CHAPTER XVIII

JACK'S EYES ARE OPENED

Mary Lee's opportunity came sooner than she expected and in a manner she had not looked for. Jack brought a pile of mail to her one morning and then went off to distribute other letters, but she had espied one letter whose contents she much desired to know, although she did not show the least curiosity at the moment. Later in the day she took pains to seek out Mary Lee at a moment when she knew she would be alone in her room. "Well," began Jack, "what did the mail bring you to-day?"

"Oh, a lot of letters," returned Mary Lee. "One from Jo, and Cousin Mag's usual nice fat one, and one from Rita; she doesn't often write to me because Nan is generally the favored one."

Jack waited, but Mary Lee did not mention the correspondent in whom she was specially interested.

"Rita say anything of Rob Powell?" queried Jack to make conversation.

"No, not to me; she may have mentioned him to Nan. I notice that Nan had a letter, too."

"What do you think Mr. Harding asked me the other day?" said Jack suddenly. "He wanted to know if Nan were engaged."

"What did you tell him?" Mary Lee asked quickly.

"I told him I didn't know. I knew there was some one greatly interested in her and in whom we thought she was interested, but she had never told any of us that she was actually engaged."

"Why did you tell him that?"

"Oh, because I wanted to let him know that blessed old Nan could have attention even if she were getting on."

"Oh, Jack, you ridiculous little goose; as if a girl only twenty-three could be said to be getting on. Nan is a mere child."

"Oh, Mary Lee, she doesn't seem so to me."

"She does to every one who has any sense. Just because she is the eldest you have fallen into the habit of thinking of her as an elderly person; the sooner you get out of it the better. Did Mr. Harding ask if you were engaged?"

"No."

"What would you have told him if he had asked?"

"I would have hedged."

Mary Lee determined to press the question home this time. "But aren't you?" she asked.

"Has Cart been telling you anything?" queried Jack with a quick glance at the pile of letters on the table by her sister's side.

"I know what his feelings are without his telling me. Is there something to tell, then?" she asked diplomatically.

"Nothing for him to tell, nothing he has any right to. If he should tell, there would cease to be anything existing to tell."

"What a very mystical remark. Japan has laid its spell upon you. If there were anything he should not tell it oughtn't to exist, of course. I can make that much out."

"Oh, there is nothing so very dreadful about it, only----" Jack paused.

"About what, Jack? You might tell your own sister."

Jack shut her lips resolutely and shook her head.

"Poor old Cart," said Mary Lee reaching for the letter which lay on top of the heap.

"Why 'poor'?" jerked out Jack.

"I've just had a letter from him."

"It's more than I have had, then," returned Jack.

"I imagine he believes you don't care for one. When did you write to him last, Jack?"

Jack answered reluctantly. "Not since we left San Francisco to come here."

"Why, Jack Corner, I think that is cruelty to animals. Why haven't you written?" Mary Lee spoke indignantly.

"Oh, just because."

"That's no reason. Have you quarreled with Carter?"

"Not exactly. He is so tiresome about some things."

"What special thing?"

"Oh, just a soft, silly thing."

"Well, I think you ought to write. He is mightily discouraged. He is ill and wretched, poor boy."

Jack leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the letter which Mary Lee did not offer her. "It isn't--it isn't--his old trouble, is it?" she questioned, a note of anxiety in her voice.

"No, I don't think so, but he seems tired and heart-sick, somehow as if the world were all awry. I never had such a doleful letter from him, and Nan's is about like it. It isn't Carter's way at all to be bitter and talk of giving up and going to the uttermost parts of the earth."

"Very likely he doesn't mean it," said Jack regaining her hard manner.

"We might think so if Mrs. Roberts hadn't written to Aunt Helen that Carter was looking wretchedly and that he had overworked and they were urging him to go abroad, and to spend next winter in Egypt."

Jack made no reply but left the room and a moment later was at her Aunt Helen's door. "May I see Mrs. Roberts' letter, Aunt Helen?" she asked. "Mary Lee said you had heard from her."

"Why, yes," was the answer, "you can see it, of course."

Jack took the missive which her aunt hunted up and went over to the window, keeping her back turned. She stood some time pretending to be still reading when she had really come to the end of the last page, but the truth was, her eyes were full of tears. She did not see a body of gallant troops go marching bravely by, nor did she notice a band of pilgrims carrying staves, girt about the loins, and wearing great straw hats. She presently wiped one eye in a manner as if a mote were in it, then after a while she furtively did the same to the other, and when she considered that all undue moisture must be removed, she handed back the letter saying cheerfully, "She writes quite a newsy letter, doesn't she? Too bad Cart isn't feeling up to the mark." She made a few more light remarks and then went back to Mary Lee.

"Do you mind my seeing Cart's letter?" she asked meekly.

"Certainly you can see it," Mary Lee responded. "I would have offered it to you before but I didn't gather from your manner that it would interest you."

Spunky Jack made no reply to this, but took the letter and sat down. Once or twice Mary Lee glanced at her, and noticed that by degrees Jack had swung her chair around so that her face was almost hidden. "She cares a lot more than she pretends," Mary Lee commented inwardly.

After a while Jack returned the letter with a backward movement of her arm, her face being more turned away.

Mary Lee got up to take it but did not stop there. She came around to face her younger sister, whose eyes were wet and whose lips were trembling. "Jack," said she, "suppose you should never see Carter again."

Jack started up with a cry and pushed her sister from her. "Don't, don't," she said fiercely. "How can you say such cruel things?"

"But if you don't care, Jack, and if you make Carter think you do not, it is you who are cruel." Then her voice became very gentle and sad as she went on. "Jack, you poor little child, you don't know what it means to lose one you love very dearly. I do know, and so I can tell you this that it is my greatest comfort to remember all the loving things that were said to me, and to feel that Phil knew that I loved him as dearly as he loved me. If he had died without knowing, I couldn't have stood it. We were separated all those last months but his letters to me are my life now and I know mine were the greatest joy to him. I was no older than you when he told me what I was to him. We kept it a secret because we were so young, but, oh, Jack, think what I should have lost if I hadn't my memories."

By this time Jack was crying softly, but with no effort at concealment, her head buried in her sister's lap as she sat on the floor. "I am all you say, a wicked, cruel girl," she sobbed. "I do love him, and I told him I would marry him when I was through college, but I wouldn't let him mention it again because he wanted to kiss me. That was what made me mad, and this last time he wanted to kiss me good-bye and I didn't write just to punish him for it. The first time it was because I thought he took too much for granted, and the last time it was because I wanted to show him he couldn't break the compact."

"What was the compact?"

"He was not to say a word of love to me or mention that I had made him any promise. If he did, I said I wouldn't marry him."

"And has he?"

"No, but he did ask me to kiss him good-bye."

"I think it has been pretty hard on him, for it gave you a chance to do as you please and yet it bound him."

"I know, and I was very selfish, but I didn't want it known, Mary Lee."

"No, of course not, and it needn't be known now, although I wish you would tell Nan."

"Why?"

"Because she thinks you like Mr. Harding, and I am pretty sure if it were not that she believes she must not stand in your way, she would like him mightily herself."

Jack lifted her tear-stained face.

"Oh, Mary Lee, have I been twice a selfish pig? Poor, dear old Nan. I never once thought of her in the matter. I was mad because Carter didn't write and I told myself I would have a good time and I would go back and tell him about it. I never thought of hurting Nan. Of course I will tell her, and what is more I will tell him, if you say I ought."

"I don't think you need do that, but I do think you ought to show the same grace Nan has shown you whenever you walked off with Mr. Harding."

"You don't think then that it is Rob Powell whom Nan likes?"

"No, I am pretty sure she doesn't care a rap for him except as a friend."

"What a blundering idiot I have been, to be sure. Well, I will make up for it to Carter, and to Nan, too, if I can. Thank you, Mary Lee, for bringing me to my senses. You don't really think I shall never see Cart again, do you?"

"I hope you will, and I think the very best way to cure him will be for you to write him a letter such as you know he is longing for."

"I will, I really will, and what is more I will do it this minute."

Jack never did anything by halves, though it must be confessed that she made it an excuse to write that she wanted to interest Carter and the Robertses in Toku. She wanted him trained as a good servant so that when she had her own home he could live with her. What did Carter think of that? Wasn't she far-seeing? They had been telling her that he was not well. He must hurry and chirk up for her sake. She was looking forward to seeing him on her return and then----The rest was left to the imagination, but at the end of the letter there was a funny little scalloped character which was not explained at all, and away down in one corner of the page was written in very fine letters, almost microscopic, "If you love me you may tell me so once when you next write." Altogether it was a very Jack-like document, yet never before had Carter received one which gave him such assurance of Jack's real feeling for him.

Her letter finished, Jack proceeded to hunt up Nan whom she found quite alone in the garden. "I've just been writing to Carter," she announced cheerfully. "Why didn't you show me his letter, Nan?"

"Because it was so dispirited and I didn't want to spoil your good times," returned Nan.

"Poor old Cart," said Jack. "Do you think he is really ill, Nan?"

"I think he is more heart-sick than body sick."

"All because of wicked me, do you reckon? I am a beast, Nan. I am free to confess it, but I am not going to be so any more. When Carter and I are married, I am going to have Toku for our very best servant."

"When Carter and you are married?" exclaimed Nan. "I thought that was all over and done with, Jack, that it was only a childish idea."

"It isn't," returned Jack with decision. "I shall never marry any one but Carter, and he knows it, or he will know it by the time he has read my letter. I know I seem like a skittish, heartless creature, and I do like to jolly around with the boys, but Carter is my single steady and always will be. I wanted you to know, Nan, because I know Carter writes to you oftener than to any of the others, and I don't want you to tell him things that are simply figments of your brain, as I might give you reason to do sometimes if you didn't know the bona fide truth. You mustn't always trust appearances, you know. They are deceptive. Are you glad, Nan, you old dear?" She looked at her sister mischievously, so that Nan checked her impulse to hug her.

"Of course I am glad," she returned. "You know that Cart is already just like a brother, and I have felt so awfully sorry for him of late that I could almost have cried. I did want you to be happy," she said wistfully, "even if Carter were sacrificed, but it seemed pretty hard on him."

"You blessed old thing," cried Jack, herself giving the caress Nan had withheld. "You are about the most loyal and faithful darling out. I don't deserve such sisters."

With this remark she walked off, leaving Nan uplifted and yet at the same time strangely apprehensive of facing her own future. She had driven Neal Harding from her by her coolness and indifference. Would he ever return? Had he not already learned to prefer Jack? She shook off these doubts at last and went back to the house with a determination not to interfere with fate again.

In the meantime, Jack had continued on with her performance of duty. She had met Mr. Harding, and had asked if he didn't want to go with her to mail a very important letter. He acquiesced, of course, and on the way she let it be known that the letter was to an especial somebody who must have it by the very earliest outgoing mail, and then craftily she let him know that Nan was sending no such letters, and that she, Jack, had discovered that Nan's interest in a certain individual was purely a friendly one. Then with a virtuous feeling of having done all that could possibly be expected of her, Jack returned to the hotel not even hinting at such a proposition as extending the walk.

"You won't say anything to Eleanor, will you?" said Jack to her sisters. "It is a family secret, remember. Of course I shall tell mother and Jean as soon as I see them. I suppose I ought to have told them before, for it isn't nice to have even one secret from your bestest mother and your own twin."

"Yes, you must tell them," agreed her sisters, Mary Lee adding, "Mother was the only one I told when I had my secret, and she never so much as hinted it to any one."

Jack sighed. "I think we'd better be getting back to those two pretty soon, and I don't care how soon we sail for the States." Her sisters understood that she could not reach California too soon, and that she would not mind in the least a little delay there before starting for her own home.

"You'll not tell Eleanor," she repeated.

"Oh, no," promised the others, "but we cannot help her forming her own conclusions."

What these conclusions were, Mary Lee found out that very evening when Eleanor enticed her off into the garden. "I have tried to pump Neal," she said, "but he is mute as a clam, and I can get nothing from him but that he has no right to poach on another's preserves."

"He knows there is no other and that there is a free way to the preserves," Mary Lee told her.

"What do you mean?" cried Eleanor.

"Jack has taken it upon her contrary little self to inform him that nobody has any claim on Nan."

"What made her do it?"

"Oh, she took the notion after my having impressed it upon her that Nan was not thinking about Rob. To give Jack credit she assumed that Nan was, and moreover," Mary Lee laughed, "she thought Nan quite too antique to form any new attachments."

Eleanor laughed too. "The point of view of eighteen. Isn't it funny?"

"I don't suppose she would have looked upon Nan as such a fossil if she were not the eldest of the Corners," Mary Lee went on, "but all her life Jack has been accustomed to look up to Nan and to have it dinged into her that she must regard her eldest sister as second only to her mother."

"I see, and what do you suppose will happen now?"

"Don't know. It is getting a trifle exciting, isn't it?"

"I shall lose all my respect for Neal if he doesn't take advantage of his opportunities," Eleanor went on. "We must consent to that walk to Sakusa to-morrow if we fall by the way, for it will be such a great chance for confidences. I want to tell you something, Mary Lee. Mr. Montell is coming to-night."

"He is? Aha, my young miss, so there will be chances for more than those other two."

"Oh, I didn't mean that," said Eleanor in confusion. "Don't allow your unbridled fancies to roam too far afield."

Mary Lee shook her head sagely. "I think my own thoughts," she remarked.

She and Jack contrived to interest Miss Helen in such a way that Nan was not missed that evening. Jack made her confession which Miss Helen received as they knew she would. She was very fond of Carter who was the son of one of her old school friends, and she had long ago formed her own opinion of the affair.

"I couldn't ask for a dearer nephew than Carter Barnwell," she told Jack, "but you are nothing but a baby yet, Jack."

"I have been so informed more than once to-day," returned Jack. "I knew you would all think I was too young, and indeed, Aunt Helen, I haven't a notion of being married till I have left college. I wouldn't have told only Mary Lee thought I ought."

"You certainly ought if there is really an understanding between you," said her aunt.

"I suppose there is," Jack responded, "though I had intended to keep Cart guessing for some time yet, but now that he is so miserable I can't do it. I had to give him just a wee little twinkling of encouragement in thinking I meant what I said, but it must be a dead secret to all but the family."

In spite of her cheerful exterior, Jack was the least happy of the group that night, for while Nan lay blissfully making plans for the morrow and Eleanor was beginning to ask herself searching questions which her evening with Mr. Montell had created, Jack was wondering if Carter were really ill and would he be worse before her letter reached him. Alas! that it took so long for the mail to span the distance between them. If she could but visit him in spirit to whisper all that her heart would say. That night Jack's chickens came home to roost if they never had before, and of all who were to make the pilgrimage to the sacred grove on the morrow no wish more fervent than hers would be offered up at the shrine for lovers.