"You damned mean deceitful skunk!" cried the boy, slamming the door behind him, and ignoring his brother's outstretched hand. "I'd like to smash every bone in your body until there wasn't a piece as big as a toothpick left of you! You made me think you didn't care a rap about her—you said I wasn't worthy of her—that I was an ignorant farmer and she was a great lady. That's true enough—but I'm just as good as you are, every bit! I know you've done all sorts of rotten things I never have! But just the same this is the first time I ever thought that you—or any Gray—wasn't square! And then you write me a letter about her like that—as if she'd flung herself at your head—Sylvia!"
Austin's conscience smote him. He had never seen Thomas's side before; and neither he nor any other member of the family had guessed how much their incessant teasing had hurt, or how hard the younger brother had been hit. In the extremely unsentimental way common in New England, these two were very fond of each other, and he realized that Thomas's affection, which was very precious to him, would be gone forever if he did not set him right at once.
"Look here," he said, forcing Thomas into the swivel chair, and seating himself on the desk, ignoring the papers that fell fluttering to the floor, "you listen to me. You've got everything crooked, and it's my fault, and I'm darned sorry. I never told you I cared for Sylvia, not because I wanted to deceive you, but because I cared so everlasting much, from the first moment I set eyes on her, that I couldn't talk about it. No one else guessed either—you weren't the only one. The funny part of it is, that she didn't! She thought, because I steered pretty clear of her, out of a sense of duty, that I didn't like her especially. Imagine—not liking Sylvia! Ever hear of any one who didn't like roses, Thomas? But I never dreamed that she'd have me—or even of asking her to! As to throwing herself at my head—well, she put it that way herself once, and I shut her up pretty quick—you'll find out how to do it yourself some day, with some other girl, though, of course, it doesn't look that way to you now—but I can't give you that treatment! I guess I'll have to tell you—though I never expected to tell a living soul—just how it did happen. It's—it's the sort of thing that is too sacred to share with any one, even any one that I think as much of as I do of you—but I've got to make you believe that, five minutes beforehand, I had no idea it was going to occur." And as briefly and honestly as he could, he told Thomas how Sylvia had come to him while he was making his bonfire, and what had taken place afterwards. Then, with still greater feeling in his voice, he went on: "There's something else I haven't told any one else either, and that is, that I can't for a single instant get away from the thought that, even now, I'm not going to get her. I know I haven't any right to her and I don't feel sure that I can make her happy—that she can respect me as much as a girl ought to respect the man she's going to marry. I certainly don't think I'm any worthier of her than you—or as worthy—never did for a minute. I have done lots of rotten things, and you've always been as straight as a string—and you'd better thank the Lord you have! When you get engaged you won't have to go through what I have! But you see the difference is, as far as Sylvia and you and I are concerned"—he hesitated, his throat growing rough, his ready eloquence checked—"Sylvia likes you ever so much; she thinks you're a fine boy, and that by and by you'll want to marry a fine girl; but I'm a man already, and young as she is, Sylvia's a woman—and God knows why—she loves me!"
Austin glanced at Thomas. The anger was dying out of the boy's face, and unashamed tears were standing in his eyes.
"A lot," added Austin huskily. Then, after a long pause: "Won't you have a whiskey-and-soda with me—I've got some in the cupboard here for emergencies, while we talk over some of this business I was deep in when you came in? There are any number of things I've been anxious to get your opinion on—you've got lots of practical ability and good judgment in places where I'm weak, and I miss you no end when you're where I can't get at you—I certainly shall be glad when you're through your course, and home for good! And after we get this mess straightened out"—he bent over to pick up the scattered sheets—"we'd better go in together and find Sylvia, hadn't we?"
CHAPTER XVI
Strangely enough, Sylvia and Austin were perhaps less happy at this time than any of the other dwellers at the Homestead. After the first day, the week in New York had been a period of great happiness to both of them, and Austin had proved such an immediate success, both among Sylvia's friends and Uncle Mat's business associates, that both were immensely gratified. But after the return to the country, matters seemed to go less and less well. During the year in which they had "loved and longed in secret," each had exalted the other to the position of a martyr and a saint. The intimacy of their engagement was rapidly revealing the fact that, after all, they were merely ordinary human beings, and the discovery was something of a shock to both. Austin had thought over Uncle Mat's advice, and found it good; he was gentle and considerate, and showed himself perfectly willing to submit to Sylvia's wishes in most important decisions, but he refused to be dictated to in little things. She was so accustomed, by this time, to having her slightest whim not only respected, but admired, by all the adoring Gray family, and most of her world at large besides, that she was apt to behave like a spoiled child when Austin thwarted her. She nearly always had to admit, afterwards, that he had been right, and this did not make it any easier for her. His "incessant obstinacy," as she called it, was rapidly "getting on her nerves," while it seemed to him that they could never meet that she did not have some fresh grievance, or disagree with him radically about something. She wanted him at her side all the time; he had a thousand other interests. She saw no reason why, after they were married, they should live in the country all the year, and every year; he saw no reason why they should do anything else. And so it went with every subject that arose.
If Sylvia had been less idle, she would have had no time to think about "nerves." But the manservant and his wife whom she had installed in the little brick house were well-trained and competent to the last degree, and the ménage ran like clock-work without any help from her. She was debarred from riding or driving alone, and the girls at the farm had no time to go with her, and it was still an almost unheard-of thing in that locality for a woman to run a motor. She could not fill an hour a day working in her little garden, and she had no special taste for sewing. The only thing for her to do seemed to be to sit around and wait for Austin to appear, and Austin was not only very busy, but extremely absorbed in his work. It was impossible for him to come to see her every night, and when he did come, he was so thoroughly and wholesomely tired and sleepy, that his visits were short. On Sundays he had more leisure; but Mr. and Mrs. Gray seemed to take it for granted that Sylvia would still go to church with them in the morning, and spend the rest of the day at their house. She could not bring herself to the point of disappointing them, though she rebelled inwardly; but she complained to Austin, as they were walking back to her house together after a day spent in this manner, that she never saw him alone at all.
"It's not only the family," she said, "but Peter, and Fred, and Mr. and Mrs. Elliott are around all the time, and to-day there were Ruth and Frank and those two fussy babies needing something done for them every single minute besides! It was perfect bedlam. I want you to myself once in a while."
"You can have me to yourself, for good and all, whenever you want me," replied Austin.