CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CLEARING UP MYSTERIES

While Josephine Bayley prepared her breakfast the next morning, every now and then she paused to laugh gleefully. Was she doing wrong to deceive the fine man who loved her so dearly? And yet, after all, she had not deceived him. He had never once asked her who her father had been. He had merely jumped to the conclusion that she was poor because she was teaching school in Woodford’s Cañon. After all, that was a natural inference.

He had completely forgotten, or so it seemed, that on the first day of their acquaintance Josephine had mentioned that she had known Marlita Arden. The truth was that Frederick had not forgotten. He had, however, satisfied his own curiosity as to the manner in which the two girls had met. Marlita had a younger sister, Gladys Louise, and, as he thought of her, he recalled that she had a governess named Josephine. He had never seen her, but since his Josephine knew Marlita intimately, she probably had lived in their home as governess to the younger Arden girl.

As the young engineer walked toward the cabin beyond the inn at nine that morning, with each stride his decision grew stronger. His aunt, he knew, would scorn any girl who earned her own living, but she would be especially rude, he was convinced, to a young woman who had been governess in the home of one of her friends.

After all, perhaps it would be kinder not to take Josephine Bayley with him when he went to see his aunt at the inn. He could announce his intention to marry whom he would, and let the matter rest there, but, to his surprise, when he told the girl he loved that he wished to spare her possible humiliation, she looked so truly disappointed that he exclaimed: “Why, Josephine, you don’t _want_ to go, do you? I thought you were merely accompanying me because I had requested it.”

She smiled at him, and in her expression there was no trace of timidity. “I’m not the least bit afraid of dragoness aunts,” she assured him. Then she added, “If you’ll be seated a moment, I’ll don my best spring hat and coat.”

Five minutes later the girl emerged from her porch room, and the young man leaped to his feet, gazing as though at a vision.

“How beautiful you are in that silvery gray,” he said.

The small hat was wreathed with crushed roses, and the cloak, of soft clinging material, was cut in the latest fashion.

At another time the young man might have been puzzled, but his mind was too full of one thing just then to admit of questionings.

“I’m glad you look so nicely,” he confided as they started out, “for even though mine aunt will, of course, spurn me for not wedding the girl of her choice, in her heart of hearts she will have to agree that I have chosen the more beautiful one for my bride.”

The color in Josephine’s cheeks deepened, although it may have been a reflection of the rose-tulle lining of her hat.

In the meantime the strangers at the inn had inquired if Frederick Edrington were staying there.

Although Mr. Enterprise Twiggly well knew the young man whom Ken called Uncle Ed, he did not associate the two names, and replied that he knew “no such person.”

Mrs. Edrington and her companions were in the parlor of the inn, awaiting the coming of the stage, when the two young people arrived. Josephine requested that she be permitted to remain in the outer office while Frederick went alone to meet his aunt.

The four occupants of the plainly furnished room turned as the door opened, and the young engineer was somewhat surprised to see that one of them was no other than Lord Dunsbury. The two girls were Marlita Arden and her younger sister, Gladys Louise. Frederick regretted this, since his Josephine undoubtedly had been her governess. Perhaps the girl he loved ought to be told to slip back to her cabin home, that she might escape whatever humiliation would be in store for her, were she to meet the snobbish Ardens.

“I’m so glad to see you again,” said Marlita.

“More than pleased I assure you,” rather coldly added the young Englishman.

Frederick crossed the room to where his aunt was standing, and spoke with her for several moments. The others, watching, could see the angry flush mounting to the face of the older woman. Then, unable to listen longer in silence, she turned toward the curious group and exclaimed: “My nephew informs me that he is engaged to marry some girl he has met here in the mountains. A woodcutter’s daughter, I suppose. Being well acquainted with his stubbornness, I know that he will do as he wishes in the matter.”

Marlita shrugged her silk-clad shoulders as she said, “Do you know, Aunt Delia, I really would like to see the mountain maid who has won the heart of friend Frederick.” Then, turning to the young man, she added with a tantalizing smile, “However, I doubt if he would care to exhibit his rural fiancée.” This remark had the effect desired.

“You are wrong Marlita,” Frederick declared vehemently. “I should be proud to present my future wife to the queen of England, were that possible. If you will be seated, I will soon return with the young woman about whom we are speaking.”

It was a tense moment for the two who were most interested. The aunt moved to the window and looked out. Marlita leaned against the mantle, tapping her fingers nervously thereon.

It was not very complimentary to her that Frederick Edrington should prefer a mountaineer’s daughter to the heiress of Colonel Arden’s millions.

They all glanced toward the closed door when they heard Frederick returning. Gladys Louise was the only one pleased with the little drama that was being enacted. How she did hope that Fred’s fiancée would prove to be the picturesque type of mountain maid that she had read about in romantic stories! Perhaps, though, they were only to be found in Switzerland.

However, there was no further time for speculating. The door was opening, and in another moment they would know.

Josephine Bayley had never looked lovelier than she did when she entered the parlor of the inn, her head held high. Although her lips were not smiling, surely an amused expression was lurking in the depths of her clear hazel eyes.

Before Frederick Edrington could introduce his fiancée to his aunt, Gladys Louise, with a glad cry of recognition, leaped forward, both hands outstretched. “Oh, you dear, darling Josephine!” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell us where you disappeared to when you left so suddenly?”

And so the young engineer’s surmise had been correct. His fiancée had been this impulsive girl’s governess. What would his aunt say? He glanced at Marlita, to see how she would welcome one who had lived in her home in a paid capacity. The proud girl’s expression was hard to understand.

Then, to his surprise, Josephine made the first advance. Crossing the room, she held out her hand as she said: “Marlita, dear, please try to be glad for my happiness. You and I were room-mates at boarding-school, and now—”

She said no more, for the girl to whom she had spoken drew herself away coldly. “You are not honest, Josephine Bayley,” she said, “posing as a woodcutter’s daughter when—”

The young teacher shook her head. “I have not posed,” she replied quietly. “Frederick has asked no questions concerning my family.” Then, again holding out her hand, she pleaded, “Marlita, won’t you be my friend?”

But the girl whom she addressed tossed her head and left the room, beckoning her sister and Lord Dunsbury to follow, which they did.

When the three were alone, Frederick, whose astonishment had seemed to render him speechless, apologized. “Pardon me, Aunt Delia,” he said, “permit me to introduce to you my fiancée.”

“We’ll waive the formality of an introduction,” replied the woman, who, through half-closed eyes, had been watching the little drama.

Then, turning to the girl in gray, she asked, “Are you the daughter of William Wallace Bayley whose summer home is in the Orange Hills, and whose winter home is in New York on the Hudson?”

“I am,” was the quiet reply.

It was Frederick Edrington’s turn to be amazed, but his aunt was continuing: “I thought so. With my former husband, Mr. James Haddington-Allen, I frequently visited your home when you were a very small child.”

The young school-teacher stepped forward, as she asked eagerly: “You—are you Mrs. James Haddington-Allen? Frederick has always spoken of you as Mrs. Edrington.”

“Naturally, since that is my present name. Mr. Allen died long ago, and two years later I married Frederick’s uncle. But pray, Miss Bayley, why has the discovery of my former name occasioned you so much concern?”

“Because you are also the aunt of the four children named Martin who are our protégés here in the mountains,” Frederick began. But the face of the older woman hardened. “You are mistaken,” she said. “The children of whom you speak are related to my first husband, but in no way to me; and, since he is dead, I see no reason why I should look up his poor relatives, and, what is more, I shall not do so.”

The young man’s voice was almost severe when he asked, “You knew of their need, then?”

“Some banker wrote me last year concerning these children, and I replied that I was not at all interested in hearing about them. However, I thought the name of their town was Genoa.” Then, turning to the school-teacher, who was finding it very hard to listen quietly, the older woman said, “Miss Bayley, if you will give up this ridiculous notion of teaching school and will come with me, I will forgive you both and take you into my home, but mind, I wish never again to hear the name of Martin.”

“I thank you for your offer, but I have made other plans,” was Josephine’s reply. “When the spring term is finished, I shall return to my New York home and take with me the four Martin children.”

“Then, as there is nothing more to be said, I will bid you good-morning.” Haughtily saying this, the aunt left the room, and did not even glance at her second husband’s nephew.

“Shall we tell the children?” was Josephine’s first question as they left the inn.

“No,” Frederick replied. “Mrs. Edrington is their aunt only by marriage, as she is mine.” Then he added, “Dearest, what a wonderful home you and I are to have with such nice kiddies in it.”

“Aren’t we?” the girl smiled up at him. “We shall be happy just because we are all together.” Then she continued, “I want to make those four little Martins the happiest children in all the world.”

THE END

BOOKS BY GRACE MAY NORTH

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Transcriber’s Notes

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