CHAPTER XV.
THE HOLIDAYS.
The summer vacation had been spent by the Remington’s and Maddy at the seaside, the latter coming to the cottage for a week before returning to her school in New York, and as the doctor was then absent from home, she did not meet him at all. Consequently he had not seen her since she left Aikenside for New York. But she was at home now for the Christmas holidays—was down at the cottage, too; and unusually nervous for him, the doctor stood before the little square glass in his back office, trying to make himself look as well as possible, for he was going that very afternoon to call upon Miss Clyde. He was glad she was not at Aikenside; he would rather meet her where Guy was not, and he hoped he might be fortunate enough to find her alone.
The doctor was seriously in love. He acknowledged that now to himself, confessing, too, that with his love was mingled a spice of jealousy, lest Guy Remington should be expending more thought on Maddy Clyde than was consistent with the promised husband of Lucy Atherstone. He wished so much to talk with Guy about her, and yet he dreaded it; for if the talk should confirm his suspicious there would be no hope for him. No girl in her right mind would prefer him to Guy Remington, and with a little sigh the doctor was turning away from the glass, when, as if to verify a familiar proverb, Guy himself drove up in a most dashing equipage, the silver-tipped harness of his high-mettled steed flashing in the wintry sunlight, and the bright-hued lining of his fanciful robes presenting a very gay appearance.
Guy was in the best of spirits. For an entire half day he had tried to devise some means to getting Maddy up to Aikenside. It was quite too bad for her to spend the whole vacation at the cottage, as she seemed likely to do. He knew she was lonely there; that the bare floor and low, dark walls affected her unpleasantly. He had seen that in her face when he bade her good-by, for he had carried her down to the cottage himself, and now he was going after her. There was to be a party at Aikenside; the very first since Guy was its master. The neighbors had said he was too proud to invite them, but they should say so no more. The house was to be thrown open in honor of Guy’s twenty-sixth birthday, and all who were at all desirable as guests were to be bidden to the festival. First on the list was the doctor, who, remembering how averse Guy was to large parties, wondered at the proceedings. But Guy was all engaged in the matter, and after telling who were to be invited, added rather indifferently: “I’m going now down to Honedale after Maddy. It’s better for her to be with us a day or two beforehand. You’ve seen her, of course.”
No, the doctor had not; he was just going there, he said, in a tone so full of sad disappointment, that Guy detected it at once, and asked if anything was the matter.
“Guy,” the doctor continued, sitting down by his friend, “I remember once your making me your confidant about Lucy. You remember it, too?”
“Yes, why? well?” Guy replied, beginning to feel strangely uncomfortable as he half divined what was coming next.
Latterly Guy had stopped telling the doctor that he was educating Maddy for him. Indeed, he did not talk of her at all, and the doctor might have fancied her out of his mind but for the frequent visits to New York, which Guy found it absolutely necessary to make. Guy did not himself understand the state of his own feelings with regard to Maddy, but if compelled to explain them they would have been something as follows: He fully expected to marry Lucy Atherstone; the possibility that he should not had never occurred to him, but that was no reason why Maddy Clyde need be married for these many years. She was very young yet; there was time enough for her to think of marrying when she was twenty-five, and in the meanwhile it would be splendid to have her at Aikenside as Lucy’s and his friend. Nothing could be nicer, and Guy did not care to have this little arrangement spoiled. But that the doctor had an idea of spoiling it, he had not a doubt, particularly after the doctor’s next remark.
“I have not seen Maddy since last spring, you know. Is she very much improved?”
“Yes, very much. There is no more stylish-looking girl to be seen on Broadway than Maddy Clyde,” and Guy shook down his pantaloons a little awkwardly.