CHAPTER IV.

"I REALLY OUGHT TO HAVE BEEN AN ACTRESS."

Carolyn called imperatively to her brother to come back. Immediately after her call, Mrs. Ffolliott appeared on the piazza.

"Caro," she said, remonstrantly, "what have you been saying to Leander?"

"I've been calling him a little cad."

"My dear! How could you? Now he'll be somewhere kicking and screaming, and probably doing himself an injury. How could you be so thoughtless?"

The girl made no reply; but Prudence ventured to suggest that if Leander was screaming at the present moment, he would be heard plainly in the part of the world where his mother and sister were standing.

Mrs. Ffolliott twisted her hands together. "Leander is so sensitive," she said, pathetically.

By this time, Carolyn had started forward to find her brother. But she paused, at her cousin's exclamation:

"Why, here's Devil now. And why has he a cord tied to his leg?"

The black speck that had sailed up over the savins gently descended and alighted in front of Prudence. It was a glossy black crow, that now immediately pulled up one foot, cocked its head on one side, and gazed knowingly at the girl, as she extended a finger towards it.

It looked at the finger, and drew back a little, as if it had said, "No, you don't!"

Prudence laughed. She was glad to laugh. She wanted to stretch up her arms in her relief. She had hardly known how great had been the tension upon her in these few moments with her cousin.

"You'd better tell Leander you're sorry," called Mrs. Ffolliott to her daughter; "and I wish you'd be a trifle more careful--"

Here she was interrupted by a whoop from somewhere,--reenter Leander at a full run.

"I say!" he yelled, "Devil's gnawed his cord. I was punishin' him. I say, sis, have you been 'n' done anything to him? Oh, there he is! He's got to catch it for this!"

The boy threw himself forward with his hands out to seize the cord that extended from the crow's leg over the wall and off to the top of the nearest tree. But, as the tips of his fingers touched the string, Devil gave a hoarse caw, and sailed off towards the water.

Leander shrieked out, "Oh, darn that Devil!" hit his toe on a bat he had left on the lawn, and fell forward with great force on his nose, which immediately began to bleed profusely.

Then there was running to and fro by the three women, and a demanding of lint, and alum, and this thing and that, by Mrs. Ffolliott. She looked with terror at the stream of blood that poured from that small nose.

As Carolyn had often said, her mother was frightened when Leander was well, fearing he might be ill, and when he was ill, being sure he was going to die.

As soon as Leander could speak, he demanded cobwebs. He said that cobwebs were to be stuffed into his nose, and he should immediately die if this remedy were not applied.

"Does he think we have our pockets full of cobwebs?" asked Prudence, in so light a tone that the boy, as he half lay in his mother's arms, kicked one leg violently in resentment, and said indistinctly that he wished Prue's nose bled worse 'n his.

"Thank you," sweetly responded Prue; "then we could bleed and die together, and there'd be no more worry about us."

This the boy also resented as savoring of mockery, and he kicked again. Mrs. Ffolliott was actually weeping by this time, lest her son should do himself an injury. She begged Prudence to be careful; she asked her not to speak again, for she might inadvertently say something that dear Leander might not like.

Upon this Prudence turned and walked away, but, at the end of the piazza, she paused to inform the group assembled that she was going to the barn, for she was positive she had once seen cobwebs in the roof of the hay-loft.

She did go to the stable, and climbed into the mow, but by the time she had reached the door by which hay was put in, she forgot all about Leander and his nasal hemorrhage. The door was open, and there was the sea but some rods away, with no intervening wall in front. The building stood on a bit of rising ground, and the girl looked on a short stretch of glittering sandy beach. She sat down on the threshold, her feet hanging out.

After she had gazed intently for a few moments, she exclaimed aloud:

"It's just the place for a soliloquy. Enter the heroine in a white cycling suit, having come for cobwebs. Why, yes, it was cobwebs I came for. But I'm not a cat, and I can't go up into the peak there after them. No doubt Leander will presently stop bleeding, and, if he doesn't, there are already more than enough boys in the world."

She glanced up into the roof, a half smile on her face. Then she resumed her gaze at the sea, swinging her feet outside the door as she did so.

"I always did think soliloquies were great fun," she said, aloud, "particularly if it's the heroine who is doing the talking. Now, I suppose I'm the heroine at Savin Hill; if I'm not, I mean to be, somehow. It's always best to be the heroine if it's possible. A second fiddle has its uses, but it's pleasanter to be first fiddle. I should just like to ask what you expect of a girl who has been a Carlsbad nurse for months,--expect of her when she gets out, I mean. You expect some kind of a fling, don't you? Very well; all right; I don't think you'll be disappointed. Just wait until the folks begin to come here, and until I begin to wear my new frocks. Of course Rodney Lawrence can't be counted now. He's out of the running. He is going to marry Carolyn Ffolliott, and be adored all the rest of his life. At forty he'll be a fat, self-satisfied wretch.

"I hope there isn't anybody near enough to hear me."

She looked about the big chamber, which now had very little hay in it. She inhaled the air, which was odorous with the ocean smell and the fragrance of a thicket of wild roses which grew among the rocks in front of the barn and slightly to the left. Nowhere do wild roses grow more rankly, more beautifully, than on the New England coast; the keen salt wind seems to stimulate them to a greater loveliness.

She leaned back again upon the side frame of the door, and resumed her gaze at the sea. She had discontinued her monologue.

A sail came floating along around the point of rocks that guarded the northern side of the cove. It was a small craft, a tiny, sky-blue yacht, in which sat one man holding the tiller as he leaned back in a half-reclining position, his eyes scanning the shore, but scanning it lazily, and not as though he expected to see anything familiar. The wind was light and puffy, and sometimes the boat seemed as if it would stop, swinging slowly over the waveless water.

"I could manage a boat like that well enough," Prudence said to herself, "and it would be great fun, too.

"I heed not if My rippling skiff Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff; With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise."

Having repeated the lines, she suddenly leaned forward and said, "Ah!" with a quick, keen interest.

The man in the boat was looking at her; he took off his cap and waved it.

He seemed to be a very tall, athletic person, wearing white trousers, a blue sack coat, and a white cap. He had thick, light hair very closely cut, long, light Dundreary whiskers, a smooth chin that was so markedly retreating that it apparently required courage to refrain from allowing it to be covered with a beard, prominent blue eyes, short upper lip, and extremely white teeth. This newcomer was sufficiently near the shore to permit all these items of personal appearance to be noted.

"May I land, Miss Ffolliott?" he called out.

"I don't know why not. But I'm not the owner of the beach here," she answered.

In response the man laughed. The next moment he had half reefed the single sail. He took the oars, and brought the boat crunching on the sand; he flung out the anchor, and then leaped after it, pressing it down with his foot. Then he stood up and looked at the door of the barn, where Prudence still sat in the same position. She had watched his movements, a half smile on her face, her eyes narrowed to two glittering lines.

"This is jolly good luck, isn't it?" he asked. Then he hastily added, "For me, I mean. When did you come?"

"This morning," she answered.

"Oh, I say, now," he continued, "isn't this jolly, though? Are you going to stay long?"

"All summer, if I feel like it."

"I say, now, are you really?"

"Not really, but apparently, you know. Really I shall be somewhere else."

The man laughed delightedly.

"May I come up there in that hay-loft? It is a hay-loft, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is a hay-loft; but it isn't mine, any more than the beach is mine."

"Then I shall come."

He ran up the steps two at a time. Miss Ffolliott shook hands with him without changing her position, save to reach forth a hand negligently. He sat down at the other side of the doorway. He looked out at the sea.

"Jolly kind of a prospect, isn't it?"

"Yes, if one likes salt water. How came you over here?"

"Came in the _Cephalonia_."

"When?"

"Two weeks ago."

"You look very well. Did the mud baths cure you?"

"I suppose so; anyway, something cured me. I'm as fit as a man need be."

"Why don't you say 'as right as a trivet?'"

"Didn't think of a trivet. Isn't it jolly to see you, though?"

"Thank you."

The two gave one full glance at each other, then Prudence laughed.

"Why do you laugh?" he asked, in an aggrieved tone.

"I don't know unless it's because your conversation sounds so familiar."

"Well, laugh if you feel like it: I know conversation isn't my strong point."

"I know it isn't."

"I say, you're not very polite."

"And you're not very polite to tell me I'm not polite," she retorted.

The man laughed again, and began, "I say, now--" when Prudence interrupted him.

"Don't tell me it's jolly to see me."

"No, I won't; but it is--"

"There, you are at it again!"

"Oh, I beg your pardon."

The newcomer threw his head back and laughed once more. His companion did not join him. She gazed at him with apparent seriousness. When he had ceased laughing, Prudence inquired:

"Did Lady Maxwell come over with you?"

Lord Maxwell's face grew more grave.

"Yes; we took the trip for her health. The doctors said a sea voyage would tone her up, so we came over here. And now they've sent her to the Sulphur Springs. I've just taken her there. Her mother's with her, you know, and her maid, and her mother's maid, and somehow it seemed as if I'd better take a run round over the States, you know."

"Is Lady Maxwell's health improved?"

"I can't exactly tell. Some days she seems better, and then she'll be all down; malaria, you know."

"No, I didn't know."

"Yes; had Roman fever once, so her mother says. Wasn't treated right. I say, is this what they call Massachusetts Bay?"

Lord Maxwell swept out his arm towards the water.

"Yes, that's what they call it."

The gentleman expatiated again upon the beauties of his surroundings; he assured his companion that she must have no end of a jolly time, and then asked, with some abruptness, "Any men here?"

"One now; but a prospect of more."

There was a brief silence after this question and answer. Then Lord Maxwell exclaimed, "I say--"

Prudence looked at him, a smile lurking about her lips and in her eyes.

"You're always laughing at me, Miss Ffolliott," he said, but his manner showed that the fact did not make him miserable.

"What were you going to say?" she inquired.

"Only that it isn't a bad hotel over yonder where I'm stopping, and if you'd let me come here and call now and then, I'd stay there a week or two. Is this your Aunt Ffolliott's place that you told me about,--that you called one of your homes?"

"Yes."

"Would she permit me to call?"

"Certainly. Any friend of mine would be welcome," with a little air of _hauteur_ and distance.

"Oh, thanks. And now I suppose I must go."

He rose and looked down at her, as if he were hoping she would tell him not to go so soon. But she said nothing.

"I suppose you wheel?" glancing at her dress.

"Yes, of course."

"I might have known you would; so do I. Perhaps you'll let me take a spin with you?"

"Perhaps."

"And you like sailing as well as ever?"

"Yes."

"Then I hope you'll go out in this bit of a boat of mine; she's a real fine one; and I like something I can manage all myself, so I got a small one. You'll try her?"

"Perhaps."

"You don't seem very eager."

"Don't I?"

"No. And we're old friends, aren't we?"

He asked the question with a wistful frankness. Before she could answer it, he went on in some haste:

"I never knew whether to believe you really when you told me you forgave me. You said you understood precisely how I was situated, and that you didn't blame me, for you might have done the same thing. Do you remember?"

"Oh, yes, I remember all about everything. And I do forgive you."

"I'm so glad! And we are friends?"

"Yes, we are friends."

Prudence had risen to her feet now. Her eyes were raised to the face above her, and the man met a softly brilliant look that recalled the past vividly to him and made him think that he could not do better, since he must kill time some way, than to stay over at that seaside hotel, though he had been thinking a half-hour ago that he might as well move on. He was also telling himself that Prudence Ffolliott was more sensible than most girls; she understood how a "fellow might be obliged to do some things when he wanted to do other things;" this was the way Lord Maxwell put the case in his own mind. And she wasn't going to lay anything up.

He looked at her gratefully. What a fetching kind of a face she had! He didn't know whether there was a really pretty feature in it, but that didn't matter. It had been a devilish set of circumstances that had obliged him to break off with her; yes, a devilish set. He had done it as honorably as he could; but he had never liked to think of his behavior at that time. It was such an immense relief to know that she didn't bear malice.

"Well," he said, abruptly, "I'll go now. Good-by."

He held out his hand, and Prudence put her fingers in it for the briefest space of time.

He ran down the stable stairs and down the slope of beach.

As he lifted his anchor to fling it into his boat, a crow flew down between him and the anchor, cawing as it flew.

He started back with an exclamation.

"It's only Devil," called out the girl from the door, laughing gaily as she spoke.

"That's just what I thought it was," was the response.

Lord Maxwell gazed an instant after the bird, which flew up to where Prudence stood and perched on the threshold beside her, curving its black neck and looking down at the man.

Maxwell pushed out and spread his sail. At the bottom of all his thoughts concerning this meeting was a feeling of pique that, after all, Miss Ffolliott cared so little for his failure to marry her. But he ought to be glad of that. Did he want her sighing and dying for him?

He glanced up at the sail, which almost flapped, so light was the wind. He had stopped thinking of Prudence, and was now thinking of the woman he had married. His thoughts did not often linger upon that subject. He didn't know of any earthly reason why they should. But just now he remembered with exceeding distinctness that Miss Arabella Arkwright had a thick waist and thick fingers; that she had at first shown a very annoying inclination to call him "my lord," but, thank fortune, he had made her drop that; and he was quite sure that she no longer referred to him as "his lordship;" he was glad of that also. And she had greatly toned down in regard to her dress. There was no fault to find with her money, however. She had no end of it,--literally no end, Lord Maxwell was grateful to know. Even the payment of his debts had not appreciably lessened the amount.

It had been extremely jolly for the first six months for this nobleman to be aware that he had no creditors, and to have no fear that he should overdraw on his banker. But it was sadly true that even the novelty of having money enough for every whim began to be what he called "an old story." He could get used to that, but he couldn't quite get used to the fact that Arabella Arkwright was his wife. He knew she was not to blame for his having had to break with a woman he fancied, and who could amuse him, but he often caught himself feeling as if she were to blame. At such moments Lord Maxwell fiercely reproved himself for a low-bred wretch. He was "not much for intellect," as he often said, but he thought he wanted to have the feelings of a gentleman, and to act like one.

Prudence Ffolliott resumed her seat in the door of the hay-mow. Devil remained beside her. The cord which Leander had tied to its leg still dangled from it. Occasionally the bird pecked at the string, but he had not yet succeeded in detaching it.

Now as he sat he would turn a bright eye towards his companion, looking as if he knew unutterable things about her, but would never tell them, never, never.

She extended her hand and touched the top of the bird's head with the tip of her finger.

"You and I know strange things, don't we, Devil?" she asked.

Devil turned his head this way and that. He hopped a few inches nearer.

"Do you care for Rodney Lawrence, Devil? Oh, you don't? Because he saved your life when you were just out of the shell; and he tamed you; and all you are you owe to him. You don't care if you do? All right. That's like a human being; that's ingratitude. And you stole his ring from him, did you? and hid it in the wall, and it wasn't found until he didn't care for it any more. No, he doesn't care now."

Prudence rose, and walked about over the hay-strewn floor. Her cheeks had grown red. Her eyes had sparks in them. Suddenly she put her hands together, then flung them out with a dramatic gesture. Then she smiled.

"I really ought to have been an actress," she said, looking at the crow, and speaking as if addressing it.