"Oh, it isn't that!" said the girl quickly. "It never could be that. It's only that I—that there are so many things—so much for me to do first before I could be fit—ready—ever to marry you—if I ever really could be."
"What things? Clothes, do you mean?"
" Yes, clothes, and other things, and I'd have a great deal to learn. I don't know that I could ever learn it all."
" And why should you ? I thought we were going to study together. What right would you have to go off and study things by yourself? And, as for the clothes, I always thought that was the silliest of all silly reasons to keep a man away from his wife for weeks and weeks after they have found out they love each other and decided to get married. I don't want a lot of fine clothes for a wife; I want you, now, just as you are. You're sweet enough and pretty enough and fine enough to please me always; and, if you need a lot of new things, it shall be my pride and pleasure to buy them for you. You'll have plenty of time to select what you want, and can go about it in a leisurely way. I can assure you I'm not going to be a bit patient about this. I want you right away. Couldn't you arrange to marry me some day next week? I've got to go up to
Boston on a business trip, and I want to take you with me. I can't bear to go and leave you "
" Oh, no! '' gasped Marion. " I couldn't possibly. Oh! Why, you've only just told me about it "
" Dear," said he tenderly pressing the hand he held, " I'm not going to frighten you with my haste; and we'll do things decently and in order as you wish it, of course; but you forget that I've been thinking of this all winter; and perhaps you don't know it, but I'm a very lonesome man. I need you tremendously. I've nobody to love me and nobody to love except the world at large. Mother died two years ago. She had been an invalid for ten years, and she and I had travelled together a great deal whenever she was able. I have missed her more than I can tell you, since she went away. I live in a gfeat big house, with two old servants who have been with us since I was a boy. They do their best to make it comfortable, but they cannot make a home, and I want you there with your brightness and beauty. I want to be with you and have your companionship in my work and pleasure. Must I wait? Couldn't you make it next week? Are you afraid of me? Don't you love me enough to come to me right away ? "
As he told of his mother, her other hand had stolen up and touched his gently, as if she wanted to
^&S CRIMSON ROSE3
console him for his loss; and he gathered it with the other in his clasp.
" I love you enough to come right away, of course," she said; and her voice was clear and steady now. " It isn't that; it's only that I feel so unready in mind and ways; and then, I've really no things such as other people get married in. I shouldn't feel riglit not to get soyne things ready; and then, besides, there's the store. You know when we sign the contract we promise to give a month's notice if we are going to leave. It wouldn't be fair to them."
*' Don't w^orry about the store," he said joyously. " Chapman's a good friend of mine. It would need only a word from me to get you off in a hurry. I'll see to that if you'll give me permission. I want you. I need you; why, I— love you, dear! Can't you see? You wouldn't let clothes and things stand in the way of that, would you ? "
In the end he had his way. When did a man not have his way who talked like that? Marion had the feeling that she had suddenly been invited to enter heaven all as she was, arrayed in earthly garments; nevertheless a great joy and sweetness came down upon her. She could scarcely realize her own gladness, it was so great. She had not yet got used to knowing that he loved her and that he had been the giver of the roses that had gladdened her heart all
winter; and here was this great question of marriage pushed in, for which she felt so unfit.
" I'm not at all the kind of wife you ought to have," she said faintly after her last protest had been silenced. " People will pity you, and think you have demeaned yourself to marry a lowly person. Isabel will think "
*' Never mind what Isabel thinks. I'll warrant you one thing, she will be among the first to call upon my wife."
'' And oh, what shall I do? How shall I act? " Marion almost stopped in her walk, aghast at the prospect.
'' You'll act just your own sweet natural self, dear," he said; " and she will go away and say how very charming you are, and how she has known you and admired you all her life. Oh, don't I know her? She is a cunning one, and she will not leave you off her calling-list. There are reasons why she will prefer to pose as your intimate friend. As for other people, I'm not afraid that my wife will not win her sweet way wherever she goes; and, if any dare to think in my presence any such thing as you have mentioned, I shall be glad to teach them otherwise. Now, dear, you are not to think this thing about yourself another minute. You are yourself, and just what I want. You are the only woman in the whole
world that I love and want for my wife. Besides that, you're tired; for we've walked miles, and now we're going home in a taxi; and you're going to rest to-night, and to-morrow afternoon you're going to let me come and take you out in my car, where we shall be alone and can talk together. Then perhaps in the evening we'll go to church together, and horrify dear Isabel just once more before she finds she has to change her tactics."
An hour later in her room Marion stood before her mirror and surveyed herself critically. The new dress was undeniably pretty and the new hat becoming; roses and cheeks vied with each other in glowing crimson; and her eyes had not lost their starry look. But she was not admiring herself as she stood and looked earnestly. She was looking into the soul of this self that smiled back to her, and searching it to see whether she could find the old self anywhere, and whether it were really Marion Warren, the little ribbon-girl who had lived her lonely life for a whole year, struggling upward toward the great things she had longed for. And was this life suddenly to be all changed, and she to be put down in the midst of the larger life, where she was to be not an insignificant learner merely, but a most important part in a truly great man's life? Could it be true? Wasn't she dreaming?
Then the searching went deeper, and she looked into the eyes in the glass to see whether she could find any trace of the woman that was to be, out of the self that she was. Was it possible for her to fulfil the great ideal of the man w^ho had chosen her out of all the world to be his wife? Then her great love answered for her, and she smiled back an assurance to the girl in the glass who questioned.
" I will do my best; and, if he is satisfied, nothing else matters," she murmured softly to herself.
Then she turned to look about on her little room with new eyes. There it all was just as she had left it in the early morning, everything in order, only her scissors and some bits of silk scraps on the desk betraying her last bit of preparation for this wonderful afternoon. There was the small box of provisions standing by the partly open window^, from which she had expected to get her meagre supper after the concert should be over. To think now how superfluous any supper seemed after that wonderful dinner!
As she looked about her room, it seemed but half familiar, as if it had been weeks instead of hours since she left it. Could it be that it was but this morning that she had gone out from here expecting to return at night with the burden of a closed friendship on her heart? And now here she stood, the
promised wife of the man she loved, and a whole story of revelation wrapped up in the crimson buds at her breast to be read and reread at her leisure; and all the to-morrows of more beautiful pages still to be written for her in the future!
There came slow steps up the stairs, and the tired voice of the landlady called out:
'' Here's a letter fer ye, Miss Warren. The postman brung it this mornin', an' I thought you might like it right off; so I come up. It was layin* on the hall table, but I guess you didn't take notice to it when you come along by."
" Oh, thank you, Mrs. Nash. That's very kind," she said. " No, I didn't notice any letter for me. I wasn't expecting one to-night."
Her radiant face and hap
py voice attracted the tired woman.
" You're lookin' most awful pretty to-night," she said, lingering. " Them roses is like some my grandmother used to raise on a little bush by her kitchen window. I ain't see none exactly that color since I was a girl, till you sent me down them that day. My! but that's a nice hat, and you look real good in it."
She surveyed the girl admiringly.
The old woman came into the room, and dropped into the nearest chair, wrapping her hands in her
checked apron, as if she had something on her mind. " I ben noticing them roses you get so often," she began again. " Some man'll be tryin' to carry you off purty soon. I've seen it comin'. No such pretty, sweet girl as you would stay long by herself lone-somelike. It ain't accordin' to nature, an' I s'pose it's all right; but it's a turrible lottery, marriage is. I hope the man you've been keepin' comp'ny with ain't got no bad habits. If he should turn out to drink, don't have him, Miss Warren, no matter how fair he speaks. It's no use trustin' 'em; the poor things can't help it when once drink gets at 'em. I hope he makes a good livin', an' you won't have to work no more. I hope you'll turn out to get a good man, my dear. You certainly deserve it more 'n most."
Marion's cheeks flamed scarlet but she answered smilingly, " You needn't worry about me, Mrs. Nash. He's all right, and I shall not have to work any more."
" Well, my dear, I s'pose you'd think so anyway, whatsomever he was. But I hope your belief comes true, I do. You've been a good lodger, and I'll not get another as good in many a long day; I am sure of that.^*
When the old woman had toiled downstairs again, Marion opened her letter.
CHAPTER XVI
The letter seemed remote from her, as if it were written to her in a former state of existence and had no relation to her present circumstances. She knew it was Tom's writing. Jennie had written occasionally since they went away; but usually it was to ask about fashions or request her sister-in-law to make some purchases for her, with always a sharp dig at the end of the letter because Marion chose to stay in the city. The girl felt almost too happy to-night to be interested in a letter from anywhere; but, as she read, her face softened, and tears gathered in her eyes.
Dear Marion: (it read) I've made up my mind to write and tell you that we think it is about time you quit this business of staying in the city alone, and come up to live with us. Father wouldn't like you to be off like that. My conscience has troubled me ever since we went away. I think I ought to have stayed in the city another year for your sake, and given you a little more schooling if you wanted it so much. I thought you'd soon see how foolish it was, and come to us; but you've got pluck. I always knew that; and I ought to have seen you'd get what you wanted. I never could understand why you wanted it; but, seeing you did, you ought to have had it. Now I've got a proposition to make. You come home this summer, and help with the housework, especially during harvest, and help Jennie sew things up, and teach the children a little; and then, if you don't like it up here, we'll all go down to the village to l?ve. There's a real good normal school there; and you can study winters if you want to, and be home summers.
There's another thing, too. I've felt mean about the money for that house. It was half yours, you know, and you had a right to it. Father always said he'd made a will, 272
and I can't help thinking by what he said at the last that he meant to leave the house to you. Anyhow half of it was yours and 1 oughtn't to have taken it. Of course it's all in the house now, and I can't very well get it out for four or five years yet; but I'll pay you interest on your part, and, if you don't want to live here, you shall have your share, if I'm prospered, as soon as I can conveniently take it out. I'm sending you a check for a hundred and fifty dollars. Things went pretty well with us, better than I expected for a first year; and I can spare this just as well as not. Get yourself anything you need, and live comfortably; but I hope you'll decide to accept my proposition and come home for the summer anyway. Then we'll try to fix things to suit somehow. Jennie says she wishes you'd come, too. I don't like to think of my little sister all alone in a big city. It isn't the thing in these days when so many things happen. Of course I don't want to hinder you in what you want to do, but I think you better decide to come home.
Your affectionate brother,
Tom.
It was the longest letter Tom had ever written, and it warmed his sister's heart to have it come now in the midst of her other joy, that she might feel that her own were loving toward her also.
She was glad to the depths of her soul that she did not have to accept his proposition and go to that home to live. But he had asked her in a humble, loving way and sent that generous check.
She would be able now to buy a number of necessities and a few luxuries to replenish her meagre wardrobe. For it hurt her pride terribly to think of going to her husband like a shabby little beggar girl. And the savings from her tiny salary were so very small that she knew she could get very few, even simple wedding garments with it.
Also, there was another reason why she was glad i8
of that letter. It made it seem reasonably sure that Tom never knew about the will, else he would not have written as he had. She rejoiced that she might once more have faith in her brother.
When she lay down to sleep, it was with a great joy in her heart. She felt again the thrill of Lyman's hand upon hers; his voice when he first said, *' I love you "; his lips upon hers in good night.
He came the next afternoon, and the gloomy little parlor wore its most dustless front, with three crayon portraits, of landlady Nash's deceased husband, son, and daughter respectively, smiling down upon it all.
Mrs. Nash herself, with most unexpected fineness of soul, sent in, when they returned from their ride, a tray containing hot biscuits, pressed chicken, honey, two cups of tea, and a plate of sugar cookies. She had said to herself:
" What if me own daughter had lived, an' been alone in a strange boardin'-house! "—and this had been the result.
The pretty new hat and the dress went to church that evening with two quiet roses nestling among its folds. Miss Cresson, seated across the aisle, spent the hour of service in thoughtful meditation; and the theme of her cogitations was, ** Is that who she was?"
"How long have you gone to this church?" asked Marion of Lyman as they were on their way home. " I don't remember having seen you before that reception."
'' My grandfather was one of the founders of that church," he said. " I've always gone there when I was at home. But I've been away a good many years altogether, counting school and college, and war, and travel afterward. I sighted you the first thing when I got back, however. You must have been a very small girl when I went away."
" It is all just a fairy dream," said the girl joyfully. ■" How could it ever have happened to me ? "
" Because you are the princess," said Lyman, smiling.
The fairy story continued to unfold the next morning. Just a little before her lunch-hour she was sent for to come to the office, w^here she was told that her services had been most valuable to the firm, and that, while deep regret was felt at the thought of losing her, she was at liberty to leave them immediately if she felt it imperative. They would, however, take it as a great favor if she would remain for two or three days to instruct a substitute. Also she was handed a g/^nerous check which she was told was the office's appreciation of the unique work in the store. Mr. Chapman said some very pleasant
things, which brought the rosy flush to her cheeks; and the tone in which he spoke of Lyman made her heart throb with pride. The deference with which he treated her was a marked contrast to his brief, abrupt manner of their first interview.
She knew that Lyman had been to Mr. Chapman as he had promised to do the night before. It was beautiful to her that he had cast the mantle of his own personality about her.
With the pleasant, kindly wishes of the official head of the firm ringing in her ears Marion went from the office to meet Lyman, as had been agreed upon.
&nb
sp; They took lunch in a quiet little restaurant this time, where a sheltered table at the end of the room gave them opportunity for conversation.
After the order had been given Lyman took from ihis pocket a tiny white leather box, and handed it to the wondering girl.
She opened it shyly, not guessing what it contained.
Inside was a crimson velvet case with a white pearl spring. The crimson of the velvet was the same shade as the rose she wore. Had he matched it on purpose? Still wondering, she took out the case and touched the spring. There against its white velvet lining flashed a glorious diamond.
She caught her breath, and looked at him, almost frightened by the magnificence of it.
*' Put it on," he said. " It may not fit, and then I'll have to have it changed. I stole your glove last night when you dropped it on the floor as we said good-night. I had to get the measurement from that."
" Is it for me ? " she asked with such an illumination of her whole face that he was almost awed by the effect of his gift.
" Surely! Who else could it be for ? Put it on quick, before the waitress comes. Here, hide the box "; and he reached out, and took possession of the box and case in time to prevent the waitress from enjoying a bit of delightful gossip with her fellow laborers.
The ring fitted perfectly, and after the waitress had left them alone once more the little hand with its unusual adornment stole out to the edge of the table, and revealed itself; but, when Marion lifted her eyes, they were glittering with unshed tears.
" What is it, dear? " he asked anxiously. " Have I hurt you in any way ? Don't you like it ? "
*' Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful! " she said, " and I was thinking how pleased Father would be to have you care for me like that.'*
" Dear little girl! " said the man, reverently lean-
ing toward her and speaking in a low voice. " That is only a small symbol of how much I love you. I hope to make my life tell you plainer than that.'*
Crimson roses Page 18