“Not a penny! But I’m the happiest pauper alive.”
“I hear you are to marry,” Miss Clergy’s voice broke as she said the words, “the Birge boy? My dear, I’m not so old as I seem, but I had a great sorrow when I was younger than you and it changed everything. I’ve never chosen to explain to the world, since I was not dependent on it, and if I preferred to live alone and brood, it was my right. But this much do I know, and because you are young and have a God-given talent, I shall tell you. You are a fool—as great a fool in your way as I was in mine to trust the man who cheated me—to marry a country boy and try to be content. You’ll be running off with the first goodlooking stranger that comes your way ... ah, but I know, times never have changed women’s hearts. They eloped years ago by a team of fast horses, and now they do it by the aid of an automobile, and in a little while they’ll be eloping in a flying machine. You see, I’m not so queer as people say, I’ve kept up a bit! Birges have bad tempers. I knew the grandfather, and they are Englishmen regarding their wives. You can sing and you are young and spirited; you should go away to New York and have teachers and the chance to become great. I am not telling you this to break your engagement, but from your eyes I see that singing is as dear to you as Daniel Birge or you would have stopped me when I first mentioned his name. Is that not so?”
“Quite,” said Thurley simply.
“Then remember this! Should some disagreement come between you two, I could not say what,” she shrugged her black shoulders and waved the withered hands with their flashing rings, “say, if you wanted to sing and he tried to prevent you from so doing—as all beasts of men try to cheat women of the things dearest to them,” her teeth made a grinding, unpleasant noise, “if you should be brave enough and big enough, as I think you would be, to tell this boy to go his way and you with your voice would go yours, come to me, Thurley! I may be odd, but I am very rich, and your singing has made me realize I’m a lonesome old woman. I’d like nothing better, my child, than to take you to New York to make you the success God intended. Don’t thank me. It is not goodness of heart—not half so much as revenge. If you came with Dan Birge’s child in your arms and told me he was out of work and you needed aid, I’m afraid I would have a deaf ear. But I want to cheat some man of the woman he loves, to turn the tables. This boy loves you in his over-colored, peasant way. It would break his heart, as nearly as any man’s heart can be broken, to have you leave him. It would sting his pride and scratch his vanity—”
“But Dan is true blue, Miss Clergy! I couldn’t hurt him to please any one.”
“No, but if he forbade your singing—as he will—and you were lucky enough to find it out before you married him instead of afterwards—what then? Would you meekly lock your piano and follow him into the kitchen? What then? Speak up, my girl! Remember, I am not trying to cause trouble. I ask you only for the promise. Should you have an argument with your—your lover, come to me; do not weaken! I am rich—and lonesome—and your voice has made me know I want to love some one again—just before I die. I’ll let you out here, my dear. You can scamper back. Don’t forget, will you, Thurley?”
She pressed the tube for Ali Baba to halt. Thurley, bewildered, impressed, angered, yet amused, all in one, knew that yellowed lips brushed her fresh cheek, and, when she looked up to say good-by, there were tears in Abby Clergy’s restless eyes!
Fate sometimes pursues people, even if they are not willing to be pursued. Certainly it was fate pursued Thurley Precore. As she came to Betsey Pilrig’s gate tingling with excitement, inclined to laugh and then to protest against the abuse of Dan, and, finally, to cry a little like a true woman, she glanced in the letter-box to find an offer from Rufus Westcott, manager of the South Wales county fair. He asked if Thurley would sing during fair week at five dollars a night, and to let him know as soon as possible.
Betsey Pilrig wondered why Thurley stayed so long at the gate reading her letter. But only Thurley knew! Miss Clergy had spoken barely in time. An hour before and Thurley would have said to Dan,
“Please let me. You can take me home every night—I want to—there’s no harm and it’s such a lark—please,” and would have ended in being coaxed out of her desire.