“Mr. Cameron has just left the office and will not return to-day,” he said to Aunt Betsy, asking if he could assist her in any way, and assuring her of his willingness to do so.
Aunt Betsy could talk with him better than with Wilford, and was about to give him the story of the sheep-pasture, in detail, when, motioning to a side door, he said, “Walk in here, please. You will not be liable to so many interruptions.”
“Come, ’Tilda, it’s no privacy,” Aunt Betsy said; but ’Tilda felt intuitively that she was not wanted, and rather haughtily declined, amusing herself by the window, while Aunt Betsy in the private office told her troubles to Mark Ray; and received in return the advice to let the claimant go to law if he chose; he probably would make nothing by it; even if he did, she would not sustain a heavy loss, according to her own statement of the value of the land.
“If I could keep the sweet apple-try, I wouldn’t care,” Aunt Betsy said, “for the rest ain’t worth a law-suit; though it’s my property, and I have thought of willing it to Helen, if she ever marries.”
Here was a temptation which Mark Ray could not resist. Ever since Mrs. General Reynolds’s party Helen’s manner had puzzled him; but her shyness only made him more in love than ever, while the rumor of her engagement with Dr. Morris tormented him continually. Sometimes he believed it, and sometimes he did not, wishing always that he knew for certain. Here then was a chance for confirming his fears or for putting them at rest, and blessing ’Tilda Tubbs for declining to enter his back office, he said in reply to Aunt Betsy’s “If she ever marries”—“And of course she will. She is engaged, I believe?”
“Engaged! Who to? When? Strange she never writ, nor Katy neither,” Aunt Betsy exclaimed, while Mark, raised to an ecstatic state, replied, “I refer to Dr. Grant. Haven’t they been engaged for a long time past?”
“Why—no—indeed,” was the response, and Mark could have hugged the good old lady, who continued in a confidential tone, “I used to think they’d make a good match; but I’ve gin that up, and I sometimes mistrust ’twas Katy Morris wanted. Anyhow; he’s mighty changed since she was married, and he never speaks her name. I never heard anybody say so, and maybe it’s all a fancy, so you won’t mention it.”
“Certainly not,” Mark replied, drawing nearer to her, and continuing in a low tone, “Isn’t it possible that after all Helen is engaged to her cousin, and you do not know it?”
“No,” and Aunt Betsy grew very positive. “I am sure she ain’t, for only t’other day I said to Morris that I wouldn’t wonder if Helen and another chap had a hankerin’ for one another; and he said he wished it might be so, for you—no, that other chap, I mean—would make a splendid husband,” and Aunt Betsy turned very red at the blunder, which made Mark Ray feel as if he walked on air, with no obstacle whatever in his way.
Still he could not be satisfied without probing her a little deeper, and so he said, “And that other chap? Does he live in Silverton?”