Governesses -- Fiction; Love stories; New England -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
The doctor was seriously in love. He acknowledged that now to himself,
confessing, too, that with his love was mingled a spice of jealousy,
lest Guy Remington should be expending more thought on Maddy Clyde than
was consistent with the promised husband of Lucy Atherstone. He wished
so much to talk with Guy about her, and yet he dreaded it; for if the
talk should confirm his suspicions there would be no hope for him. No
girl in her right mind would prefer him to Guy Remington, and with a
little sigh the doctor was turning away from the glass, when, as if to
verify a familiar proverb, Guy himself drove up in a most dashing
equipage, the silver-tipped harness of his high-mettled steed flashing
in the wintry sunlight, and the bright-hued lining of his fanciful robes
presenting a very gay appearance.
Guy was in the best of spirits. For an entire half day he had tried to
devise some means of getting Maddy up to Aikenside. It was quite too bad
for her to spend the whole vacation at the cottage, as she seemed likely
to do. He knew she was lonely there; that the bare floor and low, dark
walls affected her unpleasantly. He had seen this in her face when he
bade her good-bye, for he had carried her down to the cottage himself,
and now he was going after her. There was to be a party at Aikenside;
the very first since Guy was its master. The neighbors had said he was
too proud to invite them, but they should say so no more. The house was
to be thrown open in honor of Guy’s birthday, and all who were at all
desirable guests, were to be bidden to the festival. First on the list
was the doctor, who, remembering how averse Guy was to large parties,
wondered at the proceedings. But Guy was all engaged in the matter, and
after telling who were to be invited, added rather indifferently, “I’m
going down to Honedale after Maddy. It’s better for her to be with us a
day or two beforehand. You’ve seen her, of course.”
No, the doctor had not; he was just going there, he said, in a tone so
full of sad disappointment, that Guy detected it at once, and asked if
anything was the matter.
“Guy,” the doctor continued, sitting down by his friend, “I remember
once your making me your confidant about Lucy. You remember it too?”
“Yes, why?” Guy replied, beginning to feel strangely uncomfortable as he
half divined what was coming next.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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