“Yes, after uncle. I didn’t want him to insult Nella if I could help it.”
“Insult Nella?” Canby turned quickened eyes on him. “Tom, make yourself intelligible, please.”
“Oh, I don’t mean — that is, it’s on account of me,” the young man explained. “You see, after you left me in the garden last night I set out to look for Uncle Garry. Couldn’t find him anywhere about, so I went up to his room. He was in bed. I should have waited perhaps, but I’d made up my mind to have it over with; so I turned on the lights and woke him up and told him I was going to marry Miss Somi. You see, I was afraid he might object on account of her — that is, she’s not—”
“I understand. Go on.”
“Well, he sleeps pretty sound for an old man, you know, so I had to shake him up a little and say it over once or twice before he seemed to get what I was driving at. Then he just sat and looked at me — and laughed!”
“Laughed?”
“Yes. I thought he was a little off. Finally he said to me, ‘Tom, you’re an unconditional ass!’ I replied, ‘I know it, sir,’ and he laughed again. Then all at once he got serious and read me a lecture. He said he knew better than to attempt to argue with words against the celestial trumpet-call of youth. He said he was glad to learn I had begun to talk moon-eyed, because the sooner it began the sooner it ended, but that I was too young yet to play the bass in the matrimonial harmony. He said that while he had all the respect in the world for the primal urge of nature, he preferred not to connive at its premature manifestations. Then he lay down again and told me to get out.”
“Well?” Canby was grinning.
“Well, I went. I didn’t like it; I wouldn’t have minded if he’d let out at me, but I didn’t like his sarcasm. I knew he was up to something; and, sure enough, at the breakfast-table this morning, the first thing I knew he and Miss Somi were arranging to go for a drive. I could tell from his manner he meant trouble. But he caught me napping, and pulled the thing off so quick that he had the Binot out of the garage and was off before I got my breath. I went after him in the roadster, but, Lord, I might as well have been chasing a hydroplane in a rowboat.”
“But you spoke of insult.”
“Sure. Oh, I know Uncle Garry! He’s going to try to buy her off. He’d say anything to her, and she’s so... so darned sweet, she’d stand for it. He’d throw it up to her about her — oh, about everything. That’s what he’s doing now. I tell you, Canby, I came nearly busting that roadster up with an axe.”
“What time did this happen?”
“Hours ago; about seven o’clock — right after breakfast. What time is it now?”
Canby glanced at his watch. “Eleven.”
“They ought to be back soon. I’m waiting around. I’ll tell you what, Mr. Canby, I’m going to marry that girl if I have to take — no matter what. I can’t live without her; I’m not going back to the office or anywhere else until — Hello, here they are!”
So it was. Through the gate in the great hedge the Binot racer appeared and came spinning along the driveway. Canby and young Linwood rose hastily and crossed over, meeting it as it drew up near the garage. The expression on the youth’s face was one of anxiety and determination; on Canby’s, curiosity and inquiry.
“Good morning!” cried Nella, leaping out. “Oh, we’ve had such a fine ride!” She turned to Canby: “We missed you at breakfast. I peeped in your room, but you were asleep.”
This was hardly the manner of a girl who had just been subjected to dreadful insults, Canby reflected; and from the bewildered hopefulness on young Linwood’s countenance it seemed that he had arrived at the same conclusion. Nella turned her smile, first on one, then on the other, with perfect impartiality; and Canby, who was looking for signs, could find no slightest indication that she had made a decision, either voluntary or forced. The elder Linwood, having relieved himself of his duster, wanted to know of his nephew why the deuce he hadn’t gone to his office; but, though the reply was somewhat unsatisfactory, he immediately dropped the question. He regarded the young man with a quizzical, half-amused expression in his eyes; then abruptly turned to his host with a demand for drink, claiming a magnificent thirst.
They made for the piazza, Canby leading with Nella, and the two Linwoods bringing up the rear. It was cooler there, and a faint stir began to be felt in the air, promising relief for the afternoon. Nella and Tom sat in a porch swing, talking by fits and starts; the elder Linwood reclined in a chair and fanned himself; and Canby, who felt that he alone understood the situation, took heart from the rather impersonal quality of the girl’s gaze as she let her eyes rest on young Linwood. Still, uneasiness seemed to hover in the air. A keen observer, studying the group, would have noted that each of its members had something on his mind; a subtle lack of repose, a kind of intangible restlessness, made itself felt; there was an undercurrent of uneasy suspense, and you could almost hear the sighs of relief that greeted the call to luncheon.
Canby meant to have a talk with Nella at the earliest opportunity, but they had no sooner gotten up from the table after lunch than he found himself circumvented by young Linwood, who calmly tucked the girl’s arm through his and led her away.
Canby watched them go with a sinking heart. He knew that the opposition of the uncle had put the finishing touch to the young man’s resolution; he would be capable now of carrying the girl off by main force. Youth could do such a thing while staid middle age looked on and sighed. Middle age did in fact sigh, seeing the two young people disappear around a bend in the garden path; and then turned at hearing the elder Linwood’s voice:
“How about a game of billiards?”
But Canby was in no mood for games of any sort, and said so briefly. He wanted to listen to no chatter, either; he only wanted to be alone. With Linwood in one of his genial moods there was only one way to make sure of that, and Canby adopted it. Announcing his intention of paying a visit to his sister at Roselawn, he went out and jumped into the roadster, turned for the gate and was gone.
He did in fact pass the entrance to Roselawn twice that afternoon, but did not enter. He tore along at forty miles an hour, paying no attention to direction or distance, wanting only to move and get away from himself. He was beginning to see that he had indeed acted a fool. Seldom in this sorry life are we given a strong desire and the means of satisfying it at the same time; when the happy combination comes only a madman refuses to take advantage of it. So he had done, Canby reflected. Nella had actually agreed, in so many words, to marry him, and he had refused! Then youth had come — youth, with its fiery eyes and burning words and grace of limb and movement; its awkward phrases and crude inflections that were somehow powerful; its triteness and endless repetition that somehow seemed ever new; youth with all its mastery.
These reflections and a thousand others tossed about in Canby’s brain as he drove madly about the countryside all that September afternoon. The thing was eminently just; he wouldn’t deny that. The girl of nineteen and boy of twenty-four belonged in each other’s arms.
And what a prize she was! Sweetness and intelligence, charm of good mind and body, innocence and goodness, all found their home in her. A prize for any lucky man!
Well, he would soon know. The suspense and indecision would end. This was her tomorrow; perhaps her “yes” was waiting for him now. It was that thought that turned the wheel about and headed him for home.
The dinner hour at Greenhedge was half-past six, and it was just ten minutes before that time when Canby turned in at the driveway. The lawn and piazza were deserted; there was no one in the garden. He left the car in the rear and entered the house. Still no one. Suddenly he heard Mrs. Wheeler addressing him: