Part 27 (1/2)

”Stanton, we both fee that he is not fit to sit at the same table with Miss Burton.”

”You are right, Van,” Stanton replied with a deep flush; ”but I can do nothing without drawing attention to my relatives. After all, it is only a casual and transient a.s.sociation in a public place, over which we have no control. While she seems too near to him there you know that heaven is as near to h.e.l.l as they are to each other. For the sake of poor Mr. Mayhew, if for no one else, let the matter pa.s.s.”

”Very well, Stanton; but it must not happen so another week;” and then the young men who had withdrawn into the hall-way entered, but the expression of coldness and displeasure did not wholly pa.s.s from their faces.

Chapter XXIII. Jennie Burton's ”Remedies.”

Fortunately Mr. Mayhew had been placed at the supper-table next to Miss Burton, and Van Berg speedily became absorbed in watching the impression made on each other by these two characters that were so utterly diverse. It needed but a glance to see that Mr. Mayhew was a heavy-hearted, broken-spirited man. His shrunken inanimate features, and slight, bent form, looked all the more dim and shadowy in contrast with his stout, florid wife, who even in public scarcely more than tolerated his presence. This evening she devoted herself to Sibley, who sat between her and her daughter.

Mr. Mayhew seemed unusually depressed even for him, and began to make a supper only in form. Jennie Burton stole a few shy glances at his sallow face, and seemed to find an attraction in it she could not resist. Two handsome lovers sat near her, but she evidently forgot them wholly save when they addressed her; and she wooed the elderly man at her side with consummate tact and grace.

At first he was unconscious of her presence. She was but another human atom, and of no more interest to him than the chair on which she sat. Mechanically he declined one or two things she pa.s.sed to him, and in an absent manner replied to the few casual remarks by which she sought to engage him in conversation. At last she said, in a voice that was indescribably winning and sympathetic:

”Mr. Mayhew, your sultry week in town has wearied you. Our country air will do you good.”

There was so much more in her tones than in her words that he turned to look at her, and then, for the first time, became aware that he was not sitting at the side of an ordinary, well-bred lady.

”Country air is good as far as it goes,” he said slowly, scanning her face as he spoke; ”but it does not make much difference with me.”

”There are other remedies,” she resumed in her low gentle tone, ”which, like the air, are not exactly tangible, and yet are more potent.”

”Indeed,” he said, the dawning interest deepening in his face; ”what are they?”

”I do not mean to tell you,” she replied with a little piquant nod and smile. ”I've learned better than those people who have a dozen infallible medicines at their tongues' end for every trouble under heaven. I never name my remedies; for if I did, people would turn away in contempt for such commonplace simples.”

”I can guess one of them already,” he said with a pleased light coming into his eyes.

”So quickly, Mr. Mayhew? I doubt it.”

”Kindness,” he said, in a low tone.

”Well,” she replied with a slight flush, ”I can stoutly a.s.sert that this remedy did me good when all the long-named drugs in the 'Materia Medica' could not have helped me.”

He looked at her searchingly a moment, and then said in the same low tone:

”And so you are trying to apply your remedy to me? It certainly is very good of you. Most people when they are cured, throw away the medicine, forgetting how many others are sick.”

”Perhaps we can never exactly say we are cured in this life; but I think we can all get better.”

”It depends a great deal upon the disease,” he replied, with a shrug.

”No, Mr. Mayhew,” she said; and, although her tone was low, it was almost pa.s.sionate in its earnestness. ”G.o.d forbid that there should be a disease without a remedy.”

He again looked at her with a peculiar expression, and then slowly turned toward his wife and daughter. Mrs. Mayhew was too preoccupied to heed him, and Sibley was just saying:

”Miss Ida, I claim you for the first waltz this evening, and only wish that it would last indefinitely.”

”Pardon me for saying it to one so young and hopeful as yourself, Miss Burton,” Mr. Mayhew resumed gloomily, ”but that which both G.o.d and good-sense forbid seems the thing most sure to take place in this world.”