“There may be some earlier data that I can let you have for that first part,” was Miss Hamilton’s vague promise. “I’ll see what I can find for you.”
Marjorie presently went to the study wondering not a little as to what the data might be which Miss Hamilton had promised. She surmised from the old lady’s preoccupied air during the remainder of the meal that Miss Susanna was mentally trying to decide whether or not to give her for the biography certain incidents in the life of Brooke Hamilton which she had thus far withheld.
“I wish you could really speak and tell me something about yourself,” she said fancifully to Brooke Hamilton’s portrait. “What were your favorite sports when you were a very young man? Riding, of course, and probably swimming. Did you—let me think”—she stared reflectively at the portrait—“did you ever win a hundred yard dash, or—a yacht race?” She colored self-consciously at her own question. Her thoughts had veered suddenly from Brooke Hamilton to Hal Macy.
Thought of Hal next reminded her that she would not see Hal at Easter. That would be best for them both. Still she visualized Hal’s disappointment, not only at not seeing her—he would miss Jerry’s comradely companionship. It would be of no use to tell Jerry she ought to go to Sanford for Easter on Hal’s account. Jerry would hoot at the idea. Marjorie decided that she would write Hal a particularly cordial Easter letter to try to make up for her absence.
She brought her mind summarily back to the subject of Brooke Hamilton. What was it Miss Susanna had once said of him concerning love? And when was it she had said it? An instant, and Marjorie recalled the occasion. It was the only time the mistress of the Arms had ever mentioned Brooke Hamilton as having loved. She had said on the occasion of Marjorie’s introduction to the portrait of her kinsman in the study that Brooke Hamilton had believed in the romance of deeds; not the romance of love. She had also said that he had “found after all that love was love. That the romance of men and women—”
Miss Susanna had stopped at this juncture and had never again renewed the subject. Marjorie grew inwardly vexed with herself for having permitted her thoughts to run toward love. Because, unfortunately, Hal had fallen in love with her, the thought of Hal must ever bring reminder of the unwelcome fact. She was glad that Brooke Hamilton’s history was one of deeds. In the mass of data she had handled there had been personal mention made of only his mother, Faith Gretney Hamilton, and Miss Susanna.
“I’ve been mooning,” she informed the handsome, blue-eyed man in the gilt frame. “Now I am going to work hard. I must leave you in July for two whole months. I wish you would come down from the wall and finish writing your own story before I come back. Wouldn’t that be a lovely magic surprise for Marjorie?”
A light tap on the study door sent her scurrying to open it. Miss Susanna walked into the study an odd look on her small shrewd features. In her hands she carried a rosewood box. It was perhaps eight by ten inches and not more than three inches deep. It was a lock box with a beautifully executed leaf border and a simple, artistically carved monogram on the shining surface of the lid.
“Marjorie, I have brought you Uncle Brooke’s journal,” Miss Susanna began without preamble. “I hadn’t intended to let you or anyone else ever see it, much less permit a line of it to be published. Since you have been at the Arms I have wondered several times whether I was doing right in keeping it from you. How can you acquire a true conception of him unless you know him as his journal reveals him?”
As she talked Miss Susanna busied herself with the turning of a tiny key in the lock. She set the box on the study table, opened it. Inside it lay an oblong notebook bound in black leather. It was not very thick. Around it was a wide black rubber band.