Chapter 30

"I want to ask you what to do. I sent him away. You know, we must stop on board till Lady MacNairne's better, so--there's no hurry, and--he had to change. At first he _wouldn't_ go without an answer. But I told him I _must_ have ten minutes to make up my mind. He's explained everything. He was never to blame. It was all Freule Menela's fault--and mine. Please say what you think. You know him so well; you're old friends. There's no one else I can talk to, and--I feel somehow--I have for a long time--almost as if you were a kind of--adopted brother."

Brother again! Blow after blow; let them fall now, one upon another. I had feared this, yet would not expect it. But I suppose I must unwittingly have been born a brother.

"That's right," said I. "Go on--little sister." The words were getting quite familiar now.

"He says that he has never stopped loving me--dreadfully--desperately--from the very first. But I was _so_ sure it was only a fancy, and--and that when I was so bad to him, and Phyllis so kind, he began to care for her instead. Just now, when you said I must pretend to be engaged to him, I was thinking how horrid it would be for him to feel, 'Oh, if it were only Phyllis!' Didn't you suppose he was in love with Phyllis?"

"Never," I heard myself assuring her; "never."

"I'm _so_ glad. You're sure, then, that he knows his own mind, that he isn't asking me to go on being really engaged to him just to save my feelings after that scene with Sir Alec MacNairne?"

"I'm _dead_ sure," I said.

"You perfect dear! I _do_ like you. Oh, wasn't it too funny--I can say it, now we're brother and sister--he thought I might be in love with _you_."

"Owl!" I remarked.

"And all the time I was so horribly afraid he might suspect I cared that I would hardly speak a word to him. Besides, I didn't suppose he could be bothered listening to anything _I_ might have to say. And I felt quite _sorry_ for him when Phyllis was engaged to Robert. Dear Phil, I've been horrid to her, too. You see, she was trying to persuade herself to take Rudolph without loving him, and I just _hated_ her for it."

"Oh, that was what you meant, then!" I exclaimed.

"What I meant?"

"It doesn't matter. Well, make your mind easy, sweet sister. Alb adores you--has adored you since the first moment he set eyes on you, and will till he closes them in death. That's my conviction as his lifetime friend. And my advice is, go on being engaged to him until you marry him."

"Mariner, what an old trump you are!" broke in Brederode. And there he was behind me, neat as a pin, in his own suit of clothes, and radiant in his new suit of happiness.

"I give her to you, Alb," said I. And then I strolled away again, humming to the air of the Dead March, in Saul, or something equivalent, those haunting words--

_Giving agreeable girls away---- One for you, and one for you, but never, never one for me!_

XXXVII

I felt, when I waked up on the morning of butter-market-day at Middelburg, as if I had not slept at all, but had listened throughout the night to the sweet, the incredibly sweet chimes that floated like perfume in the air. Yet I suppose I must have slept, for the bells had sometimes stopped playing their one melodious tune, to tinkle in my dreams, "One for you, and one for you, but never, _never_ one for me?"

The hotel is a nice hotel, and there is a garden. After breakfast, I was so tired of brotherliness, of beaming at happy couples, and hearing plans about weddings, that instead of going forth to see the famous Thursday Middelburg sights, at which the world comes from afar to gaze, I slipped away and hid in the garden.

Phyllis and Robert were out together. Rudolph and Nell were out together. Both parties conscientiously believed that they were out for sight-seeing; that their object was to behold matrons and maidens in white caps, quaint fichus, meek, straight bodices, and swelling skirts; to admire pretty faces, with tinkling gold ornaments at their temples; to stare at young arms, red under incredibly tight short sleeves, as they bore baskets of eggs or pats of butter to market. How well I knew the whole scene from photographs!--the bell-like figures of the women; the booths in the big market square; and the cool arcades of the butter-market. How well I knew, too, that neither Phyllis and Robert, nor Rudolph and Nell would see anything at all, or remember it, if by accident they did see aught save each other.

"This," I said to myself, "is the end. We may go back to Rotterdam together, if we like. But everything's as much changed as if it were another party. And this, this is what I've slaved for--fibbed for--plotted for! 'Giving agreeable girls away!' Faugh!" I felt as much injured as if I were a misunderstood saint, though, when one comes to look at it, perhaps I have not always played precisely the part of saint.

While I lolled gloomily on an extremely uncomfortable seat, not meant for lolling, I heard a faint rustling in the grass behind me, and Tibe appeared, to lay his head, in a matter-of-course way, upon my knee.

"Where's your mistress?" I asked mechanically. "Have you changed, too, like all the rest, and left her alone?"

"Here I am," answered the L.C.P., as if the question had been addressed to her. "I thought you'd be in the garden, so I came to find you. Why don't you go out and see things?"

"Why don't you?" I echoed.

"Because I didn't like to feel that you were all by yourself," she answered.

"You needn't have troubled about me," I said. "Nobody else does."

She laughed that quaint, quiet little laugh, which suits her. "That's different. They're engaged to each other--all the rest of them. I'm engaged--_by_ you."

"Don't let that engagement keep you from amusing yourself," I said. "The bargain's off now. I hired an aunt to further my interests. Every one else's have been furthered except mine."

"That's not my fault, is it?"

"I know it isn't," I assured her. "Don't think I'm finding fault with you. On the contrary, you're really a marvelous being. But Othello's occupation's gone."

"Yes," said she. "For both of us. I retire from aunthood, you retire from nephewhood, with mutual respect, Is that it?"

"I suppose so," I gloomily replied. "Yet I'm loth to part with you, somehow. You and Tibe are all I have left in the world. But now I must lose you both."

"You don't need an aunt," she said.

"No, but I need some one; I don't know exactly who. Robert has snatched one of my loves, Rudolph the other. What am I to do?"

"Come to the house and into my sitting-room, and let's talk it over," she suggested invitingly.

I obeyed.

There were flowers in her sitting-room. There always are. The scent of late roses was sad, yet soothing.

"Excuse me a minute. I'm going into the next room to make myself pretty before we begin our talk; but I won't be long, and Tibe shall keep you company," said the L.C.P.

"You're well enough as you are," I said.

But she went, smiling; and I hardly missed her, I was so busy with my own thoughts.

_One for you, and one for you, but never, never one for me?_

I must have hummed the words aloud, for her voice answered me, at the door.

"Never's a long word, isn't it?"

I looked up.

A neat little figure stood on the threshold between the two rooms, the same neat little figure I had seen constantly during the past eight weeks. But it was not the same face. She had said, lightly, that she was going to "make herself pretty," and she had. She had performed a miracle. Or else I was asleep and dreaming.

The gray hair, folded in wings, was gone; the blue glasses were gone; the big bow under the chin was gone. A pretty young woman was smiling at me with the pretty little mouth I knew; but I did not know the bright auburn hair, or the beautiful brown eyes that threw me an amazing challenge.

"Good heavens!" I exclaimed.

"You told me you didn't want your aunt any more," said she.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Don't you remember? I'm Mary Milton. If you'd lived in your own country, instead of gadding about in foreign ones, you'd know who Mary Milton is without asking--at least, you would if you ever read _The New York Meteor_."

"I suppose this is a dream, and that I shall wake up," said I. "I slept very badly last night."

"Don't call for help under the impression that it's a nightmare," said my late aunt, twinkling.

"I have the impression that it's a vision," I answered. "But if you don't explain yourself instantly, I shall die in the dream--of heart failure."

"There's no great mystery," said Miss Milton. "I didn't particularly want to disguise myself, but you advertised for an aunt, and as it's difficult for a girl to make herself look middle-aged, I had to look _old_. That's all, except that your advertisement came in very handy, because--as you'd know if you were a patriotic American--Mary Milton's an enterprising and rather celebrated young journalist making it her business to go round the world for her paper without spending a penny of her own. That was the understanding on which _The Meteor_ started and 'boomed' me; for it was my own idea. I wanted to see things, and I hadn't money enough--so I went to call on the editor, and--I talked to him, till he was quite fired with the project. _The Meteor_ has given me a good send-off, and I've given it good copy. My adventures--as they look in print--have been sensational, and, I believe, popular. I've been at it for two years, and all America has read me, if you haven't. I've done all the countries of Europe, now. Holland was the last, and I seemed stuck on the threshold till I saw your advertisement. It couldn't have suited better--except for the blue glasses and the wig. But one can't have everything as one likes it. I've enjoyed the tour immensely, thanks to you; and so have the readers of _The Meteor_. I'm afraid I've teased you a good deal, and spent a lot of your pennies; but it _was_ fun! And you shall have your presents all back--every one of them. Heaps of money will be waiting for me from my paper when I get home to New York. They're delighted with my work; and then I intend to send you a check for all that you've paid me to be your aunt. I would rather, _really_; and only keep one little thing to remember you by, perhaps--and our days together."

"Did you always send back the money spent by persons you hypnotized to conduct you through the different countries?"

"No. That was different. I--don't exactly know why, but it was. And you needn't look at me so queerly. I've never done anything to be ashamed of."

"I'd knock the person down who suggested that you had," said I. "I was looking at you because I was thinking you more marvelous than ever. You hypnotize _me_. You hypnotize everybody. I suppose you hypnotized the editor into giving you your job?"

"Perhaps I did," she laughed. "Often I can get people to do things for me--big things--if I want them to very much."

"You could get me to do anything!" I exclaimed. "You're a witch, and what's more, I believe you're a beauty. Great Scott! How you grow on one! Can this be why--because you are You--that in my heart of hearts I don't care a rap if Nell and Phyllis are engaged to others? I wonder if my instinct saw under the gray hair and blue glasses? Look here, are you Miss or Mrs. Mary Milton? and if you're Mrs., are you a widow, grass, or otherwise?"

She laughed. "Why, how old do you take me to be? As an aunt, my official age was over forty. But Miss Mary Milton isn't much more than half Lady MacNairne's age. It's as good to throw off the years as the wig and the spectacles. I'm only twenty-three. I haven't had _time_ to marry yet, thank goodness!"

"Thank goodness!" I echoed. "And thank goodness for You as you are. You seem to me perfect."

"But I should never have done like this, for an aunt."

"Certainly not. But to think I should have been wasting you all this time as a mere aunt!"

"I wasn't wasted. I saved you lots of things--if I didn't save you money. Really, I _did_ earn my salary--though you often thought me officious."

"Never!"

"Not when I kept you from proposing to Nell Van Buren?"

"That was a blessing in disguise."

"Like myself. But truly, I only did it to spare you humiliation in the end. I knew all along that she was in love with Rudolph Brederode--though perhaps _she_ wouldn't have found it out so soon if it hadn't been for me."

"You've been our good genius all round," said I. "And I owe you----"

"Now, don't offer me more rewards! It was fun wheedling things from you at first; but bribes have been getting on my nerves lately. The play was played out."

"Let's pretend it was only a curtain-raiser," I suggested. "I'd like you to be 'on' in the next piece, in the leading part. Mary Milton! What a delicious name! And _you're_ delicious! It's a great comfort to understand why I was never really in love with either of those Angels. You are not an angel--but I'm going to be madly in love with you. I feel it coming on. I shall adore you."

"Nonsense! A man mustn't be in love with his aunt."

"I strip you of your aunthood. But I can't give you up to _The Meteor_. If you go to America, you must personally conduct Ronald Lester Starr. You oughtn't to mind. You're used to looking after him."

I took a step toward her; but she stooped down and framed the ugly pansy of Tibe's face between her little hands.

"Tibe, what do you say to him?" she asked.

Tibe wagged his tail.

While he was wagging, the others came in. Their looks of radiant new happiness changed to surprise at sight of my companion. In spite of the dress nobody recognized the pretty girl with the wonderful eyes and crisp masses of sparkling auburn hair.

Yesterday I would have sacrificed anything, up to Tibe himself, to avoid explanations, but now I enjoyed them.

Everybody laughed and exclaimed (except Robert), and Brederode helped me out so nobly that I would have given him Nell with my own hand if she had not already made him that present.

"It's like one of Nell's stories," cried Phyllis. "Only she used to love to make hers end sadly."

"I should have died if this had ended sadly," Nell said frankly, holding out both hands to Brederode, with a lovely look in her eyes.

"So should I, I'm sure," said Phyllis. "Oh, isn't it glorious that we all adore each other so!"

"Do we?" I asked the _Meteor_ lady.

She smiled. "I suppose it would be a pity to make a jarring note in the chorus."

While she was in that mood I took out the ruby ring which she had said ought to be an engagement ring.

"With this ring I thee----"

"No!"

"Engage thee as my perpetual chaperon."

This time she did not draw back her hand. And I kissed it as I slipped on the ruby.

THE END