ever since mrs. gaston had called attention to the fact that alan decourcy had a habit of watching her, margaret had been conscious that it was really the case. he always listened attentively when she spoke, applauding by eloquent looks and smiles when her sentiments pleased him, and looking annoyed and disappointed when they did not. she could not help seeing that he was studying her with a deliberateness she felt somewhat inclined to resent.
it was hard to cherish any feeling of resentment against him, however, during that pleasant week in baltimore, for he was kindness itself, contributing in every possible way to her comfort and enjoyment. every night there was something pleasant going on, and alan was always at hand, to act as escort, if no one else held the place. margaret was delighted with baltimore, and when she expressed herself to this effect, mr. decourcy showed such manifest approval of the sentiment that she half regretted it the next minute. she was beginning to feel a little disconcerted by certain signs she saw in alan.
this young lady got so much pleasure and entertainment out of everything, that it often surprised her to catch glimpses of a carefully concealed ennui in the expression of her cousin’s guarded countenance.
“i should not like to be as thoroughly initiated as you are, alan,” she said to him one day. “you’ve seen and done pretty much everything, i suppose, and nothing has any particular zest for you now.”
“you audacious young fledgeling!” exclaimed her cousin. “how dare you make me out such a blasé old fellow? how old am i, do you suppose?”
“i really don’t quite know.”
“i am just barely thirty-three—not entirely superannuated yet!”
“about three years older than mr. gaston!” said margaret, reflectively.
“i can’t understand the inflection of your voice,” said alan, rather eagerly; “do i seem that much older than he?”
“i hardly know,” answered margaret, still in the same thoughtful tone. “mr. gaston is such a busy man that he bears the impress of cares and responsibilities, and that makes him seem older; but in his feelings he seems worlds younger than you.”
“and haven’t i cares and responsibilities too, i’d like to know! wait till i’m fairly launched in my profession, and see how i will peg away at my briefs and documents.”
“oh, alan!” said margaret, smiling indulgently, in a way that irritated him; “it is impossible to imagine you really at work. have you ever practised at all?”
“not yet. circumstances have prevented, and i remained abroad much longer than i had any idea of doing; but one thing after another detained me. after christmas, however, i am going to open an office and go to work in earnest.”
he spoke with confidence, but his tone did not impose upon his cousin, who in her heart had but small belief in his work. the fact was becoming more and more evident to her, that the nomadic life this elegant young gentleman had led had held him back from strong purposes, however much it had advanced him in social accomplishments and graces.
“if a man has done nothing, from choice, up to thirty,” she said to herself, reflectively, “the chances are that, if the power of choice remains, he will continue to do nothing.”
“i am so glad you are pleased with baltimore, margaret,” said her cousin, interrupting her reverie. “how do you think you should like it as a residence?”
“oh, i should like my home, wherever it chanced to be,” said margaret. “it is people, and not places, that make one’s happiness, i think. i am sure i could be happy wherever my dear father and mother were.”
“but you cannot have them always. by-and-by some one must take their place.”
“yes,” said margaret, “i suppose so, but i try not to think of that.”
“do you never think of marriage, margaret? i suppose all young ladies must.”
“not often, as applied to myself,” she said.
“don’t you think matrimony desirable?”
“i really don’t know,” said margaret, a little uneasily. “not as we usually see it, certainly. i suppose under the very best conditions marriage is the happiest life—but i know nothing about it.”
“i am quite sure it is the happiest life,” said alan, “for both men and women, and it is the greatest possible mistake to put it off too long. don’t be too fastidious as to conditions, margaret, and too high-flown in your notions. mutual liking and respect, and congeniality of tastes are a good enough foundation—the rest will follow. a cheerful disposition is an immense consideration, and that you have. you will always make the best of whatever comes. i don’t think i ever saw a woman better fitted for matrimony.”
he spoke so earnestly and looked at her with such intentness, that margaret felt herself somewhat ill at ease, and was relieved when the door burst open and decourcy came running in.
“auntie mard’rit, ethel says you’re not my really auntie,” he said, wofully; “you is, now—ain’t you, auntie mard’rit?”
“i love you just the same as if i were, dee,” said margaret, lifting him to her knee. “i couldn’t be your real auntie, you know, because i’m not your mother’s or your father’s sister. can you understand that?”
“but mrs. gregg is jack and cora’s auntie,” said amy, who had come to take part in the discussion, “and she’s not their mamma’s sister or their papa’s either; she only married their uncle.”
“and if margaret married your uncle, she would be your really auntie, too,” said alan, quietly. “she could settle the whole matter, if she would, and don’t you think she might? i do.”
“oh! auntie mard’rit, won’t you please marry uncle?” cried amy, imploringly, while dee, partially seizing the idea, repeated faintly:
“auntie mard’rit, peese marry uncle.”
“run away, children,” said margaret, provoked to feel herself blushing. “alan, how can you put such nonsense into their heads?”
“i am afraid it is but too true that you consider it nonsense,” he said, with a gravity that surprised her. immediately afterward he left the room, and margaret found herself alone with the children, who insisted on pushing the question to its remotest issue with a persistency that was almost distracting.
after this it was impossible but that she should realize that her cousin was studying her with a purpose. she could hardly suppose that he thought seriously of asking her to marry him, and yet the interest he displayed in trying to direct her opinions pointed that way. she made a strong effort to shake off the idea. its deliberateness shocked her. charming as her cousin was, his calm philosophicalness often irritated her, and she was at times inclined to believe him cold-blooded and selfish, until perhaps, just afterward, some act of kindness to herself or his sister or the children made her heartily ashamed of this suspicion. and, indeed, it was an easy thing to judge alan decourcy kindly. so he kept his place as a trusty and beloved kinsman.
shortly before the end of margaret’s allotted week in baltimore, mrs. gaston forwarded to her an invitation to a large party to be given by some people who happened to be friends of alan decourcy also, and insisted that both of them should come over in time for the entertainment. margaret’s week would be out, she said, and no extension of leave would be granted. so she was to come without fail, and to bring mr. decourcy with her. alan readily acquiesced in the arrangement, and at the proper time they set forth together.
margaret was feeling particularly well-disposed toward her cousin that afternoon, as they steamed along in the express train together. she had the recollection of a host of kind acts toward herself stored away in her mind, and it seemed to come almost more naturally than usual to her to like this pleasant, considerate, affectionate cousin.
when they had reached washington, and were driving swiftly along the smooth asphalt pavements in cousin eugenia’s snug coupé, margaret said, cordially:
“you’ve done everything to make my visit a happy one, alan! i do thank you so much.”
“it has been a happy time to me,” he said; “so happy! how capitally we get on together, daisy—don’t we?”
“it always makes me think of dear papa to hear you call me daisy,” answered the girl, instinctively avoiding a direct answer to his appeal. “i had forgotten that you called me so.”
“i have adopted it intentionally,” he said. “margaret seems cold, and i want to get rid of the sense of distance between us which our long separation has engendered, for who knows but by-and-by what you are pleased to call nonsense now may come to look differently, as use familiarizes it? don’t turn upon me in that sudden way, dear. i wouldn’t startle you for the world. i only want you to promise to think of me often, until after a while i come to see you down in bassett, and we can talk things over quietly and calmly.”
“i shall always think of you as a kind and dear cousin,” answered margaret.
“but i cannot promise i shall always be content with that,” he said, bending toward her, with a motion of great gentleness, and softly laying his gloved hand over hers. “my sweet margaret,” he murmured; “my strong hope is, that some day i can teach you to think of me as i would have you. and, meantime, i can wait.”
margaret made an effort to withdraw her hand, but he held it in a close, detaining clasp, and, looking up, she met his eyes fixed on her, with a gaze so sweet and tender, that it somehow seemed to soothe, while it agitated her. once more she attempted to withdraw her hand, and this time he released it, but before doing so he raised it to his lips and kissed it.
margaret felt deeply disturbed. it was something very new to her to see this phase in her cousin’s relationship toward her, and the very fact that she felt in her heart no response to these signs of tenderness, distressed her. she knew the time must come when she would have to deny and thwart him, and the idea gave her pain. if she had hitherto doubted that he really loved her, she doubted it no longer. that look of his, as he lifted her hand to kiss it, made doubt impossible. it was no cool, cousinly affection; it was a passionate emotion that looked out from his eyes.
she felt relieved when the carriage stopped at general gaston’s door, and alan, after handing her out, took leave, to be driven to his hotel to dine and dress. the remembrance of that look of his would not be shaken off, however, and she appeared before mrs. gaston in a somewhat pensive mood.
cousin eugenia was delighted to see her, and declared she had missed her unendurably. she informed her, hurriedly, that they were all well, and that louis was in new york, having been there ever since the day after her own departure for baltimore; and then they fell to discussing margaret’s costume for the party.
“my white silk is all ready,” said margaret, somewhat listlessly. “i have not worn it yet, you know. it is high, and perhaps better suited to a dinner, but i like it, and suppose it will do.”
“that splendid old lace would make it elegant enough for any occasion,” said mrs. gaston; “and as to the high neck, somehow that style suits you, in spite of the eminent presentability of your neck and arms. but go now to your room and take a good nap. ring for a cup of tea when you get up. i want you to look very fresh to-night.”
when margaret entered her apartment, she caught sight of a letter on her dressing-table, and immediately her brows contracted. she knew the hand. it was from charley somers, and, to tell the truth, this young gentleman was somewhat in disgrace. he had some friends in washington, and, a short time back, he had written to margaret to ask her to allow him to come on and see her, with the ostensible purpose of visiting these friends. margaret had written at once, and distinctly forbidden him to come. the mere suggestion made her indignant. it had the air of asserting a claim when no shadow of such existed. she supposed she had finally settled the matter, and what had he to say in this letter? she tore it open hastily and ran her eyes down the length of its pages; when she reached the end she threw it from her, with a motion of angry indignation. mr. somers wrote to say that the tone of her letter had made him feel so uneasy that, even at the risk of incurring her displeasure, he was coming on to washington. margaret hastily pulled out her watch. there was yet time to catch the southern mail. she threw off her hat and wraps, and sitting down at her desk scratched off a few hurried lines, saying to mr. somers, that he might come to washington or not, exactly as it suited his pleasure, but forbidding him, in plain terms, to call upon her in the event of his doing so. without pausing to read it over, she addressed and sealed the letter, and rang for a servant to post it.
