Part 9 (1/2)
”You have come home early!”
It was not hospitably done. Indeed, Miss Liz, sister of the Colonel's angelic wife, inherited few of that departed lady's endearments. While both had pa.s.sed their girlhood in the Shenandoah, this one alone managed to absorb and retain all the stern qualities from the surroundings of her nativity. Now a spinster of perhaps sixty years, this firmness had become imbedded in her nature as unalterably as the Blue Ridge rock; her eyes and hair were as gray, and her voice--unless she were deeply moved--as hard; also was her sense of duty as unyielding. Before her sister's death she regularly visited Arden, and afterwards the Colonel had insisted upon her making it a permanent home.
He paid the price for this, as he knew he would pay; but without a word, and with as few outward signs as possible. For Miss Liz could not have been termed in sympathy with the easy-going Colonel, nor, in her self-righteous moods, sympathetic with any man. From long practice and research she had at her fingers' tips the measurements of every male transgressor from Cain to Judas Iscariot, and could work up about as unhappy an hour for gay Lotharios as might be found this side of the Spanish Inquisition. At any rate, Miss Liz did come to Arden, finding rest and quiet and peace--not imparting them.
The little darkies never tired of twisting pieces of bale-wire into an imitation of lorgnettes and airily strutting in her wake when she visited the garden---being careful to keep their carousal well away from the danger zone. At the same time, all who had been allowed peeps into her gentler side were gripped with tentacles of affection as firm as was her own relentless adherence to duty. In just one respect might Miss Liz have been rated below par, and this was a hopeless incapacity to see when others were teasing her. She took all in good faith when they looked her straight in the eyes and told the most flagrant absurdities.
Brent now smiled blandly into her face and accepted the implied rebuke a moment in silence.
”Isn't it extraordinary,” he said at last, ”that I guessed you would be having on that becoming gown, and looking just this cool and attractive?”
In spite of her stiffening shoulders and frown of extreme displeasure, an echo of color crept slowly into her cheeks. For it is a curious fact that, while stern and self-denying people may be found who are impregnable to the fiercest attacks of pa.s.sion, indifferent to the most insidious lures of avarice, unmoved by the most convincing whispers of jealousy, and impartial in every act toward fellowman--all, all will yield an inch to the smile of flattery.
”Fiddlesticks!” she exclaimed. ”I am old enough to be your grandmother!”
The lorgnette never faltered, and Brent's eyes lowered in feigned distress.
”Yes, I suppose so,” he quietly admitted. ”The fact is, when you come out on the porch this way and begin to talk so pleasantly, I'm always forgetting that you're so--so terribly old as you insist. I'll try to remember, Miss Liz.”
”I am not inviting old age,” she smiled, with a freezing lack of mirth; but yet she may have yielded the inch, for one of her thin hands went timidly up to the iron gray curls which hung before her ears, and her eyes turned to gaze dreamily over the fields as though in search of some long past, golden memory.
His own eyes took this opportunity to cast another sly look at the tell-tale goblet, hoping to light upon some method of spiriting it away.
”Mr. McElroy,” she suddenly exclaimed, ”I have been talking to brother John, and have told him my views about you!”
Brent's mouth opened a moment in surprise and then he frankly began to laugh.
”I'm glad I wasn't in hearing distance!”
”You might have heard to your advantage. I told him that I considered marriage to some determined girl your only chance of reformation.”
”Marriage!” he almost rose out of his chair. ”Heavens, Miss Liz! I've got an alarm clock that does that sort of thing!”
”Alarm clock?” she gasped. ”Pray, what do you suppose marriage is?”
”I've never tried to suppose! I don't want to suppose”
She arose with dignity and went toward the door. There was another minute, while he stood making humble apologies to which she seemed indifferent, and then her voice came like the crackling of dry twigs. ”I bid you good morning, Mr. McElroy!”
CHAPTER IX
AT THE UNPAINTED HOUSE
Brent sat down and took a deep breath, as men do when they have narrowly escaped disaster. He saw Zack on a mule, heading for the gate, and called him.
”Uncle Zack,” he whispered, when the old darky had come hat in hand up the steps, ”rustle me another julep!”
”Lawd, Ma.r.s.e Brent,” he cast a suspicious glance toward the front hall, ”I'se gotter go clar to Ma.r.s.e Bob's an' cut his haih!” But, translating the look, Brent gave a low laugh, saying:
”She won't be out again for awhile. Hustle, Zack! I've just been frozen to death!”