Chapter XXV: Refused and Admitted

A WEEK passed, and not a word came from Maimie. It was strange how the days seemed to drag with us, and how we watched the posts, and how we all talked of Maimie, wondering each hour of the day what she might be doing.

A week gone by, patience failed, and a discussion took place as to whether my husband or Jack should go to “The Gables” and ask after Maimie. Jack then confessed rather penitently that he had already been, four days earlier, without asking our advice, and had been stiffly refused admission.

“Not wise, Jack,” my husband said; though of course Jack did not know, as we did, a certain little passage between Maimie and her stepfather, which made it advisable that Jack should not seem to be running after Maimie too solicitously. We did not suppose Churton would approve of Jack for her future husband. Probably he expected Maimie to marry what is called “well,” and to be in some way a means of gain to himself. Not that fathers—especially stepfathers—do generally gain much personally from a daughter’s wealthy marriage. But Churton was capable of such an expectation.

“No, I’m afraid it wasn’t wise,” Jack admitted regretfully. “Somehow, I have felt ashamed to speak of it.”

“They didn’t use the measles excuse again, I suppose?” said Cherry.

“No; the girl said Maimie and Uncle were both out, and would not be back till late, and her mistress wasn’t well enough for visitors. She had evidently been primed. I could do nothing with her.”

“One thing is certain,—Jack must not be the one to go again so soon,” I said. “Robert, I think it should be you this time.”

And so the matter was settled. My husband went next day, and we all awaited his return in a fever of anxiety, trying to laugh at one another for the same, yet feeling it none the less.

And at last my husband came back.

“Well,” he said, with a curious smile, “I have seen Maimie.”

“You have! I am glad,” I said; and a weight seemed to roll from my heart.

“Yes, I have seen her. But Churton was there all the time, so not much could be said.”

“How did she look?” asked Jack.

“Rather paler than usual, but otherwise well. She held me very tightly for a moment, poor child, and then tried to put a restraint on herself.”

“Afraid Uncle Churton would be jealous,” suggested Cherry.

“Do tell us everything, father,” Jack said in a gruff voice, supporting his chin on his hands.

“There is not very much to tell. When I reached the door, the girl meant to send me away as usual. I could see it in her face. So I said, ‘I wish to see Miss Browne, if you please. She is at home.’ This was rather a haphazard shot, but my guess proved correct. The girl seemed disconcerted, stared, and said nothing. I repeated, ‘Miss Browne is at home, and I wish to see her. If she is engaged, I will wait till she is free.’”

“Splendid!” exclaimed Jack. “Why, father, I didn’t know you were so cute.”

“The girl hesitated, and then went off, leaving me in the doorway. Coming back, she showed me into the drawing-room, and left me there alone. Churton presently appeared, and I can’t say he gave me a warm welcome. He said Aunt Briscoe was very poorly, too poorly to see any one; and she seemed growing so fond of Maimie as hardly to bear her out of her sight; but he dared say Maimie could be spared for five minutes. I said I would stay until she could be spared. Churton said a few words, and then walked away, and by-and-by he and Maimie came in together.”

“And she looked—” Jack asked again.

“Not so bright as usual, but otherwise like herself. She kissed me very affectionately, and seemed delighted to see me, asking after you all, and sending messages of love. We could not of course talk freely, with Churton sitting by all the time. I asked about poor Aunt Briscoe, and Maimie says she finds a great change in her,—great weakness, and no appetite. So that excuse has not been all a pretence.”

“But she would not have refused to see us a year ago when she was ill,” I said.

“No, that is different now. Churton remarked again how fond Aunt Briscoe is of Maimie; and Maimie said, ‘Yes, she has given me a welcome.’”

“Go on, please,” Jack said breathlessly.

“I am afraid there is not much more to tell,” my husband said. “We were under a good deal of constraint. Churton presently told Maimie she had better go back to Aunt Briscoe, and Maimie stood up at once. She seems curiously submissive to him.”

“Did she mind going?” I asked.

She clung to me again, and shed a few tears. I went with her to the door, and there she threw herself into my arms, and whispered a good-bye. I had a little chat with Churton after she was gone, and said I hoped she would come and see us soon. He said he could not promise it yet,—he did not like incessant running backwards and forwards between two families. I reminded him that Maimie was like one of ourselves by this time. He frowned, and said she was not that, and added that he hoped by-and-by to be able to repay me for all her expenses while with us.

“Nonsense!” muttered Jack.

“Then we spoke of Maimie herself, and of her prettiness and taking ways. Churton was fluent enough there—only he talked too much as one might talk of the good points of a horse, counting on its marketable value.”

Jack groaned.

“Maimie will not be easily swayed to do what she does not think right,” I said, responding to what I felt was in Jack’s mind.

My husband soon after left the room, and I saw him glance back, as if he had something more that he wished to say to me. I followed in a few seconds, and when we were alone he said—

“Maimie gave me this.”

“What, Robert?”

“A note for you. She slipped it into my pocket, when she was saying good-bye, and whispered, ‘Not a word to anybody else.’ So here it is.”