Three days after this, a party of four left Aikenside, which presented a most forlorn and cheerless appearance to the passers-by, who were glad almost as the servants when, at the expiration of a week, Guy came back and took up his olden life of solitude and loneliness, with nothing in particular to interest him, except his books and the letters he wrote to Lucy. Nothing but these and the doctor’s picture—the one designed expressly for him, and which troubled him greatly. Believing that he had fully intended it for the doctor, Guy felt as if it were, in a measure, stolen property, and this made him prize it all the more.
Now that Maddy was away, Guy missed her terribly, wondering how he had ever lived without her, and sometimes working himself into a violent passion against the meddlesome neighbors who would not let her remain with him in peace, and who, now that she was gone, did not stop their talk one whit, for the people marveled more than ever, feeling confident now that he was educating his own wife, and making sundry spiteful remarks as to what he intended doing with her relations. Guy only knew that he was very lonely, that Lucy’s letters seemed insipid, that even the doctor failed to interest him, as of old, and that his greatest comfort was in looking at the bright young face which seemed to smile so trustfully upon him, just as Maddy had smiled upon him when, in Madam ——’s parlor, he bade her good-bye. The doctor could not have that picture, he finally decided. “Hal ought to be satisfied with getting Maddy, as of course he will, for am I not educating her for that very purpose?” he said to himself; and, as a kind of atonement for what he deemed treachery to his friend, he talked with him often of her, always taking it for granted that when she was old enough, the doctor would woo and win the little girl who had come to him in his capacity of Inspector, as candidate No. 1. At first the doctor suspected him of acting a part in order to cover up some design of his own with regard to Maddy, and affected an indifference he did not feel; but, as time passed on, Guy, who really believed himself sincere, managed to make the doctor believe so too. Consequently, the latter abandoned his suspicions, and gave himself up to blissful dreams of what might possibly be when Maddy should have become the brilliant woman she was sure one to be.
CHAPTER XV.
THE HOLIDAYS.
The summer vacation had been spent by the Remingtons 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 afternoon to call upon Miss Clyde. He was glad she was not at Aikenside; he would rather meet her at the cottage, 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 suspicions 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 of 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 this in her face when he bade her good-bye, 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 birthday, and all who were at all desirable 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 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?” Guy replied, beginning to feel strangely uncomfortable as he half divined what was coming next.