JACQUELIN GRAY LEARNS THAT HE IS A FOOL, AND STEVE ASTONISHES MAJOR WELCH

The bill in Jacquelin’s suit against Mr. Still was not filed for some time after the notice was sent and the suit instituted. But this period was utilized by Steve and Jacquelin in hunting up evidence; and by Mr. Still in holding conferences with Leech and the officers of the court. Meanwhile Steve Allen had met the Welches several times, and although there was a perceptible coolness in their manner to him, yet civilities were kept up. As for Steve himself, he went on just as he had done before, ignoring the change and apparently perfectly oblivious of the chilliness with which he was received.

Yet Steve appeared to have changed. His old cheerfulness and joviality seemed to have gone, and he was often in a state bordering on gloom. As, however, most of those in that part of the world were at this time in a state of actual gloom, Steve’s condition was set down to the general cause. Occasionally it occurred to Jacquelin that some trouble with Blair Cary might have a part in it. His Aunt Thomasia’s words had stuck in his memory. Steve did not go to Dr. Cary’s as often as he used to go; and when he did go, on his return to the Court-house he was almost always in one of his fits of depression. Jacquelin set it down to another exhibition of Blair’s habitual capriciousness. It was that Yankee Captain that stood in the way. And Jacquelin hardened his heart, and vowed to himself that he would not see Blair again.

At length the bill in Jacquelin’s suit was ready.

It was at the end of a hard day’s work that Jacquelin had put the finishing touches to it, and as he completed the copy from a draft that Steve had made, he handed it across to Steve to read over. It was a bill to reopen, on the ground of fraud, the old suit in which Still had become the purchaser of Red Rock, and to set aside the conveyance to him and the subsequent conveyance of a part of his purchase to Major Welch. It went somewhat into a history of the confidential relation that Still had borne to Jacquelin’s and Rupert’s father; charged that Still’s possession of the bonds was fraudulent, and that even, if not so, the bonds had been discharged by proceeds of the estate that had come to the steward’s hands. It charged Still with gross fraud in his accounts, as well as in the possession of the bonds. It ended by making Major Welch a party, as a subsequent purchaser, and charged constructive knowledge on his part of Still’s fraud. Actual knowledge of this by him was expressly disclaimed, but it was stated that he had knowledge of facts which should have put him on inquiry. It was alleged that a formal notice had been served on Major Welch before he became the purchaser, and it asked that “an issue out of chancery,” as the lawyers term it, might be awarded to try the question of fraud.

When Steve finished reading the paper, he laid it on his desk and leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, in deep thought. Jacquelin did not disturb him; but watched him in silence as the expression on his face deepened into one almost of gloom. Presently Steve stirred.

“Well, is that all?” asked Jacquelin.

“Yes.” He actually sighed.

“You don’t think it will hold?”

“No. I am sure we shall show fraud—on that rascal’s part—at least, so far as his accounts are concerned. We have followed up some of his rascality, and I am equally sure that his possession of the big bond was fraudulent. Your father never owed him all that money, in the world; but how did he get hold of it? The man in the South in whose name it was made out is dead, and all his papers burned. Still turns up with the bond assigned to him, and says it was given him for negroes he sold. Now, how shall we meet it? We know he made money negro-trading. Rupert’s story of hearing the conversation with your father is too vague. He can’t explain what your father meant by his reference to the Indian-killer, and his threats against Hiram will weaken his testimony. Hiram’s afraid of him, though, and he’d better be. We’ll have to send him away. He’s with McRaffle too much.”

Jacquelin’s face sobered, and he sighed. The thought of Rupert cost him many sighs these days.

“I am not sure that we have been specific enough in our charges,” Steve continued, “and I am sure the judge will be against us. He has never gotten over the peeling I gave him when he first turned Rad, and he and Hiram are as thick as thieves.”

“Yes; but, as you say, we’ll get at something, and it is all we can do. I am willing to take the risk for Rupert, if not for myself. Will you sign as counsel? And I’ll go over to the office and file it. Mr. Dockett said he’d wait for us.”

Steve took the pen and dipped it in the ink; then again leaned back in his chair, and then, after a second’s thought, sat up and signed the paper rapidly, and Jacquelin took it and went out. In a few minutes he returned.

“Well, the Rubicon is crossed,” he said, gayly.

Steve did not answer. He was again leaning back in his chair, deep in thought, his eyes on the ceiling, his face graver than before.

“Steve, don’t bother about the thing any more. We’ve done the best we could, and if we fail we fail, that’s all.” But the other did not respond in the same vein.

“Yes, we’ve crossed the Rubicon,” he said, with something between a sigh and a yawn.

“Steve, what’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Yes, there is—tell me.”

“Nothing—I assure you, there’s not.”

“And I know better. Confound it! can’t I see something is going on that I don’t understand? You couldn’t, be gloomier if you had broken with—with your sweetheart.”

“Well, I have.” Steve turned and looked out of the window to where the light in the clerk’s office shone through the trees.

“What!” Jacquelin was on his feet in a second.

“Jack, I’m in love.”

“I know that. But what do you mean by—by—that you have broken with—?”

“That I’m in love with Ruth Welch.” he spoke quietly.

“What—what do you mean?” Jacquelin’s voice faltered.

“What I say—that I’ve been in love with her ever since I met her.” He was still looking out of the window.

“Steve!” Jacquelin’s tone had changed and was full of deep reproach. As Steve was not looking at him and did not answer, he went on: “Steve, I don’t understand. Does she know?” His throat was dry and his voice hard.

“I don’t know—”

“Steve Allen!” The tone was such that Steve turned to look at him.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“That’s what I have to ask you,” said Jacquelin, sternly. “Are you crazy?”

“I don’t know whether I am or not,” Steve said, half bitterly. “But that’s the fact, anyhow.”

Jacquelin’s face had paled, and his form was tense.

“Steve, if anyone else had told me this of you, he’d not have stood to complete his sentence. I thought you were a gentleman,” he sneered.

“Jacquelin Gray!” Steve sprang to his feet, and the two young men stood facing each other, their faces white and their eyes blazing. Jacquelin spoke first.

“As Blair Cary has no brother to protect her, I will do it. I never thought it would have to be against you.”

“Blair Cary? Protect her against me? In God’s name, what do you mean?”

“You know.”

“I swear I do not!”

Jacquelin turned from him with a gesture of contempt; but Steve seized him roughly.

“By Heaven! you shall tell me. I feel as if the earth were giving way before me.”

Jacquelin shook him off, but faced him, his whole expression full of scorn.

“Haven’t you been engaged to—engaged to—or as good as engaged to—or, at least, in love with Blair Cary for years?”

Steve gazed at him for a moment with a puzzled look on his face, which gave place the next instant to one of inexpressible amusement, and then, with a shove which sent Jacquelin spinning across the room, flung himself into his chair and burst into a ringing laugh.

“You fool! you blamed fool!” he exclaimed. “But I’m a fool, too,” he said, standing and facing Jacquelin.

“I think you are.” Jacquelin was still grave.

“Why, Blair knows it.”

“Knows what?”

“Knows that I’m in love with Ruth Welch. She divined it long ago and has been my confidante.”

“What!—Steve!—” The expression on Jacquelin’s face underwent a dozen changes in as many seconds. Astonishment, incredulity, memory, reflection, regret, hope—all were there, chasing each other and tumbling over one another in wild confusion. “Steve,” he began again in hopeless amazement, with a tone almost of entreaty, but stopped short.

“You double-dyed, blind idiot!” exclaimed Steve, “Don’t you know that Blair Cary don’t care a button for me? never has cared and never will care but for one man——?”

“Middleton!” Jacquelin turned away with a fierce gesture.

“No, you jealous fool!”

“Then, in Heaven’s name, who is it?” Jacquelin again faced him.

“A blind idiot.”

The effect was not what Steve had anticipated. Jacquelin made a wild gesture of dissent, turned his back, and, walking to the window, put his forearm against the sash, and leaned his forehead on it.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, bitterly. “She hates me. She treats me like——She has always done it since that cursed Middleton——”

“I don’t say she hasn’t. I simply say she——” Steve broke off. “She ought to have treated you badly. You made a fool of yourself, and have been a fool ever since. But I know she cared for you—before that, and if you had gone about it in the right way, you’d have won her.” (Jacquelin groaned.) “Instead of that, you must get on a high horse and put on your high and mighty airs and try to hector a spirited girl like Blair Cary.” (A groan from the window.) “Why, if I were to treat my horse as you did her, he’d break my neck.”

“Oh, Steve!”

“And then after she had tried to prove it to you, for you to go and put it on another’s account, of course she kicked—and she ought to have done so, and has treated you coldly ever since.”

Jacquelin faced him.

“Steve, I loved her so. I have loved her ever since I was a boy—ever since that day I made her jump off the barn. It was what kept me alive in prison many a time when otherwise I’d have gone. And when I came home, ready to go down on my knees to her—to die for her, to find her given to another, or, if not——” He stopped and turned away again.

“Then why didn’t you tell her so, instead of outraging her feelings?” demanded Steve.

“Because—because I thought you loved her and she loved you, and I would not——!” He turned off and walked to the window.

Steve rose and went up to him.

“Jacquelin,” he said, putting his hand on his shoulder, and speaking with a new tenderness, “I never knew it—I never dreamed it. You have been blind, boy. And I have been worse. I was never in love with her and she knew it. At first, I simply meant to bedevil you, and—Middleton—and then afterward, used to tease her to see her let out about you; but that was all. She has known ever since Ruth Welch came here that I liked her, and now—that I have become a fool like the rest of you.” He turned away.

Jacquelin stood for a moment looking at him, a light dawning on his face.

“Steve, I beg your pardon for what I said.” He stood lost in thought. The next second he rushed out of the door. In a moment he was back, and held the bill he had just filed, in his hand. Steve rose as he entered.

“What have you done?”

“I may be a fool—but—” He held up the bill and glancing at it, caught hold of the last sheet and began to tear it. Steve made a spring, but was too late; Jacquelin had torn the signature from the paper.

“I’m not such a selfish dog as to let you do it and bar your chance of happiness. I did not know. Do you suppose Miss Welch would ever marry you if you signed that bill?”

“No. But do you suppose I will not tell her of my part in bringing the suit?”

“Of course you will—but she’ll forgive you for that.”

It was late in the night before their disagreement was settled.

Steve insisted that he would sign the bill; he had brought the suit and he would assume the responsibility for it. But he had met his match. Jacquelin was firm, and finally declared that if Steve still held to his decision he would not press the suit at all. Steve urged Rupert’s interest. Jacquelin said Rupert would still have six months after he came of age, in which to save his rights. In this unexpected turn of the case, Steve was forced to yield; and Jacquelin recopied the whole bill in his own hand and filed it the next morning. It was signed by Jacquelin and Rupert personally, and by General Legaie as counsel.

It created a sensation in at least two households in the County.

When Still read the bill, he almost dropped to the floor. The attack was made on the ground of fraud, and Major Welch had said the statute of limitations did not apply. After a conference, however, with Leech, who happened to be at home, he felt better. Leech assured him that the bill would not hold good against his possession of the bonds.

“They’ll hold against all creation,” said that counsellor, “if they weren’t stolen and ain’t been paid.”

This declaration did not seem to relieve Still much.

“And they’ve got to prove both of ’em,” added Major Leech, “and prove ’em before our judge.”

Still’s face cleared up.

“Well, Welch is obliged to stand by us. We’ll go and see him.”

So, that evening they took a copy of the bill to Major Welch. Mrs. Welch and Miss Ruth both were in a state of great excitement and indignation. The idea of fraud being charged against Major Welch was an outrage that they could not tolerate.

Major Welch alone was calm and unmoved. It was, after all, expressly stated that no actual fraud was attributed to him, and though, of course, he felt keenly having his name mixed up with such a matter, he had no anxiety as to the result. He could readily prove that he had had no knowledge whatever of anything to arouse the slightest suspicion. He should, of course, have to employ counsel. He began to canvass their names.

“Papa, why don’t you get Mr. Allen to represent you? They say he is the best lawyer in this part of the country,” said Ruth. She was conscious that her color came as Still quickly looked at her.

“He’s the one that started the whole matter, ma’am.”

“Why, I don’t see his name to the bill!” the Major said.

“Ain’t it? Well, anyhow he’s the main one. If it hadn’t been for him the suit never would ’a’ been brought. Colonel Leech saw a copy of the bill in his handwriting in his office this morning, didn’ you, Colonel?”

Leech declared that he had seen the copy, and corroborated his client in his statement that Captain Allen had inspired the suit.

Mrs. Welch gave an exclamation of indignation.

“Well, I did not think he would have played the sneak!”

Ruth’s face flamed and turned white by turns.

“You don’t know him yet,” said Still, plaintively, “Does she, Colonel?”

“No—he’s a bad man,” said Leech, unctuously.

“He is that,” said Still. He dropped his voice. “You look out for him, Major. He’s after you. If I was you I’d carry a pistol pretty handy.” Major Welch gave a gesture of impatience.

Ruth’s eyes flashed a sudden gleam, and her face flamed again. She rose, walked to the window, and pressed deep in between the curtains. Still addressed himself to Major Welch.

“The Colonel says ’tain’t goin’ to be any trouble to beat the suit; that he can git it dismissed on demurrer—if that’s the word? You know I ain’t any book-learnin’—I’m nothin’ but a plain farmer. And he says the judge is sure to—”

“Yes—that’s it,” said Leech, quickly, with a glance of warning at him. “I don’t cross a bridge till I get to it; I’ve got several in this case, but, as Mr. Bagby says, I believe in making every defence.”

“That may be so; but I’m going to fight this case on its merits,” declared Major Welch, firmly. “I don’t propose, when a question of fraud is raised, to shelter myself behind any technicalities. I mean to make it as clear as day that I had no connection with any fraud. I spoke to Mr. Bagby when the rumor of a suit was first started, and told him so.” Though he spoke quietly his voice had a ring in it and his face a light on it which made both Mrs. Welch and Ruth proud of him, and Ruth squeezed her mother’s arm, in her joy. How different he looked from those other men!

Meantime the change in Steve Allen was perceptible to many who had no idea of the true reason it was so.

Jacquelin set it down to the wrong cause. Miss Thomasia, like Jacquelin, laid Steve’s despondency at Blair’s door, and the good lady cast about in her mind how she might draw Blair into a discussion of the subject and give her some affectionate advice. But as often as she touched on the subject of love, even in the most distant way, bringing in Jacquelin as a sort of introduction, Blair shied off from it, so that Miss Thomasia found it more difficult to accomplish than she had anticipated.

Steve, however, was working on his own lines. His present situation was intolerable to him. The fact that his name had not appeared on Jacquelin’s bill stuck in his memory like a thorn. He was lying on the grass under a tree in the court-green one afternoon reading a book, not a law-book either, when the sound of horses’ feet caught his ear. He looked up lazily as it came nearer, and soon in view appeared two riders, a girl and a young man. They cantered easily along the little street, their laughter coming across to Steve where he lay, his book neglected on the ground beside him. Steve stretched, and picking up his book dived once more into the “Idylls of the King.” But the spell was broken. A line from Dante flashed through his mind. Launcelot and Guinevere; Tristram and Isolt; Geraint and Enid, interested him no more. The reality had passed before him. Resting his head against the tree, he tried to go to sleep; but the minute denizens about in the grass bothered him, the droning of bees in the locust boughs above failed to lull him.

“‘I am half sick of shadows,’” he murmured to himself, and he sat up and, resting against the tree, thought deeply. Another line came to him:

“On burnished hooves his war-horse trode.”

He suddenly sprang to his feet and walked straight to his office, his face resolute and his step determined. He was not a girl to be caught in a mesh! He would be the other. Jacquelin was at his desk, deep in a big law-book. Steve shut the door behind him and stood with his back against it looking down at his partner.

“Jacquelin, I am going to marry Ruth Welch.”

“What!” Jacquelin looked up in blank amazement. “Oh!” he laughed. “I thought you meant you had asked her.”

“You misunderstand me. It is not conceit. It is determination. I have no idea she will accept me now; but she will in the end. She shall, I will win her.” He was grave, and though his words spoke conceit, his voice and face had not a trace of it. Jacquelin too became grave.

“I believe you can win her if you try, Steve—unless someone else is in the way; but it is a long chase, I warn you.” Steve’s brow clouded for a second, but the shadow disappeared as quickly as it came.

“You don’t think there’s anything in that story about Wash Still?” His tone had a certain fiery contempt in it. “I tell you there isn’t. I’ll stake my salvation on that. An eagle does not mate with a weasel!”

“No—I do not believe she would, but how about her mother? You know what she thinks of us, and what they say of her missionary ideas, and Wash Still has been playing assiduously on that string of late. He is visiting all her sick, free—he says. Besides they have not the same ideas that we have about family and so on, and they don’t know the Stills as we do.”

“Not pride of family! You don’t know her. She’s one of the proudest people in the United States, of her family. I tell you she could give General Legaie six in the game and beat him. By Jove! I wish one could do the old-fashioned way. I’d just ride up and storm the stronghold and carry her off!” burst out Steve, straightening up and stretching out his arms, half in jest, half in earnest, his eyes flashing and his color rising at the thought.

“Now you have to storm the stronghold all the same, without carrying her off,” Jacquelin laughed.

“No, I’ll carry her away some day,” asseverated Steve, confidently. “It’s worth all my worthless life and a good deal more too.”

“I think if you get into that spirit you may win her; but I’m afraid they’ll hardly recognize you in the rÔle of humility. I doubt if they have heard much of you in that character. How are you going about it? You have not seen her since the suit was brought, and I doubt if she will speak to you.”

“She will not? I’ll make her. Whether she speaks or not, I’ll win her.”

“There goes your robe of humility. You have to win her parents first—for you have to ask their permission.”

Steve relapsed into thought for a moment, during which Jacquelin watched him closely.

“Do you think that’s necessary?” he asked, doubtfully, as if almost to himself.

“I do, under the circumstances—for you; not for Wash Still.”

“The gorgon will refuse me——”

“Probably—All the same, you have to do it.”

Suddenly, with a sigh, Steve came out of his reverie as if he were emerging from a cloud. His countenance cleared up and he spoke with decision.

“You are right. I knew you were right all the time. But I did not want to do it. I will, though. I’ll do it if I lose her.” He turned to go out.

“When are you going to do it?”

“Right now.” In the presence of contest Steve’s face had got back all its fire, his voice all its ring.

“I believe you’ll win her,” said Jacquelin.

“I know I shall, some day,” said Steve. And a little later Jacquelin heard him in his room, whistling “Bonny Dundee,” and calling to Jerry to saddle his horse.

Major Welch was sitting on his veranda that afternoon about sunset when a rider came out of the woods far below, at a gallop, and continued to gallop all the way up the hill. There was something about a rapid gallop up hill and down that always bore Major Welch’s mind back to the war. As the horseman came nearer, Major Welch recognized Captain Allen. He remembered the advice Still had recently given him, always to have a pistol handy when he met Allen. He put the thought away from him with almost a flush of shame that it should even have crossed his mind. Should he meet a man at his own door, with a weapon? Not if he was shot down for it. So, as the rider approached, Major Welch walked down to meet him at the gate, just as Steve, dismounting, tied his horse.

The young man’s face was pale, his manner constrained, and he was manifestly laboring under more emotion than he usually showed. Wondering what could be the object of his call, Major Welch met him gravely. Steve held out his hand and the Major took it formally. At any rate the mission was peaceful.

“Major Welch, I have come to see you—” he began hesitatingly, his hat in his hand, and his face flushed.

“Won’t you walk up on the veranda and sit down?” The Major did not mean to be outdone in civility.

“Not until I have stated the object of my visit. Then, if you choose to invite me, I shall be very glad to accept.” He had recovered his composure.

The Major was more mystified.

“I have come this evening for a purpose which, perhaps, will—no doubt will—surprise you.” The Major looked affirmative, and wondered more and more what it could mean.

“I have come to ask your permission to pay my addresses to your daughter.”

If the Major was expecting to be surprised, he was more than surprised; he was dazed—he almost gasped.

“What?”

“I am not surprised that you are astonished.” The younger man, now that the ice was broken, was regaining his composure. “It is, however, no sudden impulse on my part.” How melodious his deep voice had grown! Major Welch was sensible of the charm growing upon him that he had seen exercised in the case of others.

“I have loved your daughter”—(his voice suddenly sank to a pitch as full of reverence as of softness)—“a long time; perhaps not long in duration, but ever since I knew her. From that evening that I first met her here, I have loved her.” His glance stole toward the tree in which he had found Ruth that afternoon. “If I can obtain your consent, and shall find favor in her eyes, I shall be the happiest and most blessed of men.” He gave a deep sigh of relief. He stood suddenly before Major Welch a different being—modest and manly, not without recognition of his power, and yet not for a second presuming on it. Major Welch could not help being impressed by him. A wave of the old liking that he had had for him when he first met him came over him.

“Does my daughter know of this?” he asked.

“I hardly know. I have never said anything of it to her directly, but I do not know how much a girl’s instinct can read. My manner has seemed to myself always that of a suitor, and at times I have wondered how she could help reading the thoughts of my heart; they have seemed to me almost audible. Others have known it for some time; at least one other has. I thought your daughter knew it. Yet now I cannot tell. She has never given me the slightest encouragement.”

“I thought you were in love with—with someone else; with your cousin, and her accepted lover? Rumor has so stated it?” The elder gentleman’s manner cooled again as the thought recurred to him.

Steve smiled.

“Blair Cary? I do love her—dearly—but only as an admirer and older brother might. I am aware of the impression that has existed, but her heart has long been given to another who has loved her from his boyhood. From certain causes, which I need not trouble you with and which occurred before you arrived, differences grew up between them, and they became estranged; but the affection remains. Jacquelin does not know it, but in time he will succeed, and it is one of my most cherished hopes that some time he will realize that great happiness in store for him. Meantime, I feel sure that you will consider what I have said of this as confidential. I have, perhaps, said more than I should have done.”

Major Welch bowed. “Of course I will. And now I wish to say that I am so much taken by surprise by what you have told me that I scarcely know just what answer to give you at this time. I appreciate the step you have taken. But it is so strange—so unexpected—that I must have time for reflection. I must consult my wife, who is my best adviser and our daughter’s best guardian. And I can only say that we wish for nothing but our child’s best and most lasting happiness. I cannot, of course, under the circumstances renew my invitation to you to come in.” He paused and reflected. “Nor can I hold out to you any hope. And I think I must ask you not to speak to my daughter on the subject until I have given my consent.”

“I promise you that,” said Steve. “I should not have come to you at all unless I had been prepared to give that promise.”

The young man evidently had something more that he wished to say; he hesitated a moment and then began again.

“One other thing I should tell you. I brought the suit for Jacquelin and Rupert Gray. Although my name was not signed to the bill, I brought the suit, and have the responsibility.”

Major Welch could not help a graver look coming into his face—he felt almost grim, but he tried to choke down the sensation.

“I was aware of that.”

“There is one word more I would like to say, but—not now—I should possibly be misunderstood. Perhaps the day may come—May I say in the meantime that I am not one who changes or is easily disheartened? I know that even if I should secure your consent I should have to make the fight of my life to win your daughter—but I should do it. I think the prize well worth all, and far more than all I could give.”

He stood diffidently, as though not knowing whether Major Welch would take his hand if offered. The Major, however, made the advance and the two men shook hands ceremoniously and Steve mounted his horse and without looking back rode off, while Major Welch returned slowly to the house. The only glance Steve gave was one up toward the old cherry-tree in the yard.

Mrs. Welch had seen Steve ride up and had watched with curiosity and some anxiety the conference that had taken place at the gate. When the Major stated to her the object of Mr. Allen’s visit she was too much surprised to speak. She, however, received the announcement somewhat differently from the way the Major had expected. She was deeply offended. Without an instant’s hesitation she was for despatching an immediate and indignant refusal.

“Of course, you at once refused him and told him what you thought of his effrontery?” she said.

“Well—no, I did not,” said Major Welch. In fact, though the Major had been astonished by Steve’s proposal and had supposed that it would be rejected, it had not occurred to him that his wife would take it in just this way.

“You did not! Oh, you men! I wish he had spoken to me! It was an opportunity I should not have lost. But he would not have dared to face me with his insulting proposal.”

“Well, I don’t think he intended it as an insult, and without intention it cannot be an insult. I think if you had seen him you would have felt this.”

“Do you think I would entrust my daughter’s happiness to a desperado and a midnight assassin?”

“No, I cannot say that I thought you would—nor would I. But I am not prepared to say I think him either an assassin or a desperado.”

“Well, I am,” asserted Mrs. Welch. “I was deceived in him once and I will not give him a chance again.”

“I simply told him that I would confer with you and give him our answer.”

“He will take that as encouragement,” declared Mrs. Welch, “and will be pursuing Ruth and persecuting her.”

“No, he will not. He gave me his word that he would not speak to her without my—without our consent——”

“He will not keep it.” Mrs. Welch’s words were not as positive as her manner.

“Yes, he will. I will stand sponsor.” Major Welch was thinking of the young man as he had just stood before him.

“Well, I am glad you extracted that much of a pledge from him. He will not get my consent in this life, I can assure him.”

“Nor mine without yours and Ruth’s,” said Major Welch, gravely. “I will write him and tell him what you say. Shall I mention it to Ruth? “

“No, of course not.”

Major Welch did not see why it should be “of course”; but he considered that his wife knew more of such things than he did, and he accordingly accepted her opinion without question.

“Where is Ruth?” he asked.

“She went with Dr. Still to see a sick woman he wanted me to see. I was not able to go this afternoon when he called, so I sent her. I don’t think there is much the matter with her.”

Major Welch sat for a moment in deep reflection. He was evidently puzzled. Suddenly he broke the silence.

“Prudence, you don’t mean that you wish that—that you think that young fellow is a suitable—ah—companion for our daughter?” That was not the word Major Welch meant.

“William!” exclaimed Mrs. Welch. She said no more, and it was not necessary. Major Welch felt that he had committed a great mistake—a terrible blunder. A moment before, he had had the best of the situation, and he had been conscious of a feeling of somewhat exalted virtue; now he had thrown it away. He felt very foolish, and though he hoped he did not show it, he did show it plainly. He began to defend himself: a further blunder.

“Well, my dear, how could I know? That young fellow has been coming over here day after day, with his horses and buggies, on one pretext or another—tagging after—not after you or me certainly—and you are as civil to him as if he were the—the President himself, and actually send the child off with him——”

“William! Send the child off with him!—I!”

“Well, no—not exactly that, of course,” said her husband, rather embarrassed, “but permitting her to go, and thus giving him an opportunity to declare himself, which he would be a stick not to avail himself of.”

“I am glad you retracted that, William,” said Mrs. Welch, with the air of one deeply aggrieved. “Of course, I am civil to the young man. I hope I am civil to everyone. But you little know a mother’s heart. I have always said that no man can understand a woman.”

“I believe that’s so,” said her husband, smiling. “I know I have often heard your Royal Highness say so. But did it ever occur to you that it may be because men are somewhat direct and downright? “

“Now don’t go and insult my sex to cover the density of yours,” said Mrs. Welch. “Confine your attack to one. If you think that I would allow my daughter to marry that—that young upstart, you don’t know me as well as you did the first day we met.”

“Oh, yes I do! I know you well enough to know you are the best and most devoted wife and mother and friend in the world,” declared her husband. “But, you see, I misunderstood you. I reason simply from the plain facts that lie right before my eyes——”

“And you always will misunderstand, my dear. Your sex always will misunderstand until they learn that woman is a more complex and finer organism that their clumsy, primary machine, moved by more delicate and complicated motives.”

“Well, I agree to that,” said her husband. “And I am very glad to find you agree with me—that I agree with you—” he corrected, with a twinkle in his eye, “as to that young man.”

Mrs. Welch accepted his surrender with graciousness and left the room, and the Major sat down and wrote his reply to Captain Allen.

He expressed his unfeigned appreciation of the honor done, but gave him to understand that after conference with Mrs. Welch they felt it their duty to state to him that his suit for their daughter would not be acceptable to them, and he requested him to consider the matter closed.

As soon as he had finished the letter the Major despatched it to Mr. Allen by a messenger.

He had hardly sent it off when Mrs. Welch returned. Her first question was whether the answer had gone. She was manifestly disappointed to learn that it had been sent.

“I wish you had let me see it,” she said.

“Oh! I made it positive enough,” declared the Major.

“Yes, I was not thinking of that,” Mrs. Welch said, thoughtfully. “I was afraid you would be too—Men are so hasty—so up and down—they don’t know how to deal with such matters as a woman would.”

Major Welch turned on her in blank amazement—a little humor lighting up his face. Mrs. Welch answered as if he had made a charge.

“You men will never understand us.”

“I believe that’s so. You women are curious, especially where your daughters are concerned. I set the young man down pretty hard, just as you wished me to do.”

Mrs. Welch made a gesture of dissent.

“Not at all—I have reflected on what you said about—about his not intending to be insulting, and I think you are right. I no more wish to accept his proposal now than before; all I want is to—?” She made a gesture—“Oh! you understand.”

“Yes, I think I do,” laughed her husband “Why cannot women let a man go?”