The Strange Proposal (13 page)

And yet he had not lost Jeff! Jeff was going into business with him as soon as he returned from his wedding trip, and they would see each other every day. Well, he would take both sons into business. He would gradually work Sam in, little by little, whenever he felt the urge for work. And as for that camp the boy disliked, he must see that Clarice didn’t try to press that anymore. The boy was old enough to choose a few things for himself.

“We’ll go to lunch together, Son,” he said to Sam in a low tone, and together they walked out of the office, Sam swelling proudly and holding his shoulders up squarely. His father eyed him proudly, too. He was a well-set-up lad and would be as tall as Jeff when he reached Jeff’s age. He watched the light play across the expressive face of the boy, and a tender mist spread over his eyes. Sam, little Sam, growing up!

For a week Sam stuck close to his father, and his mother almost forgot she had to worry about him. He hung around the office making long lists of names from old files. The lists were unnecessary to the business of Wainwright and Company, though he did not know that. But his father felt they were necessary to the study and development of his youngest son, and the lists went on, each one written a little better than the last and bringing a quiet word of praise to the writer, and Sam was content.

When there was nothing to do Sam fell into the habit of pulling out a little book from his pocket and sitting engrossed in it until there was need of him.

One day his father asked him what he was reading, and Sam said he was learning some scout stuff, and when his father looked over his shoulder, he saw he was studying the third Chapter of John’s Gospel.

“It’s just some stuff we all promised Mr. Saxon we’d learn,” he explained.

When Robert Wainwright went home that night he delved into the bookcase and finally brought out a rusty little old Bible in very fine print and, retiring to his own private room, read the third Chapter of John’s Gospel through carefully.

“It’s extraordinary!” he said aloud to himself as he closed the book. “Something’s got hold of that boy. I wonder if it’s the same thing that struck Jeff? That Saxon must be unusual.”

T
he mail that brought John Saxon’s letter to Mary Elizabeth arrived at eleven o’clock, but Boothby Farwell arrived at ten. The matter of the returned diamond had not deterred him in the least from his purpose of taking Miss Wainwright out to see the estate he wanted to buy. The fact that she had declined he did not take into consideration.

When he was announced, Mary Elizabeth paused, turned from her mirror where she was putting on her hat, and looked dismayed. Then a determined look came into her eyes.

“Tell him I am dressing for an engagement and I can spare him only a moment, but I will be down as soon as possible,” she said to the maid. Then she turned about and faced herself in the mirror again.

Since she had wakened very early that morning, she had been trying to convince herself that she was done with the incident of the wedding night. She would probably see no more nor hear no more of the strange, ardent pursuer whose impetuous courting had so swept her off her feet, and the accounts of whom since had been so intriguing. She must get him out of her mind, and to that end she must fill her mind full of something else absorbing. But a firm conviction had been growing that Boothby Farwell was not what she wished to fill her mind with.

She had hoped that the return of the ring and the accompanying note would have kept him away. Failing in this, she had hoped to get away before he could possibly arrive, but details of the household had delayed her, and now that he was come she had too frank and honest a nature to slip down the back stairs and leave word that she was gone. She must go down and face him.

Since she had to go down, it would have been so much easier to have gone with her mind filled with the thought of another man. But having convinced herself that there was no other man for her, she must be consistent. So she faced herself in the mirror for a moment, made a little wry face at herself, then hurriedly hunted out her gloves and purse and went downstairs.

She entered the room where her would-be fiancé waited and endeavored to take the initiative in the situation, to get the upper hand from the start.

“Good morning!” she said breezily. “I’m sorry to have to disappoint you. You got my note in time to save your coming, didn’t you? Thomas said he delivered it.”

“I did,” he said, stiffly rising and standing before her with a judicial air, “but of course I couldn’t accept any such decision as that, and I came at once. I feel that you do not understand the gravity of the situation. You are no longer a child, to play fast and loose in this way. Of course I know you did not mean that sweeping declaration, and I came at once. I feel I have a right to demand that you put aside all other duties and engagements and talk this thing over with me. It is a matter that concerns both your happiness and mine, and you have no right to trifle with it, flippantly telling me that the ring was too heavy. What nonsense! A stone that cost a fabulous sum! A ring that a queen might be proud to own!”

His eyes were hard and cold. Mary Elizabeth suddenly had a revelation of what it would be to be tied to him for life and be under his condemnation. A spot of color flashed out on either cheek and there was battle in her eyes. She drew herself up to her full height and regarded him coldly but sweetly.

“That’s exactly it, Boothby; I didn’t feel up to the stone. I had no intention of being flippant about it. The ring is perfectly gorgeous, of course, and I am duly honored that you had the thought of placing it with me. You will recall that when you handed it to me you said that you wanted me to take it and try it out. Were you being flippant when you said that? I was but answering you in the same vein. But indeed, Boothby, I was most serious when I returned it. I wore it but one hour, and it gave me some very serious thoughts, and I found it stood for more than I was able to give.”

“Nonsense!” said the man sharply.

“No, it is not nonsense,” said Mary Elizabeth, “it is fact. I looked the matter quite frankly in the face, and I’ve told you the truth.”

“How ridiculous, Elizabeth.” Boothby Farwell had always called her Elizabeth. He said it was more distinguished than Mary Elizabeth. “You have always liked me, you know you have. You have shown by your manner that you were very fond of me.”

“Yes,” said Mary Elizabeth with a dreamy look in her eyes, “I’ve always been very fond of you. I still am. But that’s not enough when you are talking about marriage. I don’t know that I shall ever marry.”

“That’s absurd, of course,” said the man, with great annoyance in his tone. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re holding off for. If you’ve anything in mind, suppose you state it.”

“Why, I haven’t anything in mind,” said Mary Elizabeth innocently. “I’m not trying to play a game.”

“But you’ve never talked this way before, Elizabeth.”

“Perhaps not,” said the girl dreamily, realizing that a new door of experience had opened during the last two days and given her a vision of what love and marriage might mean under the right circumstances, “but you must remember I’ve never promised to really think it over seriously before. That was all you asked me to do when I accepted the ring on trial, and I kept my promise. I thought it over very carefully, and—well, I knew I couldn’t. I knew you were just a friend—a very nice friend of course, but just a friend—and you couldn’t be anything more.”

She lifted sweet, earnest eyes to the cold, annoyed ones that were searching her face, and the man of the world found something baffling in her.

“Sit down,” he said, a harsh note coming into his voice that was usually so smooth and oily and satisfied. “We’ve got to talk this thing over seriously.”

“I’m sorry,” said Mary Elizabeth. “I told you I had other duties today!”

“Sit down!” he said imperiously. “This is a matter of life and death!”

“That’s just it,” said Mary Elizabeth. “It isn’t to me, you know. I just couldn’t feel that way about it!”

He bit his lip vexedly and let his eyes become piercing, boring down into her half contemptuously, most impatiently, to see if he could discover the cause of the sudden defection in this girl who heretofore had merely laughed his gravity away and gaily introduced other themes. He had always felt sure of her. Could it be that there was really something coming between them? He quickly reviewed the men who were her friends.

“What do you find wrong with me, Elizabeth?” he asked at last in the tone one uses to a naughty little child who has to be soothed to bring it to reason. “What do I lack that you find elsewhere? Whom else do you know who is better prepared to make life one long delight? I can buy you anything in reason and can gratify your every wish.”

“I’m not sure that you could,” said Mary Elizabeth earnestly.

He stared at her astonished.

“What—just what do you mean?”

“I’m not sure that I know what I mean.” She looked at him speculatively.

“What have you in mind that you want that you think I wouldn’t give you? I have yachts, two of them, considered by many to be superior to most boats of their kind now in existence. I can build you a home anywhere we like.” Mary Elizabeth noted the “we.” “I’m even considering a plane—”

“Yes,” said Mary Elizabeth pleasantly, “but you see, I have more or less of those things now, or could have them if I chose, so why should I get married to get them? Besides, I understood it was you that I was being asked to marry and not things.”

“Then what is it, Elizabeth?”

“It’s just that I can get along all right without you. I’ve tried it twice now, going off to Europe for months, and it didn’t bother me a bit. I don’t see why one should get married unless there’s something more than just that. Of course, there might be people who felt they had to marry, or were justified in marrying, for other reasons, say, if they were lonely or needed someone to take care of them, for instance. But I’m never lonely, and I can take care of myself very well, even if I didn’t have Dad and a host of loving family. It’s just that I don’t see marrying unless there’s something more than that.”

“Are you trying to make me sentimental?” he asked half savagely. “I’m sure you’re not a child! And I’ve already told you that I have the very highest admiration and regard for you, and you certainly know that when I have attempted to caress you, you have always been aloof.”

Mary Elizabeth rose with her cheeks flaming and a firm little set of her lips and chin, but behind her hazel eyes there was a flood of light that made her seem suddenly illuminated. Boothby Farwell watched her, half startled. She was more serious than he ever remembered her to have been before.

“Please, Boothby,” she said gravely, “we won’t discuss this anymore, either now or at any other time. I have given you my answer.”

He stood with his eyes upon her, almost savagely. It seemed incredible that she was actually refusing him. This must be just a whim. He had a high estimate of himself. Also, many women had spoiled him.

He lifted his chin haughtily.

“You can’t keep this up interminably,” he reminded her. “You must make a final decision! I won’t stand for everything!”

She looked at him, astonished.

“This
is
final!” she said, and then with her eyes alight again she added, remembering when those words had been spoken to her, “This is final!”

He turned away from her with an offended air.

“Very well!” he said, and his voice was like icicles.

He walked to the door and then turning toward her again, said, “You can let me know when you return to sanity again! Good morning!”

“But,” she said, and there was almost a lilt in her voice, “this is
final
, and I’m sorry if I ever made you think it would be otherwise. I just didn’t understand myself before!”

He went away then without another word, his eyes averted from her. He wanted her to understand what his scorn would be for the one who turned from the advantages he could offer the woman he married.

She felt it. She understood. But in her heart were ringing those words she had just said, those words another had said before her.

Final! Was anything ever final? Were John Saxon’s words, his kiss, a final thing that was to change her life and make her thoughts belong to another?

She stood there where Boothby Farwell had left her, with a wondering light in her eyes and a glorious color in her cheeks, and it was well that he did not return to further question her, for he would surely have asked her if there was someone else for whom she cared. But he did not return, and she presently heard the dull thud of the front door letting out an outraged caller, who yet had by no means given up.

A moment more and Mary Elizabeth realized that the maid was coming down the hall. Quickly she closed the shutters to her soul and put on her cheery accustomed manner.

“The mail has come, Miss Wainwright. I thought perhaps you’d like to look it over before you go out.”

“Thank you, Tilly,” said Mary Elizabeth, swinging around with her heart in a sweet tumult and taking the handful of mail.

Tilly disappeared discreetly, and Mary Elizabeth tripped up the stairs to her room and fastened her door before she sat down to examine the letters. Oh, if it should be here! Oh, if it shouldn’t! Of course it wouldn’t be. She had settled that in the small hours of the night. That was merely a closed incident!

It was there! Right on the top! She knew it at once, even though it was a plain envelope and she had never laid eyes on his handwriting before. It was there, and the very handwriting shouted at her soul as she touched it and gazed upon it!

M
ary Elizabeth drew a deep breath and settled down to read her letter. Her eyes were very bright, and she felt her lips were trembling. Her hands were trembling, too, as she held the pages of the letter and devoured the words with her eyes.

There was something about his handwriting that seemed strong and satisfying, like himself, and her heart leaped up and rejoiced as, the words of the letter fitting with her memory of him, her vision of him ran true to form.