The Complete Short Stories of Lucy Maud Montgomery. Lucy Maud Montgomery

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СКАЧАТЬ had other views for me.

      Cecil Fenwick didn’t go away. He stayed right on in Avonlea, and the Maxwells blossomed out socially in his honor and tried to give him a good time. Mrs. Maxwell gave a party for him. I got a card — but you may be very sure I didn’t go, although Nancy thought I was crazy not to. Then every one else gave parties in honor of Mr. Fenwick and I was invited and never went. Wilhelmina Mercer came and pleaded and scolded and told me if I avoided Mr. Fenwick like that he would think I still cherished bitterness against him, and he wouldn’t make any advances towards a reconciliation. Wilhelmina means well, but she hasn’t a great deal of sense.

      Cecil Fenwick seemed to be a great favorite with everybody, young and old. He was very rich, too, and Wilhelmina declared that half the girls were after him.

      “If it wasn’t for you, Miss Holmes, I believe I’d have a try for him myself, in spite of his gray hair and quick temper — for Mrs. Maxwell says he has a pretty quick temper, but it’s all over in a minute,” said Wilhelmina, half in jest and wholly in earnest.

      As for me, I gave up going out at all, even to church. I fretted and pined and lost my appetite and never wrote a line in my blank book. Nancy was half frantic and insisted on dosing me with her favorite patent pills. I took them meekly, because it is a waste of time and energy to oppose Nancy, but, of course, they didn’t do me any good. My trouble was too deep-seated for pills to cure. If ever a woman was punished for telling a lie I was that woman. I stopped my subscription to the Weekly Advocate because it still carried that wretched porous plaster advertisement, and I couldn’t bear to see it. If it hadn’t been for that I would never have thought of Fenwick for a name, and all this trouble would have been averted.

      One evening, when I was moping in my room, Nancy came up.

      “There’s a gentleman in the parlor asking for you, Miss

       Charlotte.”

      My heart gave just one horrible bounce.

      “What — sort of a gentleman, Nancy?” I faltered.

      “I think it’s that Fenwick man that there’s been such a time about,” said Nancy, who didn’t know anything about my imaginary escapades, “and he looks to be mad clean through about something, for such a scowl I never seen.”

      “Tell him I’ll be down directly, Nancy,” I said quite calmly.

      As soon as Nancy had clumped downstairs again I put on my lace fichu and put two hankies in my belt, for I thought I’d probably need more than one. Then I hunted up an old Advocate for proof, and down I went to the parlor. I know exactly how a criminal feels going to execution, and I’ve been opposed to capital punishment ever since.

      I opened the parlor door and went in, carefully closing it behind me, for Nancy has a deplorable habit of listening in the hall. Then my legs gave out completely, and I couldn’t have walked another step to save my life. I just stood there, my hand on the knob, trembling like a leaf.

      A man was standing by the south window looking out; he wheeled around as I went in, and, as Nancy said, he had a scowl on and looked angry clear through. He was very handsome, and his gray hair gave him such a distinguished look. I recalled this afterward, but just at the moment you may be quite sure I wasn’t thinking about it at all.

      Then all at once a strange thing happened. The scowl went right off his face and the anger out of his eyes. He looked astonished, and then foolish. I saw the color creeping up into his cheeks. As for me, I still stood there staring at him, not able to say a single word.

      “Miss Holmes, I presume,” he said at last, in a deep, thrilling voice. “I — I — oh, confound it! I have called — I heard some foolish stories and I came here in a rage. I’ve been a fool — I know now they weren’t true. Just excuse me and I’ll go away and kick myself.”

      “No,” I said, finding my voice with a gasp, “you mustn’t go until you’ve heard the truth. It’s dreadful enough, but not as dreadful as you might otherwise think. Those — those stories — I have a confession to make. I did tell them, but I didn’t know there was such a person as Cecil Fenwick in existence.”

      He looked puzzled, as well he might. Then he smiled, took my hand and led me away from the door — to the knob of which I was still holding with all my might — to the sofa.

      “Let’s sit down and talk it over ‘comfy,’” he said.

      I just confessed the whole shameful business. It was terribly humiliating, but it served me right. I told him how people were always twitting me for never having had a beau, and how I had told them I had; and then I showed him the porous plaster advertisement.

      He heard me right through without a word, and then he threw back his big, curly, gray head and laughed.

      “This clears up a great many mysterious hints I’ve been receiving ever since I came to Avonlea,” he said, “and finally a Mrs. Gilbert came to my sister this afternoon with a long farrago of nonsense about the love affair I had once had with some Charlotte Holmes here. She declared you had told her about it yourself. I confess I flamed up. I’m a peppery chap, and I thought — I thought — oh, confound it, it might as well out: I thought you were some lank old maid who was amusing herself telling ridiculous stories about me. When you came into the room I knew that, whoever was to blame, you were not.”

      “But I was,” I said ruefully. “It wasn’t right of me to tell such a story — and it was very silly, too. But who would ever have supposed that there could be real Cecil Fenwick who had lived in Blakely? I never heard of such a coincidence.”

      “It’s more than a coincidence,” said Mr. Fenwick decidedly. “It’s predestination; that is what it is. And now let’s forget it and talk of something else.”

      We talked of something else — or at least Mr. Fenwick did, for I was too ashamed to say much — so long that Nancy got restive and clumped through the hall every five minutes; but Mr. Fenwick never took the hint. When he finally went away he asked if he might come again.

      “It’s time we made up that old quarrel, you know,” he said, laughing.

      And I, an old maid of forty, caught myself blushing like a girl. But I felt like a girl, for it was such a relief to have that explanation all over. I couldn’t even feel angry with Adella Gilbert. She was always a mischief maker, and when a woman is born that way she is more to be pitied than blamed. I wrote a poem in the blank book before I went to sleep; I hadn’t written anything for a month, and it was lovely to be at it once more.

      Mr. Fenwick did come again — the very next evening, but one. And

       he came so often after that that even Nancy got resigned to him.

       One day I had to tell her something. I shrank from doing it, for

       I feared it would make her feel badly.

      “Oh, I’ve been expecting to hear it,” she said grimly. “I felt the minute that man came into the house he brought trouble with him. Well, Miss Charlotte, I wish you happiness. I don’t know how the climate of California will agree with me, but I suppose I’ll have to put up with it.”

      “But, Nancy,” I said, “I can’t expect you to go away out there with me. It’s too much to ask of you.”

      “And where СКАЧАТЬ