Part 11 (2/2)
Old Hector was tempted to tell her that, in his opinion, she had heard altogether too much, but his regard for her husband caused him to refrain.
”It's little enough, and yet it's a great deal,” he answered. ”You'll be kind enough, Mary, not to carry word of this idle gossip to The Dreamerie, I should regret that very much.”
She flushed with the knowledge that, although he forgave her, still he distrusted her and considered a warning necessary. However, she nodded vigorous acceptance of his desire, and immediately he changed the topic. While, for him, the quiet pleasure he had antic.i.p.ated in the visit had not materialized and he longed to leave at once, for Daney's sake he remained for tea. When he departed, Mrs. Daney ran to her room and found surcease from her distress in tears, while her husband sat out on the veranda smoking one of The Laird's fine cigars, his embarra.s.sment considerably alleviated by the knowledge that his imprudent wife had received a lesson that should last for the remainder of her life.
About eight o'clock, his wife called him to the telephone. The Laird was on the wire.
”In the matter of the indiscreet young lady in the store, Andrew,” he ordered, ”do not dismiss her or reprimand her. The least said in such cases is soonest mended.”
”Very well, sir.”
”Good-night, Andrew.”
”Good-night, sir.”
”Poor man!” Daney sighed, as he hung up. ”He's thought of nothing else since he heard about it; it's a canker in his heart. I wish I dared indicate to Donald the fact that he's being talked about--and watched--by the idle and curious, in order that he may bear himself accordingly. He'd probably misunderstand my motives however.”
IX
During the week, Mary Daney refrained from broaching the subject of that uncomfortable Sunday afternoon, wherefore her husband realized she was thinking considerably about it and, as a result, was not altogether happy. Had he suspected, however, the trend her thoughts were taking, he would have been greatly perturbed. Momentous thoughts rarely racked Mrs. Daney's placid and somewhat bovine brain, but once she became possessed with the notion that Nan Brent was the only human being possessed of undoubted power to create or suppress a scandal which some queer feminine intuition warned her impended, the more firmly did she become convinced that it was her Christian duty to call upon Nan Brent and strive to present the situation in a common-sense light to that erring young Woman.
Having at length attained to this resolution, a subtle peace settled over Mrs. Daney, the result, doubtless, of a consciousness of virtue regained, since she was about to right a wrong to which she had so thoughtlessly been a party. Her decision had almost been reached when her husband, coming home for luncheon at noon on Sat.u.r.day, voiced the apprehension which had hara.s.sed him during the week.
”Donald will be home from the woods to-night,” he announced, in troubled tones. ”I do hope he'll not permit that big heart of his to lead him into further kindnesses that will be misunderstood by certain people in case they hear of them. I have never known a man so proud and fond of a son as The Laird is of Donald.”
”Nonsense!” his wife replied complacently. ”The Laird has forgotten all about it.”
”Perhaps. Nevertheless, he will watch his son, and if, by any chance, the boy should visit the Sawdust Pile--”
”Then it will be time enough to worry about him, Andrew. In the meantime, it's none of our business, dear. Eat your luncheon and don't think about it.”
He relapsed into moody silence. When he had departed for the mill office, however, his wife's decision had been reached. Within the hour she was on her way to the Sawdust Pile, but as she approached Caleb Brent's garden gate, she observed, with a feeling of gratification, that, after all, it was not going to be necessary for her to be seen entering the house or leaving it. Far up the strand she saw a woman and a little child sauntering.
Nan Brent looked up at the sound of footsteps crunching the s.h.i.+ngle, identified Mrs. Daney at a glance, and turned her head instantly, at the same time walking slowly away at right angles, in order to obviate a meeting. To her surprise, Mrs. Daney also changed her course, and Nan, observing this out of the corner of her eye, dropped her ap.r.o.nful of driftwood and turned to face her visitor.
”Good afternoon, Miss Brent. May I speak to you for a few minutes?”
”Certainly, Mrs. Daney.”
Mrs. Daney nodded condescendingly and sat down on the white sand.
”Be seated, Miss Brent, if you please.”
”Well, perhaps if we sit down, we will be less readily recognized at a distance.” Nan replied smilingly, and was instantly convinced that she had read her visitor's mind aright, for Mrs. Daney flushed slightly.
”Suppose,” the girl suggested gently, ”that you preface what you have to say by calling me 'Nan.' You knew me well enough to call me that in an earlier and happier day, Mrs. Daney.”
”Thank you, Nan. I shall accept your invitation and dispense with formality.” She hesitated for a beginning, and Nan, observing her slight embarra.s.sment, was gracious enough to aid her by saying:
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