The house was immaculate, the servants all there in their places, welcoming her, thanking her for their holiday, apparently ready to go on with life as she had left it. She could settle down now and every day would go smoothly, engineered by these trained workers. She wouldn’t have a care except just to please herself. But oh, the emptiness of it all!
She ate her dainty breakfast, and heard them tell her what a happy time they had had, and how they enjoyed the Christmas remembrances she had given them. Then she began to wonder what she was going to do about them, supposing she sold the house and went away? It was not thinkable that her father and mother would want a horde of servants trained by others. She did not want them herself, although she was in a way attached to them all. Yet she felt it would be so much better that there should be new servants in the new life if she went away, servants that her mother should choose. Was this another of the elements that her wise father and mother had known she would have to meet and reckon with in her decision?
After breakfast she went from room to room and tried to take up the thread of life. For this one week at least, she was committed to do nothing definite about leaving her home. But that did not include Evan Brower. In the afternoon she wrote a note to him.
Dear Evan:
This is just to tell you that I got home today and shall be glad to see you whenever you feel like calling.
Sincerely,
Marjorie
She mailed it late in the afternoon. He would not get it until the next morning. She could have telephoned him, of course, but she wanted one free evening to consider what she should say to him. He could not likely come until the next evening.
Next morning she went up in the attic and went over the things there, considering what should be looked over and given away whether she went or stayed. There was no point in wasting all this week. Some of the old papers and letters and garments might as well be put out of the way. Also, she could write out lists of things she wanted to get rid of if she went away.
The morning passed very quickly, and in the afternoon she went to see her lawyer and check up on business matters. Then just after dinner, Evan came.
She had been reading the little book that Gideon gave her, sitting in the library before the open fire, when he was announced. His coming brought her suddenly back into the present, exchanging the memory of Gideon Reaver for the reality of Evan Brower.
Evan had brought her flowers, dignified long-stemmed aristocratic roses, dozens of them. Thelma, the waitress, knew just what to put them in, one of the deep crystal rose jars. She brought them presently and put them on the low table between Evan and Marjorie. Marjorie had a quick thought of how it would always be like this if she married Evan. Always sitting here or somewhere else with Evan, always the most expensive flowers on all occasions, the best music. He had suggested a concert the next evening he thought she would like to attend. He took it for granted she would. Their life together would be well-ordered and peaceful, meticulously perfect in every human way. But he would have no thought of the things that had come to mean so much to her. She grasped the little book warmly. It seemed to her a bond between herself and the things she had left behind her in the east. Was it going to be humanly possible for her to cut herself off from those things for even a week, and with unbiased mind consider what she had promised her parents to consider?
Evan told her of the news since she had been gone, spoke pleasantly like the old friend he had always been, with no mention of their differences when he had seen her last. He told her of affairs that were going on in their social world, said his mother wanted her for a quiet visit, suggested things they could do together, and then at last he got out the little velvet box again.
“Marjorie,” he said in a calm voice, “I want you to put my ring on now and wear it. It will be a sort of protection for you while you are alone, and I shall feel a great deal better about you if you are wearing it. I do hope you are willing to see things in a reasonable way by this time and that we can soon get our affairs settled. I hate so to have you unprotected. Of course, if you feel that you must wait a little longer to get married, I will be willing, though I am quite sure everyone will see that it is the sensible thing, alone as you are. No one will criticize you, I am positive, for having a quiet wedding so soon after Mrs. Wetherill’s funeral. She would have wanted you to do this, I am certain.”
Then Marjorie grasped her little book softly, like a talisman, looked calmly at Evan, and answered in a clear voice.
“Evan, I do appreciate your kindness and your thought for me, and I feel sorry that I had to be so uncertain in the past when you talked to me about these things. But now that I am home again, I have thought it all over and made my decision. Evan, I am not going to marry you, either now or at any other time. I am quite sure that I do not love you as a woman ought to love a man she marries. Perhaps I ought to have known this before, but I didn’t. But now I know, and it would not be right for me to keep you waiting any longer.”
Evan looked at her steadily, calmly, and slowly put the ring back in its box and the box away in his pocket.
“Very well,” he said quietly, determinedly, “if you haven’t come to your senses yet I can wait, of course, till you do. Undoubtedly you will get over this phase pretty soon and be sorry. In the meantime, I am at your service. Are you willing to be friends? Are you willing to go to the concert with me tomorrow night? It is a very quiet affair, and we can sit in Mother’s box at the Opera House. You will not necessarily be in the public eye.”
Marjorie looked at him and smiled.
“Yes, Evan, I’ll be glad to be friends. Friends just as we used to be. That will be nice. And yes, I’ll go to the concert tomorrow night if you want it. You are really very kind.”
He did not stay long. He was a lawyer and canny. He thought he saw that he must take a new line entirely and drop back into his old role of friendship without urging her into anything new at this time. She would change presently, of course, when she got used to the idea of his being her constant attendant everywhere. He would be patient.
So presently he took his leave, and Marjorie went happily back to her new study with her little book in her hand and her Bible open on the low table before her, and forgot entirely that she had just refused one of the most sought-after young men in Chicago.
Chapter 23
The week of probation dragged its slow length along, and Marjorie began to realize how impossible it was to really fix her mind on the question at hand. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the matter seemed to be settled and sealed, and there was no more possibility of considering it.
As the days went by, developments made her feel more and more that everything was working out to show her that her conclusion had been right. To begin with, the third day after her arrival, Thelma came to her, blushing, and told her that she was going to be married, and she had to give notice.
Marjorie congratulated her, and did not feel the sense of loss as she would have if she were convinced she was going to remain in the Wetherill house. That was perhaps the first happening that made her see clearly that she wasn’t even considering staying.
She went out two or three times with Evan, and was sweet and pleasant with a kind of vague-eyed detachment that much annoyed that entirely assured young man, but he shut his lips thinly and went forward in his campaign as he had planned. Marjorie would be his in the end. She didn’t seem to care for anyone else; why shouldn’t she turn to him eventually?
The fourth day after her homecoming, the old Scotch housekeeper, her former nurse, came to her in great distress with an open letter in her hand. Her youngest sister back in the old country was very sick with a lingering illness and wanted her to come home and nurse her. Tessy felt that she ought to go.
So Marjorie gave Tessy her blessing and sent her on her way to catch the next boat. Another tie to her old life was broken without her lifting a finger! God was working her way out for her.
But, suppose at the end of the week
there should come a letter from her mother saying—oh, very sweetly, of course—that they felt it was best for everybody concerned that she should not come to them? Well, yes, she would then be rather cut off from everybody who could serve to make her life pleasant—Evan, and the servants. But she hadn’t done it herself, and there would surely be some way, even if it were a way of heartache.
Then there came a letter from Gideon, and her heart leaped up to welcome it, singing a little song even before she opened it. It wasn’t a long letter. It was mostly about his work and the questions she had asked, and some books he was sending. But it did say how much they missed her, and it started a lilt in her voice and a joy in her eye that even Evan Brower noticed when he dropped in with gardenias.
The next day Gideon sent flowers. Marjorie thought they were some more from Evan and forgot to open them for almost an hour till Thelma, not yet departed, asked if she should put them in water, and brought the card to her. She opened it idly, expecting to find Evan’s name as usual inside, and found instead Gideon Reaver’s card. The soft color came into her face then and her eyes shone with joy. She got up and came over to them. They were crimson roses, deep and dark. She buried her face in their sweetness and closed her eyes as she carried them upstairs to her own private sanctum. She did not want them out of her sight. But Evan Brower’s stately flowers remained downstairs in the reception room.
That same day the lawyer called her up. The man who wanted to buy her house was insistent. His plans had changed and he wanted to move at once. Could she give an answer within the next two days?
Marjorie could and would. The week was up day after tomorrow. She would give an answer then, she told Mr. Melbourne.
Later in the day the chauffer who had served the Wetherills so many years presented himself apologetically, and with many a hem and a haw made bold to ask if it was true that she was going to sell the house and move away, as rumor had it? If she was, he would like the opportunity to see a man about another place he had heard of that paid very good wages and was well-fixed with a tidy house for the chauffeur and his wife.
Marjorie smiled and told him to go and see it, that she would let him know in a couple of days. And so the ties were one by one broken, and again, without her making a single move. It was all very wonderful. She wondered if it was because so many people were praying about it. There was only the old cook left now, and she was hinting that she might give up work and go and live with her sister. She was getting old and rheumatic and wanted a rest.
And then the week was up.
Marjorie awoke with a feeling that great things might happen today. Would her mother write at once, or wasn’t the week long enough for them to decide? She had decided. She was only waiting for their word. Would the morning mail bring her answer?
But it came sooner than that. Thelma brought it up to her before she was dressed. A telegram:
WE HAVE KEPT OUR CONTRACT. THE TIME IS UP. WE WANT YOU WITH ALL OUR HEARTS. WE FEEL THAT THIS IS YOUR PLACE IF YOU STILL WANT TO COME TO US. BUT NOT UNLESS YOU WOULD RATHER COME. LETTER FOLLOWS.
It was signed with all their names.
Marjorie wasn’t long in answering that. She caught up her telephone and dictated a telegram:
WAS COMING ANYWAY, WHETHER YOU WANTED ME OR NOT. COULD NOT STAND IT WITHOUT YOU. BRENTWOOD FOR ME! LOVE TO YOU ALL. GLORY HALLELUJAH!
MARJORIE
Then she telephoned her lawyer and told him to go ahead and sell the house. She was moving today. She also called up a mover and asked him to come at once and arrange about the move. Then she got out her lists and began to pack her personal belongings.
Next morning Ted appeared on the scene. A very properly-clad Ted, looking handsome and capable.
“Mother said I was to come and help pack,” he said simply. “She said you oughtn’t be alone. Dad would have come, but he couldn’t leave his new job, of course.”
And then when his sister fell upon his neck and embraced him, crying for joy, he remarked quite casually, though in jubilant tone, “Gideon Reaver said he was coming over on Monday to drive us back home. He said you were bringing your car, and I haven’t any driver’s license yet. He said I was to wire him when we would be ready. He said he might bring Bud along for the ride if you wanted him. He’s crazy to come!”
“Oh, wonderful!” said Marjorie looking up with shining eyes. “Won’t that be great! I was planning to have the chauffeur drive the car over, but now I find he’s got another place and they want him right away this week. That will solve the problem. And what fun we’ll have!”
“It might be bad weather,” remarked Ted, revealing that the matter had been discussed at home.
“Of course, but there is a heater in the car, and we don’t mind weather! Won’t it be great?”
They were hard at work packing, and there was a large van drawn up before the door taking away furniture, some that was to be sent to the auction rooms for sale, and some that was to be given to the mission, when Evan Brower arrived. He had come to take Marjorie over to the park to see some professional skaters who were said to be very fine. He stood in the denuded parlor where furniture was shrouded in summer slips and rugs were rolled up in bundles, and looked blankly about him.
“What in the world does this mean?” he asked sternly as Marjorie came to meet him.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Evan,” she said. “I completely forgot you were coming to take me somewhere. I should have let you know, but I’ve been so busy everything else went out of my head. You see, I’ve sold the house, and I’m moving. It all happened quite suddenly, or I should have called off our engagement. But you can see I can’t possibly go today. I’m sorry. And I guess there won’t be any other time, either, Evan. You know how it is when people move.”
“Moving?” said Evan angrily. “You don’t mean you’ve sold this house without letting me know? Without saying anything to me about it?”
He glared at Marjorie, and then he saw Ted standing straight and unsmiling beside his sister. He hadn’t seen him come in, but there he was!
“Good morning, Mr. Brower,” said Ted. “I think I met you at Christmastime, while my sister was east.”
Evan glared at Ted, with scarcely an inclination of his head, and then he said savagely to Marjorie, “Can I see you alone somewhere?”
Marjorie gave him an absentminded smile.
“Why, yes,” she said, “for just a minute, I guess. The mover will be here in five minutes or so, but we can go into the library. That isn’t so much torn up yet.”
Ted didn’t follow, except with his eyes, but he worked outside in the hall and making enough noise to let it be known that he was there. If his sister needed assistance he would be at hand. He certainly would like to wallop that insolent chump before he left Chicago, but of course he couldn’t.
What was said behind that closed door Marjorie never told him, but it must have been decisive, for the caller presently came out walking as if he were following to the grave after a dead hope.
Marjorie’s face was calm, however, as she came after him briskly and went with him to the door.
“I’m going to make time somehow to see a few people before I leave, of course, Evan, and I’m coming to your mother first of all,” she said pleasantly.
“Most kind of you,” murmured Evan haughtily, “but I beg that you won’t put yourself out in the least for us. Since you have been so self-sufficient in all your arrangements, I suppose, of course, there is nothing we can do for you. You have chosen to make your plans without taking advice from us who supposed we were your best friends. I hope you will not inconvenience yourself to call.”
“Oh, but I want to see you all before I leave,” said Marjorie brightly. “You will run in again won’t you, Evan, of course? We shall not be leaving before Monday or Tuesday.”
He whirled then and looked her full in the face, and Ted in the back of the hall heard his voice savagely say, “Do you really mean to tell me that you are giving up this lovely home and goin
g to live in that little untidy dump where I found you at Christmas?”
Marjorie laughed.
“Oh, no,” she said. “That was just temporary. I am going to live in my father’s house that he has owned for several years. He is moving back to it next week. We’ll be glad to see you out there some day when you are in the east. It is a lovely home. My father is with Martin Heath Company. Perhaps you know the firm. I’m sure the family will be glad to entertain you whenever you are in our vicinity. I have told them what a good friend of the family you have always been.”
“Some sister!” murmured Ted from the depths of the back hall where he had been rolling up more rugs. Then under his breath, he added, “and some mutt!”
They were ready to leave Wednesday morning. Marjorie had made her calls, although she had not found Mrs. Brower at home and had to write a note for good-bye. She had called up some of her friends on the telephone and written to others, announcing her sudden departure, and she hadn’t a regret. Chicago had been dear, but Brentwood was dearer. Even Bud was satisfied with the single day of sightseeing Ted and Gideon had given him. He said Chicago wasn’t so much, though he was glad he’d seen it; he liked Brentwood a lot better.
The last truck was filled and started on its way; the cook had wept a farewell and had been taken to her train en route for her sister’s in the far west; the house was locked and the key handed over to the lawyer’s representative for the new owner; and they were all comfortably seated in the big, luxurious car, ready to start.
“It’s a beautiful house,” remarked Gideon. “I’m so glad to have seen where you were brought up.” He smiled at Marjorie. “Yes, it’s a lovely home. But you’re going to one just as pleasant, I think!”
“Sure thing!” said Ted fervently. “Though this one’s all right,” he added as if he feared Marjorie’s feelings might be hurt.
“Some dump, I say!” remarked Bud contemptuously looking toward the fine old house in its setting of evergreens, with the distant blue of winter water edged with snow behind it. “No place ta play baseball anywhere about it, and that old lake out there always behind yer back. ’Spose it might rise someday like the river and drown ya out? Course it would be nice ta wade in summers, but I’d rather have Brentwood. Give me Brentwood every time!”