsive listener, whose heart was beating hotly. "As a rule men are marauders," she went on. "As a rule, women are single-hearted, faithful. There are exceptions. I want to give you one piece of advice and I can't put it too strongly. Take it in and act upon it, and it may save you a world of hurt vanity, and possibly a broken heart. No matter how a man behaves toward you, – no matter how he looks, or what he does, – or what he says, – don't believe or even imagine that he loves you until he tells you he does, in so many words."

There were tears in the baby-bachelor's blue eyes. Among the stormy emotions that filled her was the horrible suspicion that, instead of being a foreordained victor, the kitten might possibly in the end be the mouse's victim.

"Now, Mr. Sidney," went on Mrs. Wright's calm voice, "is a man who I believe has hold of life by the right end."

"He is always making fun of Edgar," burst forth Violet, her breath coming fast. "You heard what he said about the peacock."

At this, Mrs. Wright fell a peg lower in her niece's estimation, for she laughed.

"I knew what he meant," she answered, "but I couldn't let the lovely singer's feelings be hurt."

"Knew what he meant!" exclaimed Violet, indignantly, and suddenly breaking away from her aunt's embrace, she ran toward the house and disappeared.

Mrs. Wright followed the fleeing form with her eyes, and nodded gently.

"I thought so. Only just in time," she said to herself. The seed was dropped, and even though the ground did have to be harrowed to get the necessary depth, it was better so.