“Jessie!” Guy interposed sternly; while the doctor, who had spent the night at Aikenside, looked disapprovingly at the little girl, who subsided into silence after saying, in an under-tone, “I do think she’s hateful, and that isn’t all she said either about Maddy!”
It was rather uncomfortable at the table after that, and rather quiet too, as Maddy did not care to ask anything more concerning her faint, while the others were not disposed to talk.
Breakfast over, the two young men repaired to the library, where Guy indulged in his cigar, while the doctor fidgeted for a time, and then broke out abruptly:
“I say, Guy, have you said anything to her about—well, about me, you know?”
“Why, no, I’ve hardly had a chance; and then, again, I concluded it better for each one to speak for himself;” and carelessly knocking the ashes from his half-smoked cigar, Guy leaned back in his chair, with his eyes, and, to all appearance, thoughts, wholly intent upon the curls of smoke rising above his head.
“Guy, if you were not engaged, I should be tempted to think you wanted Maddy Clyde yourself,” the doctor suddenly exclaimed, confronting Guy, who, still watching the rings of smoke, answered with the most provoking coolness, “You should?”
“Yes, I should; and I am not certain but you do as it is. Guy,” and the doctor grew very earnest in his manner, “if you do care for Maddy Clyde, and she for you, pray tell me so before I make a fool of myself.”
“Doctor,” returned Guy, throwing the remains of his cigar into the grate and folding his hands on his head, “you desire that I be frank, and I will. I like Maddy Clyde very much—more, indeed, than any girl I ever met, except Lucy. Had I never seen her—Lucy, I mean—I cannot tell how I should feel toward Maddy. The chances are, however, that much as I admire her, I should not make her my wife, even if she were willing. But I have seen Lucy. I am engaged to be married. I shall keep that engagement, and if you have feared me at all as a rival, you may fear me no longer. I do not stand between you and Maddy Clyde.”
Guy believed that he was saying the truth, notwithstanding that his heart beat faster than its wont and his voice was a little thick. It was doubtful whether he would marry Maddy Clyde, if he could. By nature and education he was very proud, and the inmates of the red cottage would have been an obstacle to be surmounted by his pride. He knew they were far, far better than himself; but, from his earliest remembrance, he had been taught that blood and family and position were all-important; that by virtue of them Remington was a name of which to be proud; that his father’s foolish marriage with a pretty governess was the first misalliance ever known in the family, and that he was not likely to follow that example was a point fully established in his own mind. He might admire Maddy very much, and, perhaps, build castles of what might possibly have been, had she been in his sphere of life; but, should he verily think of making her his wife, the olden pride would certainly come up as a barrier between them. Guy could not explain all this to the doctor, who would have been tempted to knock him down, if he had; but he succeeded in quieting his fears, and even suggested bringing Maddy there, if the doctor wished to know his fate that morning.
“I hear her now—I’ll call her,” he said; and opening the door, he spoke to Maddy, who was just passing through the hall, “Dr. Holbrook wishes to see you,” he said, as Maddy came up to him; and, holding the door for her to enter, he saw her take the seat he had just vacated. Then, closing it upon them, he walked away, thinking that last night’s party, or something, had produced a bad effect on him making him blue and wretched, just as he should suppose a criminal would feel when about to be executed.