Chapter X

If he fail, yet go we under our opinion still that we have
better men.—_Troilus and Cressida_, i, 3.

After thinking it all over seriously, Miss Esther had concluded that Mark Westcott and Theodore Winthrop Brewster were the most suitable candidates yet entered on the books of her Matrimonial Bureau for the hand of her artist-client, Lillian Hastings. It had been difficult to choose between them, for they were both distinctly eligible, but after two or three days’ acquaintance, she had discovered that Mark possessed more of the traits which might develop into the character of the traditional fairy godfather. In pursuance of her plans, the wily lady one afternoon invented an errand for one unsuspecting youth.

“Mark,” she said, ingratiatingly, “wouldn’t you like to go over to Lillian Hastings’s for me?”

“Why, are you over there?”

“Don’t be saucy. I assumed that you could understand English. I’ll try again. Cousin, or, fair cousin, I would wish you, or, I would request you, or, I would entreat you, not to fear, not to tremble: but to go, or, to walk, or, to amble withal, to the house, or the home, or the studio of Miss Lillian Hastings, and there with deep diplomacy acquaint thyself with that which I desire. This having done, I bid thee tell me true that which with subtle art thou hast discovered.”

“Sure, I’ll go; but what is this tremendous mission?”

“Lillian is painting a picture, and I want to know if it is finished yet.”

“But where does the diplomacy come in?”

“You see, I don’t want her to know that I want to know, but when the picture is finished, I’m going to have a party or something for her.”

“What is the picture? How am I to know it?”

“It’s a great big field with a cow in the middle.”

“All right. I can tell it by the cow, but how am I to know if it is finished?”

“That’s where you must use your ingenuity. Take your time and lead the conversation around by devious by-paths until you find out.”

“All right; put me up a little luncheon and I’ll stay all day.”

“You haven’t any diplomacy,” said Kenneth. “I’ll go along with you and manage the ingenious part.”

“No, no! You can’t go, Kenneth. I want you this afternoon. I want you to take me driving.”

“But you can’t go driving, Cousin Esther,” broke in Lieutenant Adams. “You promised to stay with me. I’ve got to have you. Clear out, you two boys, and stay as long as you like.”

In the few days of Putnam Adams’s stay it had come about that the household obeyed him unquestioningly. Miss Esther realized that Kenneth’s going would interfere with her plans, yet there was no escape from the inevitable, and she docilely remained with Putnam and watched the brothers as they sauntered across the lawn.

They found Lillian at her easel, at work on a large landscape.

“That’s the picture, now,” exclaimed Mark, diplomatically.

“I told you you hadn’t any ingenuity,” said Kenneth, “and besides that can’t be the picture. There isn’t any cow in it!”

“There was a cow—” began Lillian.

“How did it get away?”

“I painted it out,” replied the artist.

“Then that’s the picture. I knew it was,” said Mark.

“What picture?”

“We can’t tell you. We’re diplomats. When will it be finished?”

“It’s almost finished now. I think it will be done by Saturday.”

“Then that’s all right. I’ll tell Cousin Esther,” said Mark.

“What does she want to know for?”

“We can’t tell you. That’s a surprise. How can people be diplomats if other people ask them questions all the time?”

“Hullo, who painted this head?” Kenneth had discovered a portrait among a lot of sketches.

“By Jove!” exclaimed Mark, “that looks like the girls.”

“What girls?” asked Lillian.

“Our girls,” said Kenneth. “We’re engaged to them, you know. Want to see ’em?”

“Yes, indeed. Where are they?”

The boys simultaneously drew from their pockets two thin gold cases each containing a miniature of a young woman.

“Why, these are pictures of the same girl,” said Lillian.

“Not exactly,” explained Kenneth. “We’ve each got one. You see they’re twins.”

“I should think they were twins. I never saw anything so much alike in my life. How do you tell them apart?”

“We can’t,” said Mark. “At least we can tell the girls apart, but not the pictures. They got mixed up once and we’ve never known which is which since. But it doesn’t matter. They can tell us apart.”

“Yes, of course, they can tell which of you they are engaged to.”

“Yes,” said Kenneth, “we have to depend on them to sort us out. But sometimes I think they fool us.”

“I know they do,” said Mark. “They think it’s a great joke.”

“Are you to be married soon?” asked Lillian.

“Yes, there’s to be a double wedding in the fall. Great time—I wish you’d come to it.”

“I’d love to go. Is Miss Esther going?”

“Oh, I guess so. She came on to Roger’s wedding, but she hasn’t said anything about ours.”

“They’re awfully pretty girls. What are their names?”

“Butler—Edna and Edwina. We call them Ed for short.”

“How do they know which one you mean?”

“Why, according to who says it. I wouldn’t call Edna ‘Ed.’”

“You’d better not,” said Mark. “I’d pound you if you did.”

“Where are they now?” asked Lillian, interestedly.

“They are going on with mother this week from Boston to the Adirondacks, and Mark and I are to join them there later.”

Just then Brewster and Helen Fairbanks came into the studio.

“We’ve been walking miles and miles,” said Helen, “and we’re going over to Miss Esther’s for a cup of tea, and we want you to come with us.”

“All right,” said Mark, “we’ll go. Just wait a few minutes till Miss Hastings paints a cow into her picture.”

“Oh, the cow can wait till to-morrow,” said Lillian; “but won’t you show Miss Fairbanks those two miniatures, or one at least?”

The boys produced the lockets and handed them to Helen. “What a beautiful girl,” she said. “Is she your sister?”

“No—she isn’t one girl, she’s twins, and she’s engaged to these two brothers here,” said Lillian.

“Which is which?” asked Helen.

“Merciful powers!” exclaimed Kenneth, “you haven’t mixed them up again, have you? We just got them sorted out.”

“Why these are the Butler twins,” said Brewster as he looked at the pictures. “I’ve known them all their lives;—this is Edna and this is Edwina.”

“How can you tell?” asked Mark, admiringly; “but give me Edwina quick, while you know.”

“Now I’m ready,” said Lillian, sticking her brushes into an already crowded ginger jar. “Come on, let’s go. It’s almost five.”

On the way to the Adams house they passed Dr. Bushnell’s. Brewster turned in at the gate. “Go on,” he said, “I’ll get the book I promised Miss Fairbanks, and catch you before you get to Miss Esther’s.”

That afternoon had proved an eventful one for Miss Adams, and had completely disarranged her Matrimonial Bureau.

She had been sitting on the east porch with Putnam, when Nora announced the arrival of three ladies.

“Well, Emily Westcott!” exclaimed Miss Esther, “I’m so glad to see you. Where under the sun did you come from?”

“I’m on my way to Saranac, and just stopped over for the night to see you and to show you my new daughters. This is Edwina Butler and this is Edna Butler. Where are the boys?”

“I’m very glad to see you—all of you. But why do you call these young ladies your daughters?”

“Why, they’re engaged to Mark and Kenneth. Haven’t they told you?”

“Mark and Kenneth?” said Miss Esther, “Mark and Kenneth! but which of you is which? How can they tell you apart?”

“They can’t,” said Edna Butler. “We tell them.”

Miss Esther sat down. “Well, of _all_ things!” she said.

“Why are you so surprised?” asked Mrs. Westcott. “The boys are old enough. Mark is twenty-five—”

“Yes, yes, I know. And I’m very much pleased,—very much pleased. I am sure,” she added, turning to the young ladies, “that you must be twins. You are, aren’t you?”

“Yes, we are; I am Edwina. There’s no way to tell us apart except by our first names. Mark is my special property.”

“And Kenneth is mine,” said Edna. “He has written so much about you and this beautiful place that we’re perfectly delighted to be here. He told us, too, about numbers of new cousins he had found here. Mayn’t we see them?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Miss Esther. “At least we have one of them on exhibition. Your boys have gone calling somewhere, but one of the new cousins—Lieutenant Adams—is on the east porch, laid up with a broken leg. Come out and amuse him for a while.”

She took the Butler twins to the east porch, presented Lieutenant Adams, and then returned to Mrs. Westcott. “Those young people can take care of themselves,” she said, “and you and I can have a good old-time chat.”

“We’ve come out to get acquainted,” announced Edna. “You may not know it, but you are to be one of our new cousins, Lieutenant Adams.”

“I’m very glad to hear that,” he said; “but if I’m your cousin, you must call me Putnam. What’s your name?”

“Mine’s Edna, and hers is Edwina. You may use them, if you like.”

“I don’t know how I can remember which belongs to which. Your gowns are exactly alike. You ought to have some distinguishing mark.”

“All right. Give me one of your gilt buttons,” said Edna, “and I’ll wear it on my chain.”

“Of course,” said Lieutenant Adams, cutting off a button from his white duck coat, which Edna gleefully attached to her long chain.

“I want one, too,” said Edwina, “to put on my chain.”

“Of course. Here’s one for you.”

Edwina strung the button on her chain. “Now shut your eyes,” she said, “and count ten.”

During the counting Putnam heard an ostentatious rustle and two very similar giggles. Then he announced “Ten!”

“Now look at us,” said one of them. “Which am I?”

“That’s dead easy; you’re Edwina.”

“How can you tell?”

“Why, because one of you is so much prettier than the other.”

“Which?” cried the twins together.

“Both,” said Putnam, gallantly.

“Well, if that doesn’t look like Winthrop Brewster,” said Edwina, as she saw a tall man in white flannels crossing the lawn.

“It is,” said her sister.

“Of course it is,” said Putnam. “Do you know him?”

“Yes, known him all our lives. Hullo, Winthrop!”

“Well, Peaches Butler!” exclaimed Brewster as he came up the steps. “How did you get here? You see,” he explained to Putnam, “that when I address these young women together I have to refer to them in the plural. When I meet only one of them I call her Peach.”

From the library window Miss Esther could hear the laughter on the east porch. She had left Mrs. Westcott in her room, after hearing from her the details of the boys’ engagements.

“Mark and Kenneth both out of it,” she thought. “To be sure, I only needed one of them, but I can’t have either, it seems. I think the Jean and Putnam affair will turn out as I have planned. Then, of course, I must give Winthrop Brewster to Lillian. That still leaves Helen. She is certainly my most troublesome client. This being a Matrimonial Bureau is harder work than I thought it would be.”