A Strange, Sad Comedy

by Molly Elliot Seawell

MR. ROMAINE had certainly succeeded perfectly in a pastime dear to his heart—setting everybody by the ears. Colonel Corbin was deeply offended with him, and made no secret of it.

“For, if the time should come,” he said, with dignity, to Letty and Miss Jemima, “that Romaine’s relations may accuse us of playing upon Romaine and getting his money out of him, I desire to be able to prove that we were not on terms with him. Therefore, I shall only treat him with the merest civility. I shall certainly not go to Shrewsbury, and I trust he will not come to Corbin Hall.”

Futile hope! Mr. Romaine came twice as often as he had ever done before, and the Colonel and Letty found it practically impossible to freeze him out. Meanwhile, another complication came upon Letty, who seemed destined to suffer all sorts of pains and penalties for what are commonly counted the good things of life. She had privately determined that it would take all her diplomatic powers to avert an offer from both Sir Archy and Farebrother—for there was something of “the fierceness of maidenhood” about her—and she was not yet beyond the secret liking stage with Farebrother, whom she infinitely preferred. But it dawned upon her gradually that Farebrother himself was an adept in the art of walking the tight rope of flirtation. He would talk to Letty in the rainy days, when he could not get out of doors, by the hour, in such a way that Letty’s heart would be in her mouth for fear the inevitable offer would come in spite of her. But after a while she discovered that Farebrother could look down without flinching from the dizzy height of sentimental badinage, and then quietly walk away. In a little while these tactics of his bore fruit. Letty, from being very much afraid that he would propose, began to be very much piqued that he did not propose. Kindness was then lavished upon him—sweet looks on the sly, and every encouragement was given him to make a fool of himself, in order that Letty might be revenged on him. But Farebrother declined to accept the invitation. He was shrewd enough to see that Letty’s design in leading him on was simply to throw him over—and he had no intention to be slaughtered to make a coquette’s holiday. And he knew besides that Letty had a heart—that she was a perfect specimen of the Southern type, which coquettes with the whole world, only to make the most absolute surrender to one man—and that her heart was not to be won by letting her make a football of his.

The two men watched each other stealthily, but Farebrother, in quickness of resource, had much the advantage of Sir Archy. And he was clear sighted enough to see that there was something wrong between the Corbins and Mr. Romaine. All at once the Colonel and Letty ceased going to Shrewsbury, and once when he suggested casually to Letty that they ride over to see the Chessinghams and Miss Maywood, the Colonel interfered, with a flush upon his wrinkled face.

“I would prefer, my dear Farebrother,” he said, “that my granddaughter should not go to Shrewsbury at present. Rest assured that my reason is a good one—else I would not commit so grave a solecism toward a guest in my house as to object to her going anywhere with you.”

Farebrother was completely puzzled—the more so that the objection was all on the Colonel’s side—for Mr. Romaine had been at Corbin Hall the day before alone, and the day before that with Chessingham’s womankind. He had noticed some slight constraint on Letty’s part, but the Colonel had been absent both times. He said no more about going to Shrewsbury, and privately resolved to go there no more except for a farewell visit. This gave him distinctly the advantage over Sir Archy, whose long intimacy and real friendship with Chessingham made it natural and inevitable that he should go often to Shrewsbury.

Letty, however, was no more capable of keeping an unpledged secret than Ethel Maywood, and one afternoon, walking through the pine woods with Farebrother, the whole story about Mr. Romaine and his will came out.

Farebrother sat down on a fallen log and shouted with laughter.

“The old imp!” he cried, and laughed the more.

“Of course,” said Letty, laughing in spite of herself, “I really don’t believe it is in earnest. Grandpapa says people who make their wills so openly commonly have a passion for making wills, and he has no doubt Mr. Romaine is merely doing this for some present object.”