The Little Red Chimney Part 11

Only once had Mrs. Pennington referred to this, asking half jokingly if Margaret Elizabeth had ever discovered the ident.i.ty of that person; putting a somewhat disdainful emphasis upon "person."

"Never," Margaret Elizabeth could at that time a.s.sure her, and she added, "I do not expect to, and certainly do not wish to."

Mrs. Pennington, however, had her intuitions in regard to this unknown individual. She antic.i.p.ated his reappearance, and, like a wise general, in time of peace prepared for war. Keeping her vague fears to herself, she increased her vigilance.

Annoyed because of that uncalled-for blush, far away from the Little Red Chimney, with fairy-tales forgot, Margaret Elizabeth repeated her aunt's question. After all, who was Mr. Reynolds? That which had so lately seemed an adventure compounded of kindliness and fun, she now beheld only as an awkward situation. She began to feel that she had overstepped the bounds in asking him to the Christmas tree; and the red stocking!

What nonsense! Why should she have felt concerned over his loneliness?

Were there not many lonely people in the world? Might he not infer from it all a rather excessive interest in him and his affairs? Her interview with Tim at the hospital, for instance, though it had come about by the purest chance, looked on the surface as if she had been bent upon investigating him.

The Candy Man's offering, which she at first found so happily significant and appropriate, now began to seem almost a piece of presumption. It lay ignored if not forgotten, till its brown and withered contents were tossed into the fire by one of the maids. Did Miss Bentley wish her to save the basket?

No, Miss Bentley cared nothing for it. Or, wait--she liked sweet gra.s.s, and on second thought she would keep it.

Never had the holiday season been so gay. There was not time for a minute's connected thought. Margaret Elizabeth honestly tried to keep her promise to stop and reflect for at least ten minutes a day, but either she went to sleep, or fell into a waking dream that bore small relation to the sober realities upon which she was supposed to dwell.

There were guests at Pennington Park for the holidays--English friends of her uncle and aunt, persons of a broader culture than Margaret Elizabeth had ever before encountered. They afforded her an object lesson of the best that accrues from wealth and tradition, and is only to be attained by means of them. Within herself she was aware of an apt.i.tude of her own for these things.

But half divining her niece's mood, Mrs. Gerrard Pennington skilfully and subtly fostered it, and Augustus McAllister, with unexpected tact, followed her lead.

Augustus was genuinely in love, and it brought out the best that was in him. For the first time in his life something resembling humility manifested itself, a humility which sat gracefully upon the possessor of variously estimated millions. It seemed to say: "Here is one who, although not brilliant, may be led into any desirable path." And with his other substantial attractions he combined his full share of good looks.

To be unresponsive was not in Miss Bentley's make-up, and the attentions of Augustus a.s.sumed in these days a delicate and pleasing character.

What girl could be indifferent to the prestige born of the generally accepted opinion that the position of mistress of the Towers was hers for the word?

In truth, all this homage--and Augustus was far from being alone in it--was to Margaret Elizabeth an exciting game, that need not be taken too seriously. It was only when she thought of the Candy Man that she became serious and annoyed. How impossible, in the atmosphere of Pennington Park, appeared any explanation or justification of so absurd a position as his!

[Ill.u.s.tration: COUSIN AUGUSTUS]

When, after a morning recital by the Musical Club, Miss Bentley was seen walking down the avenue with Augustus McAllister, society seized upon it as confirming an interesting rumour. It was absurd, of course. Margaret Elizabeth did it quite innocently. She really felt the need of exercise in the open air, and could not very easily dismiss Mr. McAllister, who had accompanied her aunt and herself to the concert, and who also felt the need of air.

Did she think of the Candy Man when they pa.s.sed the Y.M.C.A. corner?

Yes, she did. Though she gave not so much as half a glance in the direction of the Candy Wagon, she hoped he was not too busy to observe.

It might counteract possible false impressions in the past.

A few days later there appeared in a column of the _Evening Record_, given up to such matters, an item regarding the soon-to-be-announced engagement of a certain charming and beautiful girl, only recently a resident of the city, and a young man of wealth and social position.

It brought Miss Bentley up short. She disliked newspaper gossip extremely, and an allusion so faintly veiled that everyone must understand, was under the circ.u.mstances most embarra.s.sing, for the truth was she had not been asked. Her cheeks burned. Yet it was thanks only to some clever fencing on her part, and perhaps some words of caution to Augustus from his mentor, that she had not been, and she knew in her heart it must come soon.

Just when you were having a good time and did not wish to be bothered, it was tiresome to have to decide momentous questions, she told herself almost fretfully, as she was borne swiftly and smoothly downtown one afternoon. There was the usual detention at the Y.M.C.A. corner, and Margaret Elizabeth looked out and almost into the Candy Wagon before she knew it. But there was no cause for alarm. Beneath the white cap of the Candy Man shone the round Irish countenance of Tim Malone.

Was it Tim after all who had viewed her triumphal walk down the avenue?

The question brought not a hint of a smile to Miss Bentley's lips; and this was a very grave symptom.

If Uncle Bob had been within reach! But he wasn't. He had run down to Florida to look after his orange grove, and Dr. Prue was up to her eyes in grip cases. There was every reason why Margaret Elizabeth should stay on at Pennington Park.

So the Little Red Chimney had no chance to get in its work. In vain Virginia looked from the dining-room window for its curling smoke. In vain did the invalid sister of Miss Kitty, the dressmaker, dream of the beautiful young lady who brought her roses. In vain did the postman and the market-man inquire of Nancy when Miss Bentley was coming back. To the Miser alone, who from his study window had also noted the deadness of the Little Red Chimney, was the privilege of a word with the enchantress accorded. It came about through Mrs. Gerrard Pennington's interest in the furnishing of the new quarters of the Colonial Dames.

Hearing of a desirable print owned by Mr. Knight, which it was understood he might be induced to part with, she drove thither to canva.s.s the matter, accompanied by her niece. On the way they picked up Augustus, who knew nothing of prints, but was pleased to join the expedition.

The Miser, beneath his grave courtesy, seemed taken aback by this invasion of his solitude. Mrs. Pennington's conventional suavity plainly embarra.s.sed him. He smiled indeed at Margaret Elizabeth, remarking as he spread out his engravings that it had been long since he last saw her.

The impulse was strong upon her to follow him to his desk and ask if he had any news of the Candy Man. There were moments when she thought it strange she had had no word. These were but fleeting moments, however; for the most part she succeeded, or thought she succeeded, in dismissing him to the limbo of the past. So now she resisted the impulse to ask news of him.

When it came to negotiations Margaret Elizabeth and Augustus, leaving Mrs. Pennington to conduct them, moved about the room, viewing the Miser's curios.

"Do you care for mezzotints?" she asked him.

"I don't know the first thing about them," Augustus owned. "In fact never saw one."

She laughed. "Oh, yes, you have. Ever so many of the Reynolds and Romney portraits were reproduced in mezzotint. If I am not mistaken there is one hanging in your own hall."

Augustus gazed at her in undisguised admiration. "I don't see how you learn so much, Miss Bentley. I have no doubt I have a lot of things you could help me to appreciate."

From this dangerous ground she moved hastily, calling attention to the portrait above the mantel. Mr. McAllister was more at home here.

"A rattling good picture. General Waite, by the way," he informed her, "was own cousin to my grandmother on my mother's side. My great grandfather and his father were brothers, don't you know."

"Indeed!" said Margaret Elizabeth, politely. The relationship did not interest her, but she wondered, in annoyance, why the cousin of Augustus, on his mother's side, should look down on her with the eyes of the Candy Man. Stern eyes they were, with a sparkle of humour behind the sternness.

On the way home Mrs. Pennington was stirred to reminiscence. "One of the first parties I ever attended was in that old house," she said.

"It must have been thirty-five years ago. I was a very young girl--barely seventeen. General Waite was a most courtly man, and his wife was quite famous for her beauty. It was there I met Mr. Pennington. He and the general's nephew, Robert Waite, were great friends. They went to college together. He disappeared strangely. I remember Gerrard was dread fully upset about it at the time. It was just before our marriage."

To all this Margaret Elizabeth only half listened. The eyes of the general lingered reproachfully with her, and perhaps were at the bottom of that policy of postponement with which Augustus was met when the inevitable moment came.

Just a little time was all she asked. Mr. McAllister was talking of a trip to Panama; let him go, and on his return he should have his answer.

Miss Bentley was very sweet as she spoke thus; eminently worth waiting for. So Augustus went to Panama, and she was left to argue matters with herself.

During the process she grew pale. Mixed up with her arguments was that foolish idea that she ought to have heard something from the Candy Man.

Had he seen that item in the _Evening Record_?

Mrs. Pennington noticed the pallor, but treated it lightly. Margaret Elizabeth was tired out, but now Lent was here she would rest. She was worn to death herself, but she would recuperate, and surely her niece, who was years younger, could do the same. She failed to take into consideration the complications lacking in her own case. In fact, having brought matters to the present status, Mrs. Pennington allowed herself to relax.

Mr. Gerrard Pennington looked at Margaret Elizabeth from beneath his bushy brows. Confound them, what were they doing to her? She had a way of joining him in the library, and sitting with a book in her lap, which she seldom read.

One day, laying down his paper, and after a cautious glance over his shoulder, he remarked: "Did it ever occur to you, Margaret Elizabeth, that you don't have to marry anybody?"

She stared at him with surprised eyes, in which a smile slowly dawned.

"Why, Uncle Gerry, what do you mean? Of course I don't have to."

"There is a great deal in suggestion," continued Mr. Pennington. "Keep telling people a certain thing, confront them with it on all occasions, and they will be influenced in spite of themselves; and it has occurred to me----"

"Yes?" said Margaret Elizabeth.

"Well, that it applies in your case." Mr. Pennington cleared his throat.

"A certain person whom we know has behaved very well of late; better than I thought was in him, but--unless you are pretty sure you can't live without him--Now this is rank treason on my part, but don't be too soft-hearted, Margaret Elizabeth."

Mr. Pennington returned to his stock-market reports, and silence reigned, but presently two hands rested on his shoulders, and a velvet cheek touched his for a moment. "Thank you, Uncle Gerry," said Margaret Elizabeth.