“I am obliged to you, Guy; but as far as I am concerned, you may spare yourself the trouble. If my wife needs educating, I can do it myself.”
Guy was puzzled. Could it be that after all he was deceived, and the doctor did not care for Maddy? It might be, and he hastened to change the conversation to another topic than Maddy Clyde. The doctor staid to dinner, and as Guy watched him closely, he made up his mind that he did care for Maddy Clyde, and this confirmed him in his plan of educating her for him.
Guy felt himself very good, very generous, very condescending, and very forgiving, the earlier portion of the afternoon; but later in the day he began to view Guy Remington in the light of a martyr, said martyrdom consisting in the scornful toss of the head with which Agnes had listened to his plan, and the open opposition of Mrs. Noah.
“Was he beside himself, or what?” the latter asked. “She liked Maddy Clyde herself, but it wasn’t for him to demean himself by turning her schoolmaster. Folks would talk awfully, and she couldn’t blame ’em; besides, what would Lucy Atherstone say to his bein’ alone in a room with a girl as pretty as Maddy? It was a duty he owed her at any rate to tell her all about it, and if she said ’twas right, why, go it.”
This was the drift of Mrs. Noah’s remarks, and as Guy depended much on her judgment, he decided to write to Lucy and ask if she had the slightest objections to his teaching Maddy Clyde. Accordingly he wrote that very night, telling her frankly all he knew concerning Maddy, and narrating the circumstances under which he first had met her, being careful also to repeat what he knew would have weight with an English girl like Lucy, to wit: that though poor, Maddy’s father and Grandfather Clyde had been gentlemen, the one a clergyman, the other a sea captain. Then he told of her desire for learning, and his plan to teach her himself—of what the doctor and Mrs. Noah said about it, and his final determination to consult her. Then he described Maddy herself, and told how pure, how innocent, how artless and beautiful she was, and asked if Lucy feared aught from his association with her.
“If you do,” he wrote, “you have but to say so, and though I am committed, I will extricate myself in some way, rather than wound you in the slightest degree.”
It would be some time ere an answer to this letter could be received, and until such time Guy could not honorably hear Maddy’s lessons, as he had agreed to do. But Maddy was not suspicious, and accepting his trivial excuse, waited patiently, while he too waited for the letter, wondering what it would contain.
CHAPTER XII.
LUCY’S LETTER.
At last the answer came, and it was Maddy who brought it to Aikenside. She had been home that day, and on her return had ridden by the office as Guy had requested her to do. She saw the letter bore a foreign post-mark, and that it was in the delicate handwriting of some lady, but the sight did not affect her in the least. Maddy’s heart was far too heavy that day to care for a trifle, and placing the letter carefully in her basket she kept on to Aikenside.