Once more the Washington papers had headlines that spoke of Delafield Simms. He had married a stenographer in Frederick Towne’s office. And it was Towne’s niece that he had deserted at the altar. And most remarkable of all, Edith Towne had been at the wedding. It was Eloise Harper who told the reporters.
“They were married at the old Inn below Alexandria this morning, by the local Methodist clergyman. Miss Logan is a Methodist—fancy. And Edith was bridesmaid.”
But Eloise did not know that Lucy had worn the wedding dress and veil that Edith had given her and looked lovely in them. And that after the ceremony, Delafield had wrung Edith’s hand and had said, “I shall never know how to thank you for what you have been to Lucy.”
Edith’s candid eyes had met his squarely. “You know you are not half good enough for her, Del,” and he had said, humbly, “I’m not and that’s the truth. But I am going to do my darndest to be what she thinks I am.”
[269]Martha and her husband had served a delicious breakfast in the big empty dining-room. Only Edith and Baldy were there besides the bride and groom. Lucy had very sensibly refused to have any fuss and feathers. “If it is quiet, people won’t have so much to say about it.”
Delafield’s manner to Lucy was perfect. “What do you think she has made me do?” he asked Edith. “Buy a farm in Virginia. We are going to raise pigs—black Berkshires, because Lucy likes the slant of their ears and the curl of their tails. She has been reading books about them, and we are going to spend our honeymoon motoring around the country and buying stock.”
Oh, bravo, bravo, little Lucy, not to risk boring this fashionable young husband with a conventional honeymoon! Edith wanted to clap her hands. But she made no sign, except to meet Lucy’s quiet glance with a lift of the eyebrows.
Edith and Baldy lingered after the bride and groom had driven off in a great gray car—bound for the Virginia country place which Delafield had bought, and made ready for the occupancy in the twinkling of an eye.
“Gee, but you’re superlative,” Baldy told her as they walked in the garden.
“Am I?”
“Yes. And the way you carried it off.”
“I didn’t carry it off. It carried itself.”
“Are you sure it didn’t hurt?”
[270]She smiled at him from beneath her big hat. “Not a bit.”
The box hedges in the garden were showing a hint of new green. There was a plum tree blooming prematurely. The sun made brown shadows along the river’s edge, and the wash of the waves from passing steamers went lip-lapping among the reeds and rushes.
The moment was ripe for romance. But Baldy almost feverishly kept the conversation away from serious things. They had talked seriously enough, God knew, the other night by Edith’s fire. He had seen her lonely in the thought of her future.
“When Uncle Fred marries I won’t stay here.”
He had yearned to take her in his arms, to tell her that against his heart she should never again know loneliness. But he had not dared. What had he to offer? A boy’s love. Against her gold.
He told himself with some bitterness that one fortune was enough in a family. Jane’s engagement had changed things for her brother. The antagonism which Baldy had always felt for Frederick was intensified. The thought of Towne’s money weighed heavily upon him. Jane had already placed herself under insuperable obligations. Even if she wished, she could not now shake herself free.
And Edith’s money? He and Jane living on the Towne millions? He wouldn’t have it.
[271]So he talked of Jane. “She doesn’t want her engagement announced until she gets back. I think she’s right.”
“I don’t,” Edith said lazily. “If I loved a man I’d want to shout it to the world.”
They were sitting on a rustic bench under the blossoming plum tree. Edith’s hands were clasped behind her head, and the winged sleeves of her gown fell back and showed her bare arms. Baldy wanted to unclasp those hands, crush them to his lips—but instead he stood up, looking over the river.
“Do you see the ducks out there? Wild ones at that. It’s a sign of spring.”
She rose and stood beside him. “And you can talk of—ducks—on a day like this?”
“Yes,” he did not look at her, “ducks are—safe.”
He heard her low laugh. “Silly boy.”
He turned, his gray eyes filled with limpid light. “Perhaps I am. But I should be a fool if I told you how I love you. Worship you. You know it, of course. But nothing can come of it, even if I were presumptuous enough to think that you—care.”
She swept out her hands in an appealing gesture. “Say it. I want to hear.”
She was adorable. But he drew back a little. “We’ve gone too far and too fast. It is my fault, of course, for being a romantic fool.”
[272]“I’m afraid we’re a pair of romantic fools, Baldy.”
He turned and put his hands on her shoulders. “Edith, I—mustn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Not until I have something to offer you——”
“You have something to offer——”
“Oh, I know what you mean. But—I won’t. Somehow this affair of Jane’s with your uncle has made me see——”
“See what?”
“Oh, how the world would look at it. How he’d look at it.”
“Uncle Frederick? He hasn’t anything to do with it. I’m my own mistress.”
“I know. But—— Oh, I can’t analyze it, Edith. I love you—no end. More than—anything. But I won’t ask you to marry me.”
“Do you know how selfish you are?”
“I know how wise I am.”
She made an impatient gesture. “You’re not thinking of me in the least. You are thinking of your............