"Oh, dear! I might have known you wouldn't have, with that hair and those eyes. Never mind! I'm certain that Dick would rather have a pauper goddess than a rich little earthworm."
"You mustn't talk any more about the matter," I said with as much dignity as I could muster in the midst of her laughter-provoking nonsense, which made the most sacred subjects seem a natural matter of discussion. "I know through Mrs. Taunton all about the circumstances--your father's wishes and his letter to Richard. If you can possibly love him you must accept him, advance his fortunes, and do your duty by your father. I am determined to be as noble as Laura Simonds in this matter and I refuse to be a stumbling-block!"
The girl fell limply into the lounging-chair.
"Oh," she said despondently, "if _you_ are going to be noble, too, there's no use discussing the matter. What an example we shall be for the heathen nations! You will be noble and give up Dick Morton; I shall be noble and marry him; and be noble at the same time in giving up Tom; Tom will be noble in suffering me to marry anybody but himself; Dick will be noble in obliging my father and marrying me instead of you; Laura is always noble! We could use up a whole order of nobility among us! And it is all so silly! Do you suppose my dear father would want four of us to be unhappy, his own daughter among them? It's really only Laura who matters, and if you had any ingenuity you could pacify her and persuade her that it is my duty for once to follow my ignoble inclinations. I am afraid of her, but _you_ needn't be! You could blaze and flash and tower, if you only would, and save us all!"
"You seem to forget," I urged, "that Mr. Morton has never asked me to marry him."
"That's nothing; he has probably been thinking how he could get me nicely disposed of, or how he could earn a roof under which he could ask you to step in wet weather. He's been too stupid and moody and dull this last winter for any use, and now I understand him. Has he ever seen you like this with your Rebecca-at-the-well hair down?"
"Certainly not!"
"I thought so; or he'd have forgotten the necessary roof!--Come in!--Goodness! it's your room and I locked the door! Do excuse me; I'll open it. A telegram for you.--Wait outside for an answer, Jimmy."
I tore open the envelope, confidently expecting that Cousin Sarah had been struck with paralysis; instead of which I read:
Archville, Pennsylvania, June 16
Have this moment secured a large and important contract assuring two years' lucrative work. May I come to see you immediately?
Name earliest day.
R. M.
I handed the message to the Kitten, who read it and exclaimed: "I knew he was only waiting for the roof! You see he doesn't worry about _my_ prospects--selfish pig! Answer it and say Thursday--you can get well by Thursday, can't you?--for I want to send for Tom on the same day.
There's a polo game at home on Saturday, and Tom has a new motor car.
Tell Dick the best hotel in the town is the Brooks House. I must wire to Laura, too. I shall say, let me see: I shall say: '_You shouldn't have left me. I couldn't be noble alone._' That's just ten words.
She'll understand fast enough, and it will pave the way for you when you explain the situation to her. We'll leave the sanitarium Friday and get your Cousin Sarah to chaperon us on the journey home. Here, I've written my messages, now do yours--hurry! There!--Jimmy, you're too old to play with matches, aren't you?"
"Yes, marm."
"Very well, then, you can be trusted with these two telegrams. Don't hold them near the fire; there's a match in each of them."
SECOND WEEK
As a patient Dr. Levi says I am almost as great a credit to the institution as Mrs. Chittenden-Ffollette herself.
Monday.--I slept all day, waking only for meals.
Tuesday.--The handcuffs slipped off my wrists and the balls and chains off my ankles.
Wednesday.--My headache, sideache, backache, and shoulderache disappeared. Breakfasted with the doctor on coffee, hot biscuits, beefsteak, and griddle cakes with sausage.
Thursday.--Richard Morton came.
Friday.--Dismissed as completely cured.
"The dimensions of this mercy are above my thoughts," as Cromwell wrote after the Worcester fight.
THE END