Читать книгу The Land of Content - Edith Barnard Delano - Страница 5

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In her enthusiasm at the chance of finding a way out for Eleanor, Rosamund seemingly forgot that it was Flood who helped her. As a matter of fact, she considered him so little that she was quite willing to make use of his assistance in so good a cause and then to ignore him. She had always found someone at hand to help her in anything she wanted to do; she could not remember a time when there was not someone ready and willing to gratify her least whim. It was only in her efforts on Eleanor's behalf that she was baffled for the first time, as much by Eleanor's own pride as by not knowing to whom to turn, or where help was to be found. It was a new experience for her to find that her money could do nothing; for it was precisely her money that her cherished Eleanor refused. If she was to do anything, it must be by some other means.

Flood was not as entirely unconscious of her attitude as he appeared. He had no intention of pressing himself upon her through making himself of use. He beheld her suffering in sympathy with this unknown friend of hers, and her suffering so worked upon his love for her that he would have done much more to lessen it. But he knew humanity; and while he took more pleasure in being generous than in any other of the powers his wealth had brought him, he gave without thought of benefits returned, save in the satisfaction of giving.

His first move was a letter to the mountain doctor.

MY DEAR DR. OGILVIE: [he wrote] Since my visit with you a matter has been brought to my attention in which I do not hesitate to ask your assistance. Two ladies whom I hold in highest esteem are in great anxiety over a friend of theirs whom they have known from childhood. This friend is a widow who has lately lost her son, having come to New York from the South a few years ago in the hope of supporting herself and the child, and being now alone here except for the ladies who are my friends and hers. Her situation, you will perceive, is common enough; but what adds to the distress in this instance is that Mrs. Reeves' eyes are affected, to what extent I do not know. I have not had the pleasure of meeting the lady myself; but I am told that her vision is not entirely to be despaired of; and my friend Doctor Hiram Wilson has great confidence in your power. It would be impossible to offer charity to Mrs. Reeves; and it would be equally impossible for her to go to the Summit to be near you without assistance; indeed, it has been impossible for her to consult an oculist here until the entreaties of my friends prevailed upon her to do so with them. But it occurs to me that you might find use for an assistant in your work in the mountains—a capable lady who has suffered enough to have sympathy with the sufferings of others, and that sort of thing. Now would you be willing to lend yourself to a mild deception for the sake of conferring a great benefit? If you can make use of Mrs. Reeves' assistance, I shall be very glad to remit to you whatever remuneration you might offer her. I should also expect to pay the usual fees for your attention to Mrs. Reeves' eyes. You will know best how to take up that matter with her, so as not to arouse her suspicions of its having been suggested to you. I should suggest that you write to me, asking whether I can advise you of a suitable person to fill the office of—whatever is the medical equivalent of parochial assistant. I am sure I may count upon your help; as I understand it, this is one of those cases whose claim cannot be denied by any one of us.

A few days later Flood went to Miss Randall with Ogilvie's reply:

Curiously enough, I have the very place for Mrs. Reeves. One of my patients, who has taken a cottage at the Summit for the summer, is looking for a companion. I am writing her by this mail to apply through you to Mrs. Reeves. We will see what we can do for those troublesome eyes; but I can manage it better if I don't have the haunting feeling that I am to be paid—you will understand that. Your parochial assistant plan sounded very tempting, but that sort of thing would be too good to be true.

Flood laughed when Rosamund looked up from reading it. "My friend Ogilvie seems to be as shy of possible charity as your Mrs. Reeves," he said.

"What do you mean?" she asked. Then he remembered that she could not know what he had written.

She saw his hesitancy and laughed. "Oh! So you've been offering charity, have you? I wish you'd let me see a copy of your letter!"

"Now what for?" he asked. "Ogilvie's idea beats mine."

"But I'd like to see your literary style," she said, still laughing at him.

"Oh, please!" he protested.

"Well, I think you are very good, Mr. Flood. The rôle of rescuer of dames is very becoming to you! If you could see my Eleanor you'd feel repaid. She is the loveliest and the dearest——"

"But I haven't done anything at all, I assure you. I'm sure I hope your friend will find this Mrs. Hetherbee a comfortable person to live with."

"Mrs. Hetherbee! Is that Doctor Ogilvie's patient?"

Flood nodded. "She telephoned me before I'd had my breakfast for Mrs. Reeves' address. That was my excuse for bothering you in the morning."

"You are good," she said. Then she added, a little ruefully, "I wish you could help me to break the news to Eleanor!"

For to persuade her Eleanor, as she had foreseen, was not as easy as to persuade Flood and the unknown doctor and his patient.

She knew the lunch-room that Eleanor liked best, and sought her there at the noon hour. They chatted across the small intervening table, until Eleanor arose.

"You are not going back to the office," Rosamund declared, when they were together on the street. "Now, Eleanor, please don't be difficult!"

"My dearest child!" Mrs. Reeves began; but Rosamund took her friend's arm through her own, and poured forth the story of how she had heard, through a Mr. Flood, that Mrs. Hetherbee wanted a companion.

"Who is Mrs. Hetherbee?" Eleanor asked, suspiciously.

"I haven't the least idea," Rosamund frankly admitted. "But she wants a companion, and she is going to spend the summer at Bluemont Summit, and——"

She paused, and Eleanor turned to her. "Rose, tell it all!" she said. "You wouldn't be suggesting my leaving one situation for another, unless you——"

"No, I wouldn't! I know it! I confess! I am! But you are so peculiar, Eleanor!"

They laughed together, and Rosamund took courage to tell her. "There is a man there who, they say, does wonders for the eyes. That is why I want you to go, Eleanor. I don't know what Mrs. Hetherbee will pay you; and I will not offer to—to—I will not offer anything at all! But oh, Eleanor, please, please go!"

They walked in silence to the vestibule of the towering building where Eleanor worked. At the elevator she turned to Rosamund.

"I will go to see Mrs. Hetherbee to-night," she said. "And I do love you!"

Some weeks thereafter Rosamund came home from bidding Mrs. Reeves farewell at the station, to find Cecilia once more dispensing tea to Pendleton and Flood; and she sent Flood into a state of speechless happiness with her thanks. Eleanor had promised to see Doctor Ogilvie about her eyes at once, and Mrs. Hetherbee had taken a tremendous fancy to Eleanor, and it was good of Mr. Flood to have sent those lovely flowers to the train. Eleanor had introduced her as a friend of Mr. Benson Flood, and was he willing that she should shine in his reflected glory? Because it had tremendously impressed Mrs. Hetherbee!

When the men had left, Cecilia turned to her sister. "He's in love with you, you know!" she said.

"Nonsense! I've known him all my life, Cissy, and you don't fall in love with a person you've seen spanked!"

"You know very well I'm not talking about Marshall," said Mrs. Maxwell. "And you know very well that Mr. Flood is tremendously in love with you."

"I think you're disgusting," said Rosamund. "For heaven's sake, don't try to follow the fashion of the women of our set in that respect, Cissy! Every man they know has to be in love with somebody—half the time with somebody else's wife! Oh, I loathe it!"

Cecilia remained calm. "I hope you don't loathe Mr. Flood," she said, "because he is."

Rosamund threw herself back in a deep chair, and looked at her sister in the exasperation one feels towards the sweetly stubborn.

"Oh, very well! He is! But that's nothing to me!"

"Isn't it? He probably thinks it is! You've taken his help for your precious Eleanor, you know, and you're going to Oakleigh next month."

"I am not going to do anything of the kind!"

That moved Cecilia. "But my dear child, you certainly are! He has asked me to be hostess for his first house-party, and I have accepted, and said you'd go with me."

"Cecilia!"

"Now don't say you've forgotten it! Why, it was the very day you told him about Eleanor."

Cecilia remained provokingly silent; and Rosamund jumped up impatiently, only to throw herself down upon another chair.

"Oh, I wish I had never seen the man!" she cried. "I did tell him about Eleanor, and I did let him do something for her. I would have taken help for Eleanor from anybody—from a street-sweeper, or the furnace man! That doesn't give your Mr. Flood any claim on me!"

"Yours, dear!" said Cecilia, smiling.

"He is not! Why, he is—nobody!"

"Well, that's not his fault. He wants to be somebody! He is doing his best to marry into our family, love!"

At that Rosamund had to laugh. "Oh, Cissy! Don't be such a goose! Mr. Flood is perfectly odious to me, and you know it. I don't see why you ever let Marshall introduce him! I don't see why you ever allowed him to so much as dare to invite us to Oakleigh!"

"But, my dear, Oakleigh is—Oakleigh!"

"What if it is? He ought to have known better than to ask us there, and I don't see why you accepted."

Mrs. Maxwell smiled. "Pity, my dear!" she explained. "Pity—the crumb to a starving dog—the farthing to a beggar! Besides, he will let me invite whom I please and—well, Benson Flood may be a suppliant for one thing, Rose, but he has, after all, more money than he can count!"

"Then why don't you marry him yourself?"

Mrs. Maxwell shrugged. "'Nobody asked me, sir, she said!' And besides, when poor dear Tommy died—oh, well, he did actually die, poor darling, so there never was any question of divorce or anything horrid, like that—you know how old-fashioned I am in my ideas, Rosamund! But still, there is such a thing as tempting Providence a little too often. My hopes are distinctly not matrimonial. Not that I think Mr. Flood is the least bit like Tommy. If I did, of course I couldn't conscientiously—you know! As it is, I think he'd do very well—in the family!"

"You show great respect for the family!"

"Oh, well, Rosamund, the family can stand it! You must admit that! I am sure the Stanfields and the Berkleys and the Randalls need not mind a—a—an alliance with—with the millions of a Benson Flood!"

Rosamund sighed impatiently. "Oh, dear, Cecilia," she said, "I do wish it were in my power to give you half my money!"

Mrs. Maxwell smiled with pursed lips. "So do I," she declared. "I'd take it in a minute! But you can't! You can't do one single thing with it until you're twenty-five, except spend the income; and you've got six months more before your birthday. And even then you won't want to give me half of it, because now you don't even want me to spend the income! Gracious! I wish I had a chance at it!"

"I do give you half of my income, Cecilia!"

"No, you don't," Mrs. Maxwell contradicted, in a voice that echoed an old complaint. "You only give me half of the sum you think two people ought to spend! As if it isn't right and one's duty to spend all one can! I know there's something about keeping money in circulation, and all that, if only I could remember it! But nothing would move you! Poor dear Mamma used to say that Colonel Randall was obstinate—most obstinate, Rosamund; and I must say that you don't take after the Stanfields at all, not at all!"

Mrs. Maxwell's grievances, thus expressed, began to be too much for her; she spoke through tears. "I am sure I have tried to do my very best by you, Rosamund, since Mamma died! The accounts the Trust Company made me keep all those years were dreadful, perfectly dreadful! But I used to struggle through them somehow, because I was sustained by the thought that when you were twenty-five we could just spend and spend and spend and never have to bother about keeping accounts or being economical or anything! But it will be just the same then! I know it will! Why, you haven't even one automobile!"

Her sister's tears and the fatuity of her arguments were as unfailing an appeal to Rosamund as they would have been to a man; she got up and put her arms around Cecilia.

"You silly old darling!" she laughed. "You shall have an automobile! You may have two if you want them, and I will give you every penny of my income that we haven't spent in the last three years! But for goodness sake, don't cry!"

Mrs. Maxwell followed up her victory. "Will you go to Oakleigh?" she asked.

Rosamund capitulated. "Oh, I suppose so!" she said, and shrugged. Then she added, with a somewhat malicious little smile, "It goes without saying that Marshall goes, too?"

Mrs. Maxwell lifted her chin. The line of her throat was still very pretty. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror over the mantel.

"Don't be absurd," she said. "Why shouldn't he?"