The Blythes Are Quoted

  “Oh, yes, they seem very popular. Or else it was Susan’s crimps. My partner couldn’t have had any such an arrangement. Probably he was a stranger.”

  “Who bought your pie?” asked Clack, with affected carelessness, as she put shoetrees into a pair of slippers with ridiculous heels.

  “A young man by the name of Don Glynne. He said he was the new gardener at Miss Merrion’s.”

  “I heard Miss Merrion had one,” said Clack, concealing her horror over Chrissie’s eating a pie with a gardener. After all, a gardener was much better than some lout of a hired man. “He came about a week ago. I hear she is very well satisfied with him, so he must be some gardener, for she is awful hard to please. She has had five in a year. You know she has a place just outside Lowbridge. It is becoming cele-brated for its rock and water gardens. She only came there to live a few years ago and she makes a sort of hobby of her gardens.”

  “So he told me. You see, he was really the only ... possible man there.”

  “So I would suppose,” said Clack, as sarcastically as it was possible for Clack to speak. But she found herself wishing old Mrs. Clark might know of it.

  “I liked him, Clack darling. I felt acquainted with him as soon as we were introduced. I liked him because he was tall and had good shoulders and sleek black hair and eyebrows that flew up at the corners with cloudy blue-black eyes under them. He was the best-looking man there except Jem Blythe. And they say he is as good as engaged to the minister’s daughter.”

  “But that is absurd, my lamb.”

  “What is absurd, darling Clack? Jem Blythe being good-looking ... or his being engaged to Faith Meredith?”

  “Neither. Jem is a very handsome boy and Faith Meredith will make him a very suitable wife when the time comes. After all they are only children yet and Jem has to get through college. He is going to be a doctor like his father. I only hope he will be half as good a one.”

  “How you people around here worship the Blythes! Of course they are a nice family ...”

  “I should not be living today if it were not for Dr. Blythe!” said Clack.

  “Then I owe him an eternal debt of gratitude. But let us return to our argument. What do you consider so absurd?”

  “Why, liking a man just because he has cloudy blue-black eyes. The worst rascal I ever knew had eyes something like that. He is in jail now.”

  “You couldn’t have a better reason, Clack darling. I feel sure that George has prominent, gooseberry green eyes.”

  Clack tingled. She felt that she was on the verge of the secret ... the real reason why old Mrs. Clark had allowed Chrissie to come to Memory. But she remained outwardly calm.

  “Who is George?” she asked, lifting the tray off Chrissie’s bed and affecting indifference.

  “‘Who is George?’ says she. To think anyone doesn’t know there is a George!”

  “I know a dozen Georges,” said Clack patiently.

  “Well, I might as well tell you the story now as any other time. Then you’ll know why I was sent here. That is, if you are interested, Clack. If not, there is no use boring you.”

  “Oh, you know I am not bored,” said the diplomatic Clack. “And anyhow I know quite well that your aunt is behind it all.”

  “I have some suspicion myself, Clack. I feel sure dad would never have thought it out for himself.”

  “If your aunt is behind it you might as well give in at once,” said Clack. “She’ll get her way, never fear.”

  “She shall not, Clack. She will not, Clack. Well, if you must know ... you’re not to tell even Susan Baker.”

  “I don’t tell Susan Baker ... or anyone else ... secrets that belong to other people,” said Clack indignantly.

  “Well, his whole name is George Fraser ... and he is the man dad and Aunty are determined I shall marry. There, you have the deadly truth at last, Clack darling.”

  Polly Claxton felt more bewildered than ever.

  “Then why don’t you know what colour his eyes are?”

  Though as she spoke Clack remembered that she could not remember what colour her own husband’s eyes had been. She had an impression that they were a greyish blue.

  “Because I have never seen him, darling Clack.”

  “Never seen him! And yet you are going to marry him!”

  “Never,” said Chrissie energetically. “And I hope I never shall see him. Though I have my qualms. You know Aunty is for getting her own way by hook or crook. And of course she has dad on her side this time.”

  Yes, Clack knew very well. But why in the world did both old Mrs. Clark and Adam Clark want Chrissie to marry this George if she didn’t want to? Adam Clark usually took the side of Chrissie ... though, as Clack reflected somewhat venomously, it seldom did any good. In the end, old Mrs. Clark had her way. There must be money in the matter. Clack knew very well that Adam Clark was by no means as rich as rumour reported him.

  “But she is going to find her match in me,” Chrissie was saying energetically. “I won’t marry George, Clack ... I simply won’t.”

  “Have you fallen in love with anybody else?” asked Clack anxiously.

  That would be a complication indeed. Clack knew Chrissie had the Clark will, too.

  “Why do they want you to marry him? And how does it come you have never seen him?”

  “Because he is only a third cousin or something. And he has always lived at the Coast. You know all the Clarks think it isn’t really proper to marry someone totally unrelated to you.”

  “Yes, I know. It is a family tradition,” nodded Clack. “And how about money?”

  “Oh, this George is simply rolling.”

  “Ah,” thought Clack. “That explains a good many things.” But she was prudent enough not to say it.

  “Well, my Great-uncle Edward died about a year ago. He was disgustingly rich.”

  “There are worse things than money,” said Clack wisely. “You can do a lot of good with it.”

  “I’m sure Uncle Edward never did anything good with his. He just delighted in accumulating it. But we didn’t expect to get any of his billions ... you know the old quarrel?”

  Yes, Clack knew of it. Adam Clark had told her once when he had had a glass too much ... as Clack charitably put it. Old Mrs. Clark would have died before she told it to a servant.

  “Well, of course, that was another moth-eaten tradition that had to be honoured. So we were all amazed, Clack, when we heard about his will. Wills are horrid things, aren’t they, Clack?”

  “They generally make a lot of trouble,” said Clack, “but still how could things go along without them? And may I ask what was the matter with your Uncle Edward’s will?”

  “You may ask anything you like, darling.”

  “Did he leave his money to you?”

  “No such good luck ... at least not exactly. He left it all to this detestable George Fraser and me if we married each other before I was twenty-one ... just another year. Did you ever, Clack darling, hear of anything more horribly, hopelessly Victorian than that? I ask you!”

  “Things might be worse,” said Clack. “I’ve heard of many queer wills in my time.”

  Clack hadn’t the least idea what Victorian meant but she knew Chrissie did not like the will and she did not blame her. It would not be a pleasant thing for anybody to have to marry someone they had never seen. But she understood Adam Clark and old Mrs. Clark a little more clearly now. They worshipped money, as she very well knew. Chrissie must have got her disposition from her dead mother. There wasn’t an ounce of Clark in her ... but then she had never known poverty.

  It was a comfort to Clack that at least it wasn’t that she had fallen in love with anyone at the barn dance. But she was still convinced that if old Mrs. Clark wanted Chrissie to marry this unknown George Chrissie would have to do it.

  “What if you don’t marry him ... or he doesn’t want to marry you?” ... though Clack could not conceive this possible. Still, he might already be in love with some other girl. C
lack shuddered. It was a dreadful tangle. As for a month at Memory curing Chrissie of her obstinacy, that was sheer nonsense. No, old lady Clark had something up her sleeve.

  “Then it all goes to some hospital. And of course I said I wouldn’t marry him. That was why I was banished here. Though you can’t imagine how glad I was to be banished, darling.”

  “You couldn’t be any gladder than I was to have you come,” said Polly Claxton truthfully.

  “And ... imagine it, Clack ... this George actually wrote father, telling him that he couldn’t get away from his business this summer but would try to come in the fall. So it seems the creature actually works.”

  “Well, he is none the worse of that, darling,” said Clack wisely.

  “I’m not saying he is. I like people who work. But he might have been interested enough ... however, that is beside the question. He didn’t want to come, that was all.”

  “Perhaps he didn’t like the idea of marrying someone he had never seen any more than you did,” suggested Clack.

  “But at least he could have come and ... and seen me ... and we could have talked the matter over. But he wouldn’t, and dad ... prompted, as I am quite as well aware as you are, Clack ... don’t deny it ... by Aunty ... conceived the idea of going to the Coast and taking me with him. Fancy, Clack darling, just fancy.”

  “It was a silly idea,” conceded Clack, who thought it worse than silly.

  “Being trotted out there to see if I’d do! They were so afraid those millions would slip through their fingers yet. As they will!”

  “Hmm,” said Clack.

  “They are afraid George might fall in love with somebody else. Perhaps he is in love with her already. Clack, I never thought of that.”

  “It is quite likely,” agreed Clack. “Remember he has never seen you.”

  “Perhaps that is why he couldn’t leave his horrid business to come and see me. But he could have told us. Well, if that is the case I’m even up with him for I said no and stuck to it. We had ructions.”

  “I should think it likely,” said Clack, remembering her own ructions with old Mrs. Clark ... in which it was a good deal of satisfaction to recall that old Mrs. Clark had not always been the victor.

  “You know you can never convince Aunty that anything she does not believe can be true.”

  “I know it too well, darling lamb.”

  “You don’t know how nice it is to be called ‘lamb’ again! Well, of course she couldn’t believe that anyone would turn down five millions.”

  “It is a lot of money,” said Clack meditatively.

  “Darling Clack, don’t sound so mercenary. You are not, really. Do you mean to tell me you would marry anyone you had never seen for his money?”

  “No, lamb ... but I’d have a look at him first.”

  “Even if he wouldn’t come to see you?”

  “No ... but I’d manage it some way.”

  “Clack, I believe you’ve gone over to the enemy.”

  “Never, my lamb. You know me better than that. But I just wanted you to look at both sides of the question.”

  “There was only one side. Well, finally I was sent here ... or rather I was given my choice of coming here or going to the Coast. I didn’t take a split second to decide. ‘You are making a mistake,’ said Aunty icily.”

  “I know just how she would say it,” reflected Clack.

  “‘I have a right to make my own mistakes,’ I said.”

  “So have we all,” thought Clack, “but we haven’t the right to blame the consequences on somebody else. Though most of us do it,” she added honestly. Aloud ...

  “And what did your aunt say?”

  “Oh, just ‘Indeed!,’ like that! You know quite well how she would say it. And you know when Aunty says, ‘Indeed!,’ I usually wilt. But I didn’t wilt this time. Clack, I was so glad to get away ... and relieved.”

  “For the time being,” thought Clack.

  “You know I had such an uneasy feeling that Aunty always gets her way in the end.”

  “So she does,” thought Clack.

  “But she isn’t going to get it this time.”

  “George may be very nice, my lamb.”

  “Clack, he’s fat. I’m sure he’s fat. All the Georges I know are fat.”

  “George Mallard is as thin as a lathe.”

  “He is the exception that proves the rule then. Besides, there is a picture of him at home ... one his mother sent Aunty when a baby ... his mother had some sense ... she didn’t hold with old feuds and traditions ... he was a little fat baby, with his mouth open ...”

  “But babies change so, lamb. Some of the thinnest men I know were fat dumplings when they were babies.”

  “I feel quite sure George hasn’t changed. I know that he is a little fat man with a moon face. I can’t bear a pudgy man with a moon face. And who could marry a moon face, Clack?”

  “Lots of women do,” said Clack. “And they are very happy with them, too. But I wish you would talk the matter over with Mrs. Blythe.”

  “Clack, I told you this was to be a profound secret.”

  “And of course it will as far as I am concerned, lamb. But Mrs. Blythe knows so much about men ...”

  “I think you worship those Blythes, Clack. You are always quoting them.”

  “I worship only my Maker,” said Clack rebukingly. “But Mrs. Blythe has made so many matches ...”

  “That is no recommendation, Clack. I don’t want anyone to make a match for me.”

  “Anyhow, you are not going to marry anyone you don’t want to as long as you are under my roof, lamb,” said Clack loyally.

  She meant it. It would be fun to get the better of old Mrs. Clark. But had anyone ever succeeded in doing that? Clack could not recall one, except herself.

  “I knew I could depend on you, Aunty Clack. And remember, not a word to the Blythes or Susan Baker.”

  “As if I ever told secrets to Susan Baker! Other people’s secrets, I mean.”

  “There, I’ve eaten all the berries ... they were delicious. I can’t remember when I’ve had wild strawberries before. I even licked the dish when you were retrieving my comb from the wastebasket.”

  “Oh, no, you didn’t, lamb. A Clark would never do that.”

  “Do you think Nan Blythe would?”

  “I would think it very unlikely. She has been better brought up. Susan Baker says ...”

  “Never mind what Susan Baker says. I don’t care a hoot for her opinion or the Blythes’ either. Though I do think the Blythes are a nice family ... and I wish Jem Blythe was a few years older. He won’t be fat ... and his name isn’t George.”

  “What are you going to do today, my lamb?”

  “Why, I’m going to live it, darling Clack. It is so long since I have had a chance to live a day. You know we don’t live at Ashburn ... we just exist. As for today, I’m going to town with Don in the afternoon.”

  “Don! Who is Don?”

  “Clack, darling, have you forgotten so soon? Why, the boy who bought my pie.”

  “Not Don Glynne ... not the gardener at Miss Merrion’s?”

  “Who else? There aren’t two Don Glynnes hereabouts, are there? He has got to get a sod edger and some special kind of snails for the new cement garden pool he is making for Miss Merrion.”

  Clack sat down. She really had to. And she felt that she had to register a protest.

  “My lamb, don’t you think you should be more ... fastidious? He’s only a gardener ... really a hired servant.”

  “I’m sure he’s an excellent gardener, if all you’ve told me of Miss Merrion is true. She’s a crank, Don says, but she knows about gardens.”

  “Do you call him Don?”

  “Naturally, Clacky. Would you have me call a gardener ‘Mr.’? And he calls me Chrissie ... I told him my name was Christine Dunbar. Now, darling, don’t look like that ... it isn’t deceit ... it’s just protective coloration. He’d never come near me if he found out I was Adam Clark?
??s daughter.”

  “I should think not,” said Clack, with all the dignity she could muster.

  “And he thinks I’m your niece ... I called you Aunty, you see. You are not ashamed of having me for a niece, are you?”

  “Lamb,” said Clack reproachfully.

  “And I think he got the impression, Clack ... I didn’t tell him ... I really didn’t ... that I was a nursery governess back in town. I only said that the life of a nursery governess was rather dull and hard.”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Blythe would never allow any of her girls to go riding with a ... a servant.”

  “Clack, if you quote any of the Blythes to me again ... I’ll throw something at you. And he gave my pie a word of praise ... so I am not the only deceitful person in the world. And tonight we are going for a moonlit swim down at Four Winds Harbour. Don’t look like that, darling. There will be a whole lot of others there. Don’t worry, dearest of Clacks. This is just a bit of adventure. There isn’t any danger of my falling in love with Miss Merrion’s gardener, if that is what you are afraid of.”

  “It isn’t. You couldn’t forget you are a Clark of Ashburn.”

  “Oh, couldn’t I! You’ve no idea how easy it would be. You don’t know how tired I am of being a Clark of Ashburn. But still I’ll not fall in love with Don Glynne in spite of his cloudy blue eyes.”

  “But what of him?”

  Clack felt she had a very good argument there.

  “Oh, he won’t fall in love with me. He struck me as being a very level-headed, self-sufficient young man out for a little amusement in a dull summer. Besides ... the men can look out for themselves, can’t they, Clack?”

  Clack, having always preached this very doctrine, could not deny that Chrissie’s argument was reasonable, but still ...

  “Running around with common people, my lamb ...”

  “He is more intelligent than most of the young men I know back home. He would not have refused to come east to see what kind of a wife his great-uncle had picked out for him. He would have packed a grip and taken the first train.”

  “How do you know he would ... or could, lamb?”

  “Wait till you see his eyes, Clack. You can always read a man’s character by his eyes.”