“What have you been doing with yourself?” Mamie asked, almost as soon as they were alone.
“Something that will surprise you,” George answered. “I have been with Miss Fearing.”
He had no intention of concealing the fact, for he saw that such a course would be foolish in the extreme. He meant to go and see Constance again, as he had promised her, and he saw that it would be folly to give a clandestine appearance to their meetings.
“Oh!” exclaimed Mamie, “that accounts for it all!” He could not see her face distinctly, but her tone told him that she was smiling to herself.
“Accounts for what?” he asked.
“For a great many things. For your black looks and your gloomy view of the dinner, and your general unsociability.”
“I do not feel in the least gloomy or unsociable,” George said drily. “You have too much imagination.”
“Why did you go to see her?”
“I did not. I landed on their place without knowing it, and when I had been there a quarter of an hour, Miss Fearing suddenly appeared upon the scene. Is there anything else you would like to know?”
“Now you are angry!” Mamie exclaimed. “Of course. I knew you would be. That shows that your conversation with Conny was either very pleasant or very disagreeable. I am not naturally curious, but I would like to know what you talked about!”
279“Would you?” George laughed a little roughly. “We did not talk of you—why should you want to know?”
“Oh, that mine enemy would write a book!” Mamie exclaimed, “and put into it an accurate report of your conversations, and send it to me to be criticised.”
“Why are you so vicious? Let Miss Fearing alone, if you do not like her. She has done you no harm, and there is no reason why you should call her your enemy, and quote the Bible against her.”
“I hate to hear you call her Miss Fearing. I know you call her Constance when you are alone with her.”
“Mamie, you are a privileged person, but you sometimes go too far. It is of no consequence what I call her. Let us drop the subject and talk of something else, unless you will speak of her reasonably and quietly.”
“Do you expect me to go with you when you make your next visit?”
“I shall be very glad if you will, provided that you will behave yourself like a sensible creature.”
“As I did the other day, when she was here? Is that the way?” Mamie laughed.
“No. You behaved abominably——”
“And she has been complaining to you, and that is the reason why you are lecturing me, and making the night hideous with your highly moral and excellent advice. Give it up, George. It is of no use. I am bad by nature.”
George was silent for a few minutes. It was clear that if he meant to see Constance from time to time in future matters must be established upon a permanent basis of some sort.
“Mamie,” he said at last, “let us be serious. Are you really as fond of me as you seem to be? Will you do something, not to please me, but to help me?”
“Provided it is easy and I like to do it!” Mamie laughed. “Of course I will, George,” she added a moment later in a serious tone.
“Very well. It is this. Forget, or pretend to forget, that there is such a person as Miss Fearing in the world. 280Or else go and see her and be as good and charming as you know how to be.”
“You give me my choice? I may do either?”
“It will help me if you will do either. I cannot hear her spoken of unkindly, and I cannot see her treated as you treated her the other day, without the shadow of a cause.”
“I think there is cause enough, considering how she treated you. Oh, yes, I know what you will say—that there never was any engagement, and all the rest of it. It is very honourable of you, and I admire you men much for putting it in that way. But we all knew, and it is of no use to deny it, you know.”
“You do not believe me? I give you my word of honour that there was no engagement. Do you understand? I made a fool of myself, and when I came to put the question I was disappointed. She was as free to refuse me as you are now, if I asked you to marry me. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” said Mamie in a rather unnatural tone. “Since you give me your word, it is a different thing. I have been mistaken. I am very sorry.”
“And will you do what I ask?”
“If you give me my choice, I will go and see her to-morrow. I will do it to please you—though I do not understand how it can help you.”
“It will, nevertheless, and I shall be grateful to you.”
The result of this conversation was that Mamie actually crossed the river on the following day and spent an hour with Constance Fearing to the great surprise of the latter, especially when she saw that her visitor was determined to be agreeable, as though to efface the impression she had made a few days earlier. Mamie was very careful to say nothing in the least pointed, nor anything which could be construed as an allusion to George.
Totty saw and wondered, but said nothing. She supposed that Mamie had made the visit because George had asked her to, and she was well satisfied that George 281should take the position of asking Mamie to do anything for him. That sort of thing, she said to herself, helps on a flirtation wonderfully.
As for George he did not look forward to his next meeting with Constance with any kind of pleasure. It was distinctly disagreeable, and he wished that something might happen to prevent it. He did not know whether Constance would tell Grace of his coming, but it struck him that he would not like to be surprised by Grace when he was sitting under the trees with her sister. Grace would assuredly not understand why he was there, and he would be placed in a very false position.
So far, he was right. Constance had not mentioned her meeting with George to any one, and had no intention of doing so. She, like George, said to herself that Grace would not understand, and it seemed wisest not to give her understanding a chance. Of late George had been rarely mentioned, and there was a tendency to coldness between the sisters if his name was spoken, even accidentally. Constance had at first been grateful for the other’s readiness to help her on the memorable first of May, but as time went on, she began to feel that Grace was in some way responsible for her unhappiness and she resented any allusion to the past. Fortunately, Grace was very much occupied with her own existence at that time and was little inclined to find fault with other people’s views of life. She had married the man she loved, and who loved her, for whom she had waited long, and of whom she was immensely proud. He was exactly suited to her taste and represented her ideal of man in every way. She would rather talk of him than of George Wood, and she preferred his company to her sister’s when he was at home. They were a couple whose happiness would have become proverbial if it had been allowed to continue; one of those couples who are not interesting but to watch whom is a satisfaction, and whom it is always pleasant to meet. There was just the 282right difference of age between them, there was just the right difference in height, the proper contrast in complexion, both had much the same tastes, both were very much in earnest, very sensible, and very faithful. It was to be foreseen that in the course of years they would grow more and more alike, and perhaps more and more prejudiced in favour of their own way of looking at things, that they would have sensible, good-looking children, who would do all those things which they ought to do and rejoice their parents’ hearts, in short that they would lead a peaceful and harmonious life and be in every way an honour to their principles and a model to all young couples yet unmarried. They were people to whom nothing unusual would ever happen, people who, if they had had the opportunity to invent gunpowder, would have held a matrimonial consultation upon the matter and would have decided that explosives should be avoided with care, and had better not be invented at all. Since their marriage they had both been less in sympathy with Constance than before, and the latter was beginning to suspect that it would not be wise for them to live together when they returned to town. She was in some doubt, however, about making any definite arrangements. The elderly female relation who had been a companion and a chaperon to the two young girls, was on her hands, and had begun to show signs of turning into an invalid. It was impossible to turn her adrift, though she was manifestly in the way at present, and yet if Constance decided to live by herself, the good lady was not the sort of person she needed. She gave a good deal of thought to the matter, and turned it over in every way, little suspecting that an event was about to occur which would render all such arrangements futile.
On the Sunday afternoon agreed upon, George got into the boat alone and pulled away into the stream without offering any explanation of his departure to Mrs. Trimm or to Mamie. He took it for granted that they intended to go to church as usual and that he would not be missed. 283Moreover, he owed no account of his doings to any one, as he said to himself, and would assuredly give none. He started at an early hour, but was surprised to see that Constance was at the place of meeting before him. As he glanced over his shoulder to see that he was rowing for the right point, he caught sight of her white serge dress beneath the trees.
“I have been watching you ever since you started,” she said, holding out her hand to him. “Why do you always row instead of sailing? There is a good breeze, too.”
“There are two reasons,” he answered. “In the first place, the Trimms have no sail-boat, and secondly, if they had, I should not know how to manage it.”
“My brother-in-law and Grace are out. Do you see their boat off there? Just under the bluff. They said they would probably go to your cousin’s a little later. And now sit down. Do you know? I was afraid you would not come, until I saw your boat.”
“What made you think that? Did I not promise that I would come?”
“Yes—I know. But I was afraid something would happen to prevent you—and then, when one looks forward to something for a whole week, it so often does not happen.”
“That is true. But then, presentiments are always wrong. What have you been doing with yourself all the week?” George asked, feeling that since he had come so far, it was incumbent upon him to try and make conversation.
“Not much. I had one surprise—your cousin Mamie came over on Tuesday and made a long visit. I had not expected her, I confess, but she was in very good spirits and talked charmingly.”
“She is a very nice girl,” said George indifferently.
“Of course—I know. But when we were all over there the other day I thought—” she stopped suddenly and looked at George. “Is it forbidden ground?” she asked, with a slight change of colour.
284“What? Mamie? No. Why should we not talk about her?”
“Well—I fancied she did not like me. She said one or two things that I thought were meant to hurt me. They did, too. I suppose I am very sensitive. After all, she looked perfectly innocent, and probably meant nothing by it.”
“She often says foolish things which she does not mean,” said George reflectively. “But she is a very good girl, all the same. You say she was agreeable the other day—what did you talk about?”
“She raved about you,” said Constance. “She is a great admirer of yours. Did you know it?”
“I know she likes me,” George answered coolly. “Her mother is a very old friend of mine and has been very kind to me. She saw that I was worn out with work, and insisted upon my spending the summer with them, as Sherry Trimm is abroad and they had no man in the house. So Mamie came over here to sing my praises, did she?”
“Yes, and she sang them very well. She is so enthusiastic—it is a pleasure to listen to her.”
“I should think you would find that sort of thing rather fatiguing,” said George with a smile.
“Strange to say I did not. I could bear a great deal of it without being in the least tired. But, as I told you, I was surprised by her visit. Do you know what I thought? I thought that you had made her come and be nice, because you had seen that I had been annoyed when we were over there. It would have been so like you.”
“Would it? If I had done what you suppose, I would not tell you and I am very glad she came. I wish you knew each other better, and liked each other.”
“We can, if you would be glad,” said Constance. “I could go over there and ask her here, and see a great deal of her, and I could make her like me. I will if you wish it.”
“Why should I put you to so much trouble, for a matter of so little importance?”
285“It would be a pleasure to do anything for you,” answered the young girl simply. “I wish I might.”
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