"Perhaps," Hamlen admitted doubtfully; "that is why I don't follow my strong impulse to let you put me up at the Club. I want to test myself still further. Whenever Marian Thatcher's name is mentioned I feel such a confusion of emotions that I realize how far I am yet from being my own master. I must either conquer or else return to the old life."
"I'll stand by you—of course I will!" Huntington laughed, hoping to lessen Hamlen's apprehension by treating the subject lightly. "Keep the specters of the past back among the dead where they belong; don't let them stalk in your present in which you are just beginning to find what life really is. Mrs. Thatcher is a beautiful woman of flesh and blood and not an avenging Nemesis!"
"My God, Huntington! can't I make even you understand!" Hamlen cried out. "It is the fact that Marian Seymour is a beautiful woman of flesh and blood that the specter stalks! You who have never loved can't sympathize as I do with the aboriginal man who struck down whomever stood between himself and the woman he wanted, and carried his prize bodily to his cave. I boasted that these twenty years had given me opportunity for super-intellectual development, but instead I find myself controlled by almost primeval instincts. My respect for law is weakened, my regard for the rights of others seems stultified. This woman has been mine since we were boy and girl together, Huntington, and I want my woman! Before she broke the engagement my domination was too complete, for it made her fear me; when we met twenty years later it was she who dominated. Now, as I am coming back to myself, I feel my former power returning, and I know that if I chose I could compel a subservience of her will to mine. That is what I dread, for my exile has destroyed my sense of proportion. If I do not exercise my own strength then I must let her will be supreme, and that means that I shall marry the girl while I worship the mother.—Don't belittle my fearfulness, Huntington; it is a real thing to be reckoned with."
"Whether real or not," Huntington said kindly, "the fact that you think it so is enough. I shall not advise you nor urge you to do anything except what you yourself think wise, and so far as I can, whenever or wherever you wish it, I will help you."
This discussion left a deep impression upon Huntington. He had never looked upon Hamlen as a man of force, but rather as a visionary of nervous tenseness; yet this outburst showed a strength which would have carried his classmate far had it been properly directed. In spite of his present activities Huntington could see that Hamlen still lived much in his past,—the unconscious return to Mrs. Thatcher's girlhood name was evidence of that, his reference to the ghostly companions of his Bermuda life was equally convincing. What puzzled him was Hamlen's conviction that Mrs. Thatcher was determined to compel the suggested alliance against his will. This Huntington could not believe. She had expressly stated to him that it was only an idea to be acted upon in case it proved wise. Had Hamlen shown an interest in Merry, then undoubtedly Marian's influence would be exercised in his behalf; but surely a mother's heart would not be insistent in so serious a crisis! In this at least Hamlen's apprehensions carried him too far.
The opportunity to satisfy himself came to Huntington the day after his guests arrived. They had motored down the North Shore and back to the Club for lunch on a bright Sunday morning which seemed prepared especially to show Boston's environs off to best advantage; and as they strolled about the Club grounds he found himself paired off with Mrs. Thatcher.
The evening before had developed nothing of any moment. The two boys rushed in after dinner, completely monopolized the situation for such time as they were present, and then dashed off to keep a college engagement. Things were too "thick," Billy explained to Merry, to have a real visit. Thatcher seemed worn out and asked the indulgence of his host to permit his early retiring; Mrs. Thatcher was happy and complacent, rejoicing in the change she found in Hamlen and grateful to her ally for having brought it about; Merry appeared strangely quiet, but even if her presence had been wholly silent it would have seemed a benediction to Huntington, whose sentiments no one suspected, and on whom all depended for the expression of their individual purposes. Huntington smiled grimly to himself as he recalled Hamlen's matter-of-fact assumption that love had never entered into his life; he even questioned whether his friend's self-imposed restraint was more difficult than the repression of his own emotion!
After luncheon they walked out onto the golf links, Huntington and Marian finding a retreat in one of the thatched-roof shelters from which they could command an extended view on all sides. Thatcher and Hamlen had fallen behind, following Merry, who was eager to secure a better idea of the earlier holes in the course. Marian seated herself and then looked up into Huntington's face with an expression of complete satisfaction.
"It is simply wonderful!" she exclaimed.
"It is a fine course—"