The Late Mrs. Null

by Frank R. Stockton

If she had read the truth, he felt that she had good reason for her resentment, and Lawrence did not trouble himself to consider if she had shown too much of it or not. He remembered the story of the defeated general, and, feeling that so far he had been thoroughly defeated, he determined to admit the fact, and to sound a retreat from all the positions he had held; but, at the same time, to make a bold dash into the enemy's camp, and, if possible, capture the commander-in-chief and the Minister of War.

He would go to Roberta, tell her all that he had thought, and explain all that he had done. There should be no bit of truth which she could have reasoned out, which he would not plainly avow and set before her. Then he would declare to her that his love for her had become so great, that, rushing over every barrier, whether of prudence, doubt, or indecision, it had carried him with it and laid him at her feet. When he had come to this bold conclusion, he cheered up his horse with a thump of his heel and cantered rapidly over the rest of the road.

Peggy, having nothing else to do, was standing by the yard gate when he came in sight, and she watched his approach with feelings of surprise and disgust. She had seen him ride away, and not considering the fact that he did not carry his valise with him, she supposed he had taken his final departure. She had conceived a violent dislike to Mr Croft, looking upon him in the light of an interloper and a robber, who had come to break up that expected marriage between Master Junius and Miss Rob, which the servants at Midbranch looked forward to as necessary for the prosperity of the family; and the preliminary stages of which she had taken upon herself the responsibility of describing with so much minuteness of detail. With the politeness natural to the Southern negro, she opened the gate for the gentleman, but as she closed it behind him, she cast after him a look of earnest malevolence. "Ef dot ole Miss Keswick don' kunjer you, sah," she said in an undertone, "I's gwine to do it myse'f. So, dar!" And she gave her foot a stamp on the ground.

Lawrence, all ignorant of the malignant feeling he had excited in this, to him, very unimportant and uninteresting black girl, tied his horse and went into the house. As he passed the open door of the parlor he saw a lady reading by a window in the farthest corner. Hanging up his hat, he entered, hoping that the reader, whose form was partially concealed by the back of the large rocking chair in which she was sitting, was Miss March. But it was not; it was Mrs Keswick's niece, deeply engrossed by a large-paged novel. She turned her head as he entered, and said: "Good evening."

"Good evening, Miss Annie," said Lawrence, seating himself in a chair opposite her on the other side of the window.

"Mr Croft," said she, laying her book on her lap, and inclining herself slightly toward him, "you have no right to call me Miss Annie, and I wish you would not do it. The servants in the South call ladies by their first names, whether they are married or not, but people would think it very strange if you should imitate them. My name in this house is Mrs Null, and I wish you would not forget it."

"The trouble with me is," said Lawrence, with a smile, "that I cannot forget it is not Mrs Null, but, of course, if you desire it, I will give you that name."

"I told you before how much I desired it," said she, "and why. When my aunt finds out the exact state of this affair, I shall wish to stay no longer in this house; and I don't want my stay to come to an end at present. I am very happy here with the only relatives I have in the world, who are ever so much nicer people than I supposed they were, and you have no right to come here and drive me away."

"My dear young lady," said Croft, "I wouldn't do such a thing for the world. I admit that I am very sorry that it is necessary, or appears to you to be so, that you should be here under false colors, but—"

"Appears to be," said she, with much emphasis on the first word. "Why, can't you see that it would be impossible for me, as a young unmarried woman, to come to the house of a man, whose proprietor, as Aunt Keswick considers herself to be, has been trying to marry to me, even before I was grown up; for the letters that used to make my father most angry were about this. I hate to talk of these family affairs, and I only do it so that you can be made understand things."