Chapter VI: Hephzibah Comes to Life

Miss Kent's company at breakfast Monday morning was an agreeable surprise to Forbes, his pleasure chastened only by his regret that Warren had left on the late train the previous evening. "I particularly wanted you to meet him," Forbes complained. "If I'd known you were to be back so early I should have insisted on his staying over."

"It's only the young who can make a good impression at breakfast," Agatha responded. "Old people need twilight and candles." She raised her eyebrows in the direction of Howard, who was indicating his approval of her answer by a soundless show of spirited applause.

"I'd risk the impression you'd make any hour in the twenty-four," rejoined Forbes gallantly. "But it is too late now. Serves Warren right for being in such a rush to get back to his confounded business. Tell us all about your good time, Miss Kent."

"I didn't have one." Agatha felt the statement to be indiscreet, but her imagination was not equal to lending any glamour to her nightmare of a Sunday.

"You didn't enjoy yourself?" Forbes' voice indicated sympathetic surprise. "Why, what was wrong?"

"I didn't say I was going away to enjoy myself. I didn't expect to. You took that for granted."

"I see. One of those formal visits that are even more deadly than formal calls, because they're longer."

"And it turned out worse than I expected." Agatha was finding a certain melancholy pleasure in speaking her real sentiments. "Because I had a disagreeable encounter with a perfectly obnoxious person. But it's over, thank heaven, and I don't want to talk about it."

This topic being tabooed by mutual consent, it was natural that Forbes should begin to talk about Julia, as a theme eminently calculated to cheer the despondent, and lend interest to the most tedious hour. Agatha, listening, realized that her week was to be a hard one. It was time for Forbes to expect another letter from Julia, and of course Julia would not write so promptly as he expected, and it would be increasingly difficult to keep him in good spirits. Over her coffee Agatha laid plans for distracting her boarder's thoughts from his elusive correspondent.

Her apprehension proved correct. That afternoon Howard was sent to the village to do one or two little errands for his employer, and incidentally to get the mail. The next day the same program was followed and the third brought no change. And meanwhile the arrival of the Rural Free Delivery wagon was daily awaited with an anticipation not justified by results.

Agatha starting down the long driveway one morning, as the fateful hour approached, saw Forbes and Howard on ahead, evidently bound on the same errand. Before she could turn back, Howard caught sight of her and abandoning his charge, he came toward her on the run.

"You were starting for the mail, weren't you, Aggie? Would you mind taking him along while I see if I've got a rat in my trap?" Then dropping his voice to a scornful undertone, "He's got to go himself because he's expecting a letter from his girl, and can't wait for it to be brought up. See?"

Agatha accepted the commission without comment. She joined Forbes, and taking his arm, guided him the length of the shaded drive. Neither had much to say. Forbes was evidently bracing himself for possible disappointment and Agatha was not in a talkative mood. They had hardly reached the main road before Agatha's observant eyes detected in the distance a significant cloud of dust. "He's coming," she said with a reservation in her tone intended to warn her companion not to be over-sanguine. "We won't have long to wait."

The wagon approached and halted. The driver produced a miscellaneous assortment of letters and one good-sized package, the latter he scrutinized as if reluctant to part with it. "Do you know anybody around here," he brought out with irritating deliberation, "by the name of Diggs--Hep--Hephzibah Diggs? Ain't that a name for your life?"

Agatha gazed at him wild-eyed, incapable for the moment of speech.

"It's addressed to Oak Knoll," the speaker continued. "But I thought mebbe there was some mistake. I never knew any Diggses in these parts."

Agatha recovered herself and extended her hand. "Yes," she said hurriedly. "It's all right. I'll take it."

The mail-carrier surrendered the collection. "You're getting to have quite a raft of boarders," he commented affably. "Feller has to have his wits about him to keep track of so many new names." He clucked to his horses and the wagon rattled on.

Oblivious to her responsibilities as temporary post-mistress, Agatha stood quaking. To her guilty conscience the significance of the mail-carrier's inquiry was unmistakable. He had never heard of a family in the vicinity named Diggs. He assumed that Hephzibah was a summer boarder. Agatha did not doubt that Forbes was pondering these extraordinary facts, and that his first words would demand an explanation. With hanging head she waited for him to begin his cross-examination, but his voice when he spoke was anxious rather than peremptory. "Well?"

Agatha gasped. "I--why--you see--"

"You know her handwriting, don't you?" asked the lover. "I'm not sure where this letter will be posted."

Agatha reflected that love is sometimes deaf as well as blind. So engrossed was Forbes in his own anticipations that the compromising conversation with the mail-carrier had made no impression on his consciousness. After a hasty survey of the handful of letters, Agatha announced in a stifled voice that there were two letters for Forbes, but neither seemed to be from Julia. Her face betrayed an emotion due not to the tragedy of Forbes' disappointment, but to the discovery that there was a letter as well as a package, addressed to Hephzibah Diggs. That young woman, the fantasy of a day, had taken on a terrifying vitality. There was no way of estimating her possible activities. Agatha's emotions were those of Frankenstein when he discovered that his monster was alive.

They made their way back to the house, Forbes valiantly explaining why it was foolish to have expected a letter before afternoon, and Agatha making irrelevant replies. She turned her companion over to Howard and escaped to her room with the mail addressed to Hephzibah Diggs. An absurd scruple regarding the opening of other people's letters temporarily paralyzed her efficient right arm, and she stood staring at the address of the communication without coming any nearer a knowledge of its contents. It was impossible to rid herself of the feeling that she was on the point of attempting something dishonorable.

"What a fool I am," she groaned in exasperation. "Hephzibah Diggs isn't anybody, but if she were anybody, she'd be me." She tore open the letter without giving herself a chance to evade the inevitable conclusion of this bit of logic.

It was from Warren, of course. She had been prepared for that, even without the testimony of his bold signature. With a curiosity that momentarily made her oblivious to the menacing aspects of the situation, Agatha read the brief communication:

"My Dear Miss Diggs:

"I am writing you a line to apologize for my conduct Sunday. You were all right, and I was all wrong. At the same time, you'll have to take a little share of the blame for being so distractingly pretty that a man's likely to lose his head when he comes near you.

"I am sending you by this mail a package which I hope you will accept as indicating my regret for having offended you, and my sincere wish to be

"Your friend,

"Ridgeley Warren."

Agatha turned her thoughtful attention to the package which bore Hephzibah's name. She proceeded to strip off the wrapping paper with a haste indicating that her scruples were finally set at rest. Then as she took the cover from the five-pound box of chocolates, and gazed enraptured at the triumph of the confectioner's art, she temporarily laid aside the feeling of age due to the faithful impersonation of her great-aunt, and became nineteen or a trifle less.

"Chocolates," murmured Agatha. "And millions of them. In the person of Hephzibah Diggs I accept the apology."

When she reappeared upon the porch, her manner was cheerful, and a number of yawning cavities marred the symmetrical arrangement of the topmost layer of chocolates in the box up-stairs. Forbes greeted her with more animation than she had looked for, considering his recent crushing disappointment.

"That's you, isn't it, Miss Kent?"

"Yes."

"Here's a letter Howard has just read me. I want you to look it over and tell me what you think of it."

"Very well." Agatha seated herself comfortably and took the letter from his extended hand. But Forbes was evidently desirous of preparing her for its contents.

"It will be a surprise to you, I imagine, Miss Kent. What is your opinion of Hephzibah? Is she really such a stunning beauty?"

"I suppose she would be considered fairly good-looking if anyone liked the type." Agatha flattered herself that she had spoken with a creditable lack of prejudice.

"According to Warren she's considerably more than that. The fact is, he--but you'd better read the letter. That makes it plain enough."

With a return of her previous misgivings, Agatha followed his suggestion.

"My Dear Forbes:

"If you had shown a little more enthusiasm over my suggestion of dropping in on you again soon, I should have run down at the end of the week, and had a good talk with you. Owing to your inhospitable reluctance I'm obliged to trust to writing, which I sometimes think was invented, as somebody said about speech, for the purpose of concealing thought.

"To come straight to the point, I must confess that I had a short and not wholly satisfactory interview with the fair Hephzibah on Sunday, in the course of which my earlier impression of her beauty was more than confirmed. By jove, Burton, she positively is a dream. And the idea that a creature of that sort should spend her days amid pots and kettles is obnoxious to any right-thinking man. We've got to do something about it, Forbes. What do you think of sending her to school somewhere, and having her educated? It would be virgin soil, I imagine, for the poor girl can't open her mouth without taking a bite out of the king's English, and her voice is like a guinea hen's. But that could be trained out of her. For all her ignorance, she's nobody's fool. You can see that by looking at her.

"Now I'm putting the thing up to you because I suppose it would be better to have Miss Kent act for us in the matter. Judging from my brief experience Hephzibah--can't we find some euphonic substitute for that name?--is as self-respecting as the devil. Explain to Miss Kent that I'm a respectable man of philanthropic tendencies--hitherto unrecognized--and ask her what would be the best way to go about taking the girl in hand, and giving her an education, or enough of one so she can make a reasonably good appearance. And then we can decide on the next step. A few hundred a year will be enough to do the job properly, and if you feel like going into it with me, it might help to reassure Miss Kent as to the impeccability of my motives.

"Lord! What a letter! I haven't written so much with my own fist since I was in college, and at the same time I feel as if fifteen minutes of chinning would have made the matter a heap clearer. If the girl should prove to have enough head for the legitimate stage she ought to make a hit as Katharine, in _Taming the Shrew_. She's exactly the type, red hair and all.

"Regards to the voluble Miss Finch, to Howard, and of course to Miss Kent.

Yours,

"R.W."

Agatha was glad the letter was a long one, as this gave her time to think. And yet the result of her thinking was but a confused jumble of varying apprehensions. Her recollection of Warren's face as he leaned toward her, was that of a man not easily turned aside from a purpose. But somehow or other he must be forced to surrender his absurd philanthropic intentions in behalf of Hephzibah Diggs.

Forbes was waiting for her verdict. "Well?" he said at last, when she showed no inclination to speak. "What do you think of it?"

Agatha cleared her throat. "It's out of the question," she shot at him so violently that he looked startled.

"I'm ready to vouch for Warren," he hastened to say. "I don't mean that he would be as ready to help a plain girl as a pretty one, but I assure you that your protégée would be perfectly safe as far as he's concerned. And I suppose he's right in thinking that beauty is one of the talents, and it's hardly fair to keep it wrapped in a napkin."

"But she doesn't want to be educated," Agatha protested. "She's perfectly satisfied just as she is."

Again Forbes seemed to find her vehemence perplexing. "Perhaps her ignorance explains her indifference," he suggested. "Do you think she's capable of learning?"

"I suppose she's capable enough."

"If she's really a strikingly handsome young woman with a fair mind, and Warren is sufficiently interested in her to give her an education, doesn't it seem that she should be encouraged to accept his offer? Surely if she is what he thinks, she is capable of something better than the work she is doing at present. Unless you have some good reason for feeling that it would not do--"

"But I have," flashed Agatha. "I have."

"Oh, indeed!" He seemed to be waiting for her to explain, and she floundered on with a horrible sensation of being caught in a quicksand.

"She doesn't wish to be educated. She doesn't wish any notice taken of her; she only asks to be let alone."

"To be let alone." He said the words over as if they had a hidden, mysterious meaning. "Oh, I think I begin to see."

Agatha sighed her satisfaction. She had no idea what explanation had presented itself to the perspicacious Mr. Forbes, but she perceived that at length her protests had taken effect and he was prepared to relinquish the argument. So great was her relief that the processes of his mind failed to interest her.

Unluckily Forbes was one of the people who insist on certainty. "I suppose," he said, a note of sympathy in his deep voice, "that the poor girl has been unfortunate."

Agatha blanched. He waited for her avowal, then tried again: "You mean, I suppose, there's some unhappy episode in her past life and she doesn't want to attract attention for fear of its bobbing up again."

Agatha stared at him aghast. Her first impulse to defend the character of Hephzibah Diggs at any cost yielded to a less worthy caution. If she gave Hephzibah a clean bill of health, figuratively speaking, what other reason could she invent for her invincible repugnance to attracting attention? With fascinated horror she realized that Forbes' conjecture exactly filled the requirements of the case. There was no help for it. The fair name of the blameless Hephzibah must be sacrificed to that most merciless of the divinities, the exigency of the moment.

"You have expressed it," faltered Agatha with an unnerving sense of rank injustice, "as well as I could have myself."

"Poor girl!" Forbes repeated, "and so young, too. At least I suppose she's young, from Warren's idea of educating her."

Again he waited for an answer, and Agatha stammered, "Ni-nineteen."

"And all this happened some time ago, I suppose."

"Oh, a long time." Agatha was crimson to her ears.

"It seems a shame," mused Forbes aloud. "Her whole life to be sacrificed for one step aside from the straight and narrow path. You and I know the world, Miss Kent. And we know--"

"Oh, please," protested Agatha faintly, "I don't know anything about it."

He leaned toward her quickly, touched by the appeal in her voice.

"Excuse me, Miss Kent. I know you belong to a generation whose women were trained to shut their eyes to a great many things. I don't believe in that theory of life, but I haven't any intention of violating your prejudices. All I wanted to say was that you and I have lived long enough to know that thousands of our respected citizens, prominent socially and otherwise, are every bit as guilty as that poor girl. And since this is the case, isn't it a pity that her morbid sensitiveness should shut her out of making something of herself?"

It was unbelievable. Hephzibah's reputation had been blackened in vain. Even now he was unwilling to leave her in the seclusion her sensitiveness craved. He was determined to drag her into a garish publicity. Iphigenia had been sacrificed and still the winds were unfavorable.

"Oh, I wish you would not talk of this any more," cried Agatha, the intensity of her feeling showing in her moved voice. "I understand Hephzibah's case a great deal better than you do, better than you ever can. And I know that the thing you're talking about is out of the question."

His face reflected her agitation in the shape of profound sympathy. "You're sure that if we talked it over, we wouldn't find a way out? Two heads are better than one, you know?"

"I'm absolutely certain."

"Then I won't distress you any further. Of course Warren has barely seen the girl, and it's evident that his head was a little turned by her beauty. You know her, and I'm sure you appreciate the responsibility of deciding a question that concerns her so closely, without even consulting her."

"I can speak for her as I would for myself."

"Then I'm sorry if the suggestion has worried you. I'll see you're not bothered again." He spoke confidently, and Agatha hoped he did not overestimate his influence where Ridgeley Warren was concerned. When she remembered the square chin of the last-named young man, she did not feel sure.

In her heart she gave Forbes credit for having done his best. Later in the day Howard showed her a letter he had written to Mr. Ridgeley Warren at Forbes' dictation. Without explanation but in the most emphatic manner possible, Warren was assured that his scheme was impracticable. "I can not very well go into details," the letter ran, "but Miss Kent, who knows the case thoroughly, has convinced me that the kindest thing, as far as the girl is concerned, is to leave her alone." And to this sentiment Agatha sighed a tremulous amen.