AN UNEXPECTED PROPOSAL.
Nora Blanchard had remained in Minton longer than she had originally intended, delayed partly by her interest in the events that had been taking place, partly because she would not go till she had made some arrangements for the future of little Cecilia. Of course, it had been impossible that the child could see her mother in those last days, and the task of breaking to her the truth that she should see that mother no more had been to Nora a terribly trying one. She soothed the child's passionate grief, as she best could; but she could not venture, as yet, to intrude upon it what she felt would be the unwelcome intelligence of her relationship to Mr. Chillingworth. When the latter, by Dr. Blanchard's advice, went away for a time to recruit at a noted health-resort, he gladly accepted Miss Blanchard's offer to take Cecilia with her to her home at Rockland for the summer, until he should be able to make up his mind as to his future arrangements. The secret of his sad story was known to very few, and those few were not likely to make it more generally known.
Meantime Lizzie Mason had made a tolerably satisfactory recovery, and had been sent back to her home, but she still had a cough which neither Nora nor Dr. Blanchard liked to hear. Miss Blanchard had formed one of her impulsive plans for transplanting the whole family to Rockland. If she could get employment for Lizzie and Jim under Mr. Foster, the benevolent mill-owner there, they would all be so much better off in the healthy, pleasant country place, and Jim would be away from his bad companions, and, by and by, he and Nelly might settle down. Lizzie's eyes sparkled with pleasure as Miss Blanchard unfolded this project.
"Oh, if it could only all happen, Miss Blanchard, it would be just lovely!" she said.
And Nora made up her mind to try to accomplish it. She was, herself, thinking longingly of the green fields and budding woods of Rockland in these early days of May; and she was growing impatient for the sight of the wild flowers that she knew were blooming fresh and fair in her favorite woodland nooks. And yet, she felt very unwilling to leave her friends in Minton, her little nephews and nieces, the "Girls' Club," and all the other interests that had engaged her thoughts daring the winter. But as the married sister, who had been staying with her family in the old homestead at Rockland was soon to take her departure, Nora's return could not be long delayed.
She bad seen a good deal of Roland Graeme of late. He had called repeatedly to bear the latest report of the progress of the invalids, in whom they were both so deeply interested. His own saddened expression, so different from the bright, eager look natural to him, and what Nora had said about his attachment to Grace, had enlisted Mrs. Blanchard's kindly feeling, and she hospitably urged the young man to come to see them often. With Nora he had always many common objects of interest, but the chief bond of sympathy, now, was the sweet memory of Grace, about whom Roland liked to talk freely when alone with Miss Blanchard, sure of her full comprehension. And he, in turn, felt for her more sympathy than was perhaps needed, on the score of the disappointment he thought she had experienced in Mr. Chillingworth. She, happily, was thoroughly cured of the incipient fancy, which had not been strong enough to seriously affect her happiness, though the moral shock could not but leave its mark—a mark which, but for the solemn experiences she had passed through, immediately after, would have been much deeper.
Roland had need of all the comfort and sympathy she could give him, for he had various troubles just then. The people who delight in inventing or propagating malicious gossip had been making such mischief as they could. Nora's indignation had been roused more than once, lately, by hearing the incident of his appearance at the police-court on behalf of their unfortunate protégée, distorted into a story discreditable to Roland on the score of such an acquaintance. And, as she could not possibly give the true history of the affair, her indignant defence was received with somewhat incredulous and significant smiles, excessively annoying to her chivalrous nature. Many people, indeed, were only too glad to catch at a substantial reason for looking askance at Roland Graeme.
But personal annoyances did not, after all, trouble him so much as did his growing anxiety about Waldberg, which also, to some extent, he confided to Miss Blanchard. The "boy" had got fairly into the vortex of speculation, so far as his very limited means would permit. Some fatal successes had greatly intensified his ambition. He was dreaming wild dreams of "making his pile," and carrying off Kitty in triumph; for he had no doubt that "Old Farrell" would "come round" if he could only satisfy him financially. And he knew, too well, that Kitty was thoroughly tired of her engagement, and that, but for her father's strong opposition, it would have been broken long ago. The truth was, Mr. Farrell had lost heavily of late through various causes, and his own affairs were not in nearly such a flourishing condition as was generally supposed.
Mr. Archer had also become a frequent visitor at Dr. Blanchard's, and had been, as Mrs. Blanchard observed, "very polite and attentive." He was fond of riding in the fine spring afternoons, and, as Miss Blanchard was a good horsewoman, he had urged that, since she was looking rather pale and languid, she should have a ride or two with him, Miss Pomeroy's horse and habit being readily placed at her disposal. Her brother warmly seconded the proposal. It was, he said, just the sort of tonic she needed, after all she had been through. Accordingly, they had two delightful rides into the country, during which Mr. Archer exerted himself to be more agreeable than she had ever known him, for he knew by this time what Nora liked, and he could throw off his half-assumed tone of cynicism when it pleased him. He led the way to the prettiest spots in the neighborhood, where they alighted to pick wild flowers. As they were returning from the last of these excursions—Miss Blanchard with a knot of hepaticas on her breast—they met Roland Graeme, who had been giving himself the refreshment of a country walk. He looked somewhat wistfully at the two riders. He was, himself, very fond of the exercise, and Miss Blanchard was looking remarkably well, the rapid exercise having brought the color to her cheek and the sparkle to her eyes. He could not help feeling a pang of envy—a wish, that just then he could be in the place of the prosperous-looking, well-appointed Philip Archer.
"Graeme's looking fagged out, these days!" remarked Mr. Archer. "His philanthropy seems to be too much for him."
Nora made no reply; for she could not talk over Roland's troubles with Mr. Archer, who always patronized "Graeme."
"It's too bad of you, Miss Blanchard," he continued, "to go off and leave all your friends here, just when they've got to depend on you. The Girls' Club will be left desolate. Miss Pomeroy and Miss Farrell will never be able to keep it up without you."
"I think they will do very well," she said, laughing.
"And Mr. Graeme will miss one of his warmest sympathizers," he added, looking at her scrutinizingly. He saw no trace of any consciousness and went on, lightly: "And what will you do with yourself in Rockland? By your account there are no wrongs to right in that happy Arcadia."
"Rest, and be thankful," she retorted, in the same tone.
When he spoke again, there was an undercurrent of real feeling struggling through the lightness of his tone.
"Now, Miss Blanchard, you know philanthropy is decidedly your vocation; you ought to have a subject always at hand. Couldn't you now—" he hesitated, and she looked at him inquiringly, "couldn't you now—take a fellow like me in hand, and try what you could do with him? I assure you—you wouldn't find me a bad subject!"
His tone made her begin to comprehend his meaning, but she was too much surprised to have words ready. He spoke again, more pleadingly, "Won't you try, Miss Blanchard? I do think you could make something of me, if you cared enough to try?"
His manner had forced Nora to understand him at last. She was divided between surprise at the unexpected proposal, and involuntary annoyance that it should have been made without the slightest reason to suppose that it would be accepted. However, she managed, she hardly knew how, to convey to him, in a few rather curt words, the fact that such a thing was utterly impossible, that she was sorry he should have thought of it. She regretted, afterwards, that she had been so abrupt in her refusal. But she had no need to trouble herself. Mr. Archer's self-satisfaction was not likely to be permanently disturbed by any such experience; and it is even possible that, on cooler reflection, he did not altogether regret that his rather impulsive offer had been declined; for it would have been, he felt, rather a strain for him to try, for any length of time, to "live up to" such a girl as Nora Blanchard!
In order to break the somewhat awkward silence that followed during the last part of their ride, Mr. Archer remarked that he was afraid "Old Farrell" would be in financial trouble, now.
"Why?" asked Nora, interested on her friend's account, and glad of a diversion from the former subject.
"Oh, I suspect he's been playing high, lately, in stocks. There's been a rapid rise for some days, in B. & B., and I believe he stood fair to make a big score. Every one thought a further rise was sure. But I believe they've come down with a run to-day, and I'm afraid he and a lot of the smaller fry that follow his lead, will get pretty well caught."
"Oh, I hope not—for Kitty's sake!"
"Oh, Miss Kitty's all right, you know! I imagine the old fellow was very glad to get Pomeroy secured for her; for I rather think he's been feeling a little shaky of late."
Nora was very silent during the short remainder of her ride. She was thinking, not only of Kitty, but of Waldberg and Roland Graeme.