XLV.
Boardman put himself in charge of Mavering, and took him into thesmoking car. It was impossible to indulge a poetic gloom there withoutbecoming unpleasantly conspicuous in the smoking and euchre andprofanity. Some of the men were silent and dull, but no one wasapparently very unhappy, and perhaps if Dan had dealt in absolutesincerity with himself, even he would not have found himself whollyso. He did not feel as he had felt when Alice rejected him. Then he waswounded to the quick through his vanity, and now; in spite of all, inspite of the involuntary tender swaying of his heart toward her throughthe mere force of habit, in spite of some remote compunctions for hiswant of candour with her, he was supported by a sense of her injustice,her hardness. Related with this was an obscure sense of escape, ofliberation, which, however he might silence and disown it, was stillthere. He could not help being aware that he had long relinquishedtastes customs, purposes, ideals, to gain a peace that seemed more andmore fleeting and uncertain, and that he had submitted to others which,now that the moment of giving pleasure by his submission was past, herecognised as disagreeable. He felt a sort of guilt in his enlargement;he knew, by all that he had, ever heard or read of people in hisposition, that he ought to be altogether miserable; and yet thisconsciousness of relief persisted. He told himself that a very tragicalthing had befallen him; that this broken engagement was the ruin ofhis life and the end of his youth, and that he must live on an oldand joyless man, wise with the knowledge that comes to decrepitude anddespair; he imagined a certain look for himself, a gait, a name, thatwould express this; but all the same he was aware of having got out ofsomething. Was it a bondage, a scrape, as Boardman called it? He thoughthe must be a very light, shallow, and frivolous nature not to be utterlybroken up by his disaster.
"I don't know what I'm going home for," he said hoarsely to Boardman.
"Kind of a rest, I suppose," suggested his friend.
"Yes, I guess that's it," said Dan. "I'm tired."
It seemed to him that this was rather fine; it was a fatigue of the soulthat he was to rest from. He remembered the apostrophic close of a novelin which the heroine dies after much emotional suffering. "Quiet, quietheart!" he repeated to himself. Yes, he too had died to hope, to love,to happiness.
As they drew near their journey's end he said, "I don't know how I'mgoing to break it to them."
"Oh, probably break itself," said Boardman. "These things usually do."
"Yes, of course," Dan assented.
"Know from your looks that something's up. Or you might let me go aheada little and prepare them."
Dan laughed. "It was awfully good of you to come, Boardman. I don't knowwhat I should have done without you."
"Nothing I like more than these little trips. Brightens you up to serethe misery of others; makes you feel that you're on peculiarly goodterms with Providence. Haven't enjoyed myself so much since that day inPortland." Boardman's eyes twinkled.
"Yes," said Dan, with a deep sigh, "it's a pity it hadn't ended there."
"Oh, I don't know. You won't have to go through with it again. Somethingthat had to come, wasn't it? Never been satisfied if you hadn't triedit. Kind of aching void before, and now you've got enough."
"Yes, I've got enough," said Dan, "if that's all."
When they got out of the train at Ponkwasset Falls, and the conductorand the brakeman, who knew Dan as his father's son, and treated him withthe distinction due a representative of an interest valued by the road,had bidden him a respectfully intimate good-night, and he began to climbthe hill to his father's house, he recurred to the difficulty before himin breaking the news to his family. "I wish I could have it over in aflash. I wish I'd thought to telegraph it to them."
"Wouldn't have done," said Boardman. "It would have given 'em time toformulate questions and conjectures, and now the astonishment will taketheir breath away till you can get your second wind, and then--you'll beall right."
"You think so?" asked Dan submissively.
"Know so. You see, if you could have had it over in a flash, it wouldhave knocked you flat. But now you've taken all the little steps, andyou've got a lot more to take, and you're all braced up. See? You'relike rock, now--adamant." Dan laughed in forlorn perception ofBoardman's affectionate irony. "Little steps are the thing. You'll haveto go in now and meet your family, and pass the time of day with eachone, and talk about the weather, and account for my being along, andask how they all are; and by the time you've had dinner, and got settledwith your legs out in front of the fire, you'll be just in the mood forit. Enjoy telling them all about it."
"Don't, Boardman," pleaded Dan. "Boardy, I believe if I could get in andup to my room without anybody's seeing me, I'd let you tell them. Theredon't seem to be anybody about, and I think we could manage it."
"It wouldn't work," said Boardman. "Got to do it yourself."
"Well, then, wait a minute," said Dan desperately; and Boardman knewthat he was to stay outside while Dan reconnoitred the interior. Danopened one door after another till he stood within the hot brilliantlylighted hall. Eunice Mavering was coming down the stairs, hooded andwrapped for a walk on the long verandahs before supper.
"Dan!" she cried.
"It's all up, Eunice," he said at once, as if she had asked him aboutit. "My engagement's off."
"Oh, I'm so glad!" She descended upon him with outstretched arms, butstopped herself before she reached him. "It's a hoax. What do you mean?Do you really mean it, Dan?"
"I guess I mean it. But don't--Hold on! Where's Minnie?"
Eunice turned, and ran back upstairs. "Minnie! Min!" she called on herway. "Dan's engagement's off."
"I don't believe it!" answered Minnie's voice joyously, from within someroom. It was followed by her presence, with successive inquiries. "Howdo you know? Did you get a letter? When did it happen? Oh, isn't it toogood?"
Minnie was also dressed for the verandah promenade, which they alwaystook when the snow was too deep. She caught sight of her brother as shecame down. "Why, Dan's here! Dan, I've been thinking about you all day."She kissed him, which Eunice was now reminded to do too.
"Yes, it's true, Minnie," said Dan gravely. "I came up to tell you. Itdon't seem to distress you much."
"Dan!" said his sister reproachfully. "You know I didn't mean to sayanything I only felt so glad to have you back again."
"I understand, Minnie--I don't blame you. It's all right. How's mother?Father up from the works yet? I'm going to my room."
"Indeed you're not!" cried Eunice, with elder sisterly authority. "Youshall tell us about it first."
"Oh no! Let him go, Eunice!" pleaded Minnie, "Poor Dan! And I don'tthink we ought to go to walk when--"
Dan's eyes dimmed, and his voice weakened a little at her sympathy."Yes, go. I'm tired--that's all. There isn't anything to tell you,hardly. Miss Pasmer--"
"Why, he's pale!" cried Minnie. "Eunice!"
"Oh, it's just the heat in here." Dan really felt a little sick andfaint with it, but he was not sorry to seem affected by the day's strainupon his nerves.
The girls began to take off their wraps. "Don't. I'll go with you.Boardman's out there."
"Boardman! What nonsense!" exclaimed Eunice.
"He'll like to hear your opinion of it," Dan began; but his sisterpulled the doors open, and ran out to see if he really meant that too.
Whether Boardman had heard her, or had discreetly withdrawn out ofearshot at the first sound of voices, she could not tell, but she foundhim some distance away from the snow-box on the piazza. "Dan's justmanaged to tell us you were here," she said, giving him her hand. "I'mglad to see you. Do come in."
"Come along as a sort of Job's comforter," Boardman explained, ashe followed her in; and he had the silly look that the man who feelshimself superfluous must wear.
"Then you know about it?" said Eunice, while Minnie Mavering and he wereshaking hands.
"Yes, Boardman knows; he can tell you about it," said Dan, from the hallchair he had dropped into. He rose and mad
e his way to the stairs, withthe effect of leaving the whole thing to them.
His sisters ran after him, and got him upstairs and into his room, withBoardman's semi-satirical connivance, and Eunice put up the window,while Minnie went to get some cologne to wet his forehead. Their effortswere so successful that he revived sufficiently to drive them out of hisroom, and make them go and show Boardman to his.
"You know the way, Mr. Boardman," said Eunice, going before him, whileMinnie followed timorously, but curious for what he should say. Shelingered on the threshold, while her sister went in and pulled theelectric apparatus which lighted the gas-burners. "I suppose Dan didn'tbreak it?" she said, turning sharply upon him.
"No; and I don't think he was to blame," said Boardman, inferring herreserved anxiety.
"Oh, I'm quite sure of that," said Eunice, rejecting what she had askedfor. "You'll find everything, Mr. Boardman. It was kind of you to comewith Dan. Supper's at seven."
"How severe you were with him!" murmured Minnie, following her away.
"Severe with Dan?"
"No--with Mr. Boardman."
"What nonsense! I had to be. I couldn't let him defend Dan to me. Coupleof silly boys!"
After a moment Minnie said, "I don't think he's silly."
"Who?"
"Mr. Boardman."
"Well, Dan is, then, to bring him at such a time. But I suppose he feltthat he couldn't get here without him. What a boy! Think of such a childbeing engaged! I hope we shan't hear any more of such nonsense for onewhile again--at least till Dan's got his growth."
They went down into the library, where, in their excitement, they satdown with most of their outdoor things on.
Minnie had the soft contrary-mindedness of gentle natures. "I shouldlike to know how you would have had Dan bear it," she said rebelliously.
"How? Like a man. Or like a woman. How do you suppose Miss Pasmer'sbearing it? Do you suppose she's got some friend to help her?"
"If she's broken it, she doesn't need any one," urged Minnie.
"Well," said Eunice, with her high scorn of Dan unabated, "I never couldhave liked that girl, but I certainly begin to respect her. I think Icould have got on with her--now that it's no use. I declare," she brokeoff, "we're sitting here sweltering to death! What are we keeping ourthings on for?" She began to tear hers violently off and to fling themon chairs, scolding, and laughing at the same time with Minnie, at theirabsent-mindedness.
A heavy step sounded on the verandah without.
"There's father!" she cried vividly, jumping to her feet and running tothe door, while Minnie, in a nervous bewilderment, ran off upstairs toher room. Eunice flung the door open. "Well, father, we've got Dan backagain." And at a look of quiet question in his eye she hurried on: "Hisengagement's broken, and he's come up here to tell us, and brought Mr.Boardman along to help."
"Where is he?" asked the father, with his ruminant quiet, pulling offfirst one sleeve of his overcoat, and pausing for Eunice's answer beforehe pulled off the other.