Lady Betty Across the Water Part 36

We picked our way down the steep stairs, littered with the overflow from shelves and counters. In the princ.i.p.al "show room," if one could call it that, he pressed us to accept some jewellery--poor stuff, but the best he had, and he ingenuously admired it. We steadfastly refused, however, and Patty took a j.a.panese fan, while I selected several choice specimens of chewing gum, as being novel and characteristic.

By this time the "ice cream festival" was beginning. It was held in a vacant lot behind the Emporium, and a canvas awning had been put up over two or three dozen bare tables on the gra.s.s. Several employees of the "store"--extra hands, perhaps--were kept frantically busy ladling out from huge freezers into earthenware saucers big slabs of frozen custard. All the gallant young beaux of the neighbourhood "treated" the girls they wished to favour, and spent ten cents a saucer for the "ice cream," with a big sugared "cooky" thrown in. The great Whit himself invited me to sit down with him, so Mr. Brett who had been coming up to ask Patty and me both, perhaps, whisked Patty away, leaving me to Mr.

Walker.

"Now, I'll tell you that favour I want," said he. "I hope you won't think I'm presuming too much on a short acquaintance, but it's a mighty important thing for me. It's about that little gal over there."

"Patty?" I asked.

He nodded.

"n.o.body else. There _ain't_ anybody else, so far as I'm concerned; meaning no disrespect to you, Princess. My old friend the Honourable says she just worships you, and would lie down and let you walk over her if you wanted."

"I didn't know," I said.

"Well, it's gospel truth, I guess, and I don't blame her. If you----"

"She has been _sweet_ to me," I interrupted. "Why, what do you think she did, when I mentioned that the huge bells on Mr. Jacobsen's cows kept me awake nights? You know how that one field of Mr. Jacobsen's, which he won't sell, comes into Mr. Trowbridge's farm, and he keeps his cows there to be disagreeable? Well, Patty got up in the night, and climbed on the fence and caught the cows by offering them salt. Then she held on by their ears, and tied rags over their bells--horrid, loud bells--so they could make no noise. Only fancy, and some of those cows are awfully fierce. The rags have stopped on ever since; that was the way I found out, for she didn't tell for days."

"It's just like that pretty, quiet little thing," said Mr. Walker. "I wish she'd be that sweet to me. I want her mighty bad to have me, Princess, but she's read novels, I guess, and anyhow, she doesn't think I'm romantic enough. I was always kind of afraid there was somebody else. Now I shouldn't wonder if it ain't that good-looking young cousin of the Trowbridges. Couldn't you find out for me, as she thinks such a lot of you? And if she hasn't got her heart too much set on anybody else, could you try to use your influence for me? You see, you're a travelled lady, though you're so young, and if you could say I was a man, in your opinion, it might make all the difference."

"You can depend on me to do my best," I said. But I didn't feel amused and full of fun any more, as I looked over at Patty and Mr. Brett. If she admires him--and how could she help it?--there's no reason why he shouldn't admire her, when one comes to think of it. She is pretty and sweet, a perfect little lady, and an heiress.

I can't get used to the idea. The cowbells didn't ring at all last night, but I couldn't sleep for thinking of it, and for telling myself that perhaps this is why Mr. Brett looked queer when I spoke of Patty marrying a farmer.

XIX

ABOUT GETTING ENGAGED

I felt when I got up this morning that I was in a dreadfully embarra.s.sing and uncomfortable position about Patty and my promise to Mr. Walker. If I kept it, and tried to use my influence with her, it might be that I would be working against Mr. Brett. It would be hateful to do that, as we are such friends; but I was afraid there must be something rather catty in my nature, (though I never thought so before) because I could not approve of a marriage between him and Patty. My private opinion was that Patty wasn't at all the sort of girl to make him happy; but I didn't dare to depend too much on the wisdom of my opinion, lest it should be bia.s.sed by prejudice. It is so hard when you have a friend who has been all yours, to see that some other girl may be more congenial to him than you are, and that the best thing for him would be to fall in love with her.

Mr. Brett has known Patty for a long time, and though he hasn't been here often, he has made flying visits sometimes, I know; and even Patty and Ide both call him "Jim"; never Mr. Brett. I reminded myself as I thought it all over, that probably one reason why he wanted to stay with his cousins now was to see Patty again, not in the least because of his friendship with me, which is quite a recent thing compared to his acquaintance with Patty. I had to admit that though we have been such friends, all he has done for me could easily be accounted for by that American chivalry to women, on which the men over here are so keen as a nation, rather than any particular liking for me as a girl. And I must have a horrid, exacting disposition, because discovering this made me feel absolutely ill. I was so jealous of Patty, because she could perhaps take away my best friend and have him for her lover, that all her pretty little ways and looks quite annoyed me, and I felt I could have slapped her.

Such feelings made me hate myself, for it is so unpleasant finding out suddenly that you are a brute; yet I would not indulge my wicked heart by telling Patty that she ought to marry Mr. Walker. I could scarcely eat any breakfast or dinner, and early in the afternoon I crept out of doors, very miserable. I felt that Vivace was the only being on earth who really cared for me, and even he was more interested at the time in a rabbit hole he had found than in my society. He wouldn't come away from it when I called, so I bundled him under my arm, and walked off with him to the sugar camp, where I could be alone, and think things over, without having people say I looked pale, and ask whether the ice cream festival at Hermann's Corners had given me a headache.

Patty and Ide had decided to make maple candy and "chocolate fudge"

after dinner, so that we could have it to eat in the evening, and Mr.

Brett and I had promised to help. American girls always seem to make candy if they have nothing else more interesting to do, and usually I think it very entertaining. Carolyn Pitchley's often went wrong, and she would keep several servants busy clearing away plates and spoons, bringing fresh ones, and cleaning out the chafing dish which she had burnt. But Patty and Ide are cleverer; they do everything for themselves; and I should have enjoyed helping, if I had been in a different mood. As it was, I would have realised that I was an outsider, and that maybe they would be gayer without me, though they are always so polite. I had slipped away without speaking to anyone, and as I was pretty sure that no one would come to the sugar camp at this time of day, I could let myself be as gloomy as I liked.

I sat there in the deep green shade of the maples, on the log where Mr.

Brett and I had talked the first day I came to the Valley Farm. All the disagreeable things that ever happened to me since I was a child took this opportunity to stir in their graves and come to life again. Then they sat down in front of me in a dreary semicircle, staring me in the face until I couldn't stand it any longer, and began to cry. Vivace was very much surprised, and jumped up with his paws in my lap, as if he were saying, "What _is_ the matter?" This was a comfort, and I put my head down on his, with my arms round his neck, and cried more.

If you once let yourself go, like that, you can't stop. Hearing your own little chokes and gasps makes you pity yourself so much that your heart nearly breaks. I was sobbing out loud, presently, which made Vivace whine, and I had almost begun to enjoy my utter forlornness and the distinction of being the most miserable person in the whole world when a distracted voice exclaimed:

"Why, Lady Betty, Lady Betty, for heaven's sake what's happened?"

I looked up all teary and flushed, and there was Mr. Brett, staring at me with horrified eyes, and his face as desperate as if he had found me struck by lightning or gored by the black and white bull.

I was so ashamed and confused that I couldn't speak, but just sat there gazing up helplessly at him with tears running down my cheeks, and my lips trembling. The most awful look came into his eyes, and he went as pale as I was red.

"My precious one, my darling!" he stammered, and dropping down on one knee by the big log, he put his arms round me.

"Oh!" I said. And then my head was nestling down into his neck, and instead of being wretched I was perfectly happy.

"Who has dared to make you cry?" he asked, holding me close.

"You," I answered.

"I?"

"I thought you were only being kind to me because--because you're an American and it's your duty to a foreigner."

He laughed at that--an excited, happy laugh, with a queer break in it.

"I've been half out of my mind with love for you, ever since the first day I saw you looking down at me in the steerage. Am I _quite_ out of it now, or can it be true that you care for me--just a little, little bit?"

"I care for you, _dreadfully_," said I. "Why, this isn't friendship, is it? It's being in love."

"I should think it was--with me," he said. "It's all of me, heart, soul and body, drowning in love."

"Don't drown," I whispered to him. "I--can't spare you."

After that we didn't say a word, but I hadn't supposed it was possible for any human creature to feel so seraphically happy as I did. I don't know how long a time pa.s.sed before we even spoke, but it seemed only a minute--a minute stolen straight out of heaven. And he was so handsome and dear that I would have kept that minute forever if I could, for it was impossible to believe that another could be so perfect.

But by and by it did merge into sister minutes, just as good, and we began to talk and tell each other things.

He told me again how he'd loved me from the very first instant, and I told him that after the day on the dock, if not before, I'd never quite had him out of my thoughts for a moment.

"There has always been a sort of _undertone_ of you," I went on, "no matter what else I was thinking of, just as Sally says, when you are near the sea you hear it through every other sound."

He liked having me say that, and his eyes _are_ too glorious when he likes things that I say.

"I loved you so much," he answered, "that I felt my love _must_ have some power over your heart; it couldn't go for nothing. I knew I wasn't worthy of you, but the love was, for no man in your own world could offer you a greater one. That's my justification for asking you to put your hand in mine. But am I asking too much? Are you sure you won't regret anything you may have to give up?"

"There's nothing I wouldn't give up to be with you always," I a.s.sured him. "But I don't see that I shall have to give up much that I really care for. We shall be poor, of course, but I shan't mind that a bit--with you. We can live in a sweet little cottage somewhere, can't we? Or if you have to be in a town, we shall have a wee, wee flat, and it will be such fun looking after it, just like having a doll's house, only a hundred times better. I've never been rich, you know; it's always been rather a struggle, and ever so many of my dresses have been made out of Mother's or Victoria's. I shall learn to cook and sew."

"If I were so poor as all that, darling, I shouldn't be asking you to marry me," said Jim. "I'm better off than you think, for as I told you, I've been doing fairly well lately, and I guess if one of us two ever has to cook it will be I. We might have to do that sometimes, but it will only be if we're camping somewhere."

"I do hope so. It would be glorious!" I exclaimed.

"We can have the cottage or the flat all right, or maybe even both if things go on as well as they're going now," he said, "and there's nothing on G.o.d's earth I won't do to make you happy. Heavens! I should think so, after what you're doing for me--trusting me, without knowing any more of me than you've seen in these few weeks----"

"I'd have trusted you to the world's end, after the day you jumped overboard and saved the little boy. Besides, you were _you_; and I'd have trusted you just the same if you hadn't."

"Bless you, my angel. But think of the marriages you might have made."