Chapter XXIV

I am in haste; go along with me: I’ll tell you all.—_Merry
Wives of Windsor_, v, 1.

Miss Esther was more than delighted when Putnam came to her in the library that evening and said that he had something to tell her.

“Perhaps I can guess what it is,” she said.

“You’re pretty clever if you can,” he replied, “for I didn’t know it myself until to-day.”

“No,” said Miss Esther, smiling; “you didn’t know it yourself until eleven o’clock this morning.”

“No, I didn’t,” said Putnam, honestly. “In fact it came over me rather suddenly, and I thought you’d like it if I told you first.”

“Are you really engaged?” asked Miss Esther.

“Oh, no; I haven’t spoken to her yet about anything like that.”

“Well, why don’t you?” said Miss Esther, with a slight show of impatience.

“I don’t know how she’d take it,” said Putnam, with the first indication of diffidence that Miss Esther had ever seen in her cousin.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“Oh, of course, I shall ask her sometime, but not yet.”

“Well, don’t wait too long. I am very glad you have told me this. I think you and she were made for each other.”

“So do I. I never before believed in love at first sight, but it certainly is what has happened to me. She is the most beautiful girl I ever saw.”

“Perhaps not beautiful,” said Miss Esther, “but she is certainly very pretty.”

“More than pretty. I think she is a raving beauty.”

“You’re probably prejudiced,” said Miss Esther, comprehendingly, “but I’m glad you do admire her so much. She is a good-hearted little thing with all her whimsical temper; but I feared you might think her perhaps too countrified and unsophisticated.”

“Well!” exclaimed Putnam, “I never should call Julia Fowler unsophisticated. To my mind she stands for everything that represents the best and highest type of a cultured woman of the world. That kind of a woman, Cousin Esther, is the kind that appeals most strongly to me. It is the type I like best and Miss Fowler is the perfection of that type, just as little Jean Richards is the perfection of the peach-blossom type, or Chub is the perfection of winsome babyhood, and it’s a great thing to meet at last the highest possible expression of the type one most desires. I have a great deal of the Adams clannishness in me, and I am glad you so thoroughly approve my choice.”

“Putnam,” said Miss Esther, looking at her cousin desperately, “go to bed!”

Left to herself, Miss Esther faced the situation. Her worst fears were verified. The invasion of Julia had proved as disastrous as she had anticipated. Not only were her own plans defeated, but she realized the appalling wrong she had done to Jean by assisting to bring about a state of affairs that now she knew must inevitably break the child’s heart.

“It seems,” she thought, “that this glorious summer of mine is like to be turned into a winter of discontent. Not that I care so much for myself: the Matrimonial Bureau is not yet at the end of its rope. I could, of course, find another Prince for Jean, but the trouble is, I’m sure she has set her heart on Putnam, notwithstanding her apparent antagonism, and after what she said this morning I feel sure I am right. I think she expected him to tell her so to-night, and now—well, I will do what I can. Patience, and shuffle the cards—perhaps there’ll be a way out of it yet. But I can’t see a ray of hope for my poor little Jean.”

* * * * *

But if Miss Esther had seen her poor little Jean at that moment she would have been obliged to confess that at least one ray of hope was illuminating her darksome horizon.

As a matter of fact she was spinning along with Lincoln Dodd in his automobile, quite as contented as though there were no Putnam Adams in existence.

“You see,” Dodd was saying, “I would have gone, but I had reasons for not wanting to go.”

“I don’t see,” insisted Jean, “what reasons you could possibly have for not wanting to go on a lovely yachting trip like that—way up the coast to Labrador—to be gone for weeks, and with such a lovely party—they are lovely, aren’t they?”

“Yes; the people are nice enough,” said Lincoln.

“And a crew all in white duck, with beautiful gilt buttons—aren’t they?”

“Yes; the crew is good enough.”

“And beautiful ladies, in gorgeous clothes, sitting around in wicker arm-chairs on the deck! Aren’t they?”

“Oh, yes; the women’s gowns are good enough.”

“And then, whenever they stop anywhere, there would be gala nights, with flowers and music, and dances on deck and Japanese lanterns and flags flying and banners waving! Oh, I think it would be heavenly! I wish I could go!”

“Come on, and go—with me!”

“Oh,” cried Jean, “I wish I could! But I’m not invited.”

“My wife is invited wherever I am.”

“I didn’t know you had a wife,” said Jean, with an air of polite interest.

“I haven’t,” said Dodd, “but I will have in about twenty minutes.”

Lincoln turned the wheel and the huge machine swung around with reckless speed.

“Where are you going to get her?” asked Jean.

“Now, listen,” said Lincoln, as they flew along the road, “and think fast. If we go on this yachting party,—you and I,—we’ve got to catch that twelve forty-five train from Utica.”

“What!” gasped Jean.

“It will take us about twenty minutes to get to Dr. Bushnell’s; about twenty more to get married. That leaves us two hours to get over to the Utica station, and I guess this old machine will do it.”

“You’re talking nonsense,” said Jean.

“Yes, I know,” said Lincoln, cheerfully; “but never mind that now. I told you you had to think fast. Now you’ve got all the way from here to Dr. Bushnell’s parsonage to make up your mind, and if you don’t want to go on, say the word and I’ll turn around.”

As they stopped at Dr. Bushnell’s gate, Jean said, “I think we’d better turn around.”

“Too late now,” said Lincoln, lifting her out.

“I thought it would be,” said Jean, softly.

In response to Lincoln’s imperative ring at the doorbell, Dr. Bushnell appeared and looked with surprise at his two late visitors.

“Come in,” he said, blandly; “come in.”

“Thank you, we will,” said Lincoln.

Mrs. Bushnell rose to greet the pair as they entered the pastor’s study. She was Jean’s aunt, and as Jean’s mother had been dead for many years, Mrs. Bushnell had always exercised more or less authority over her willful, high-spirited niece. Mr. Richards, Jean’s father, was away in a distant Western city on a business trip, and so Mrs. Bushnell considered Jean her special property for the time being.

“You must excuse us if we seem rather hurried,” said Lincoln, with a more business-like air than he often showed. “We are sailing to-morrow morning, and we must catch the twelve forty-five train out of Utica. We want you to marry us, and you’ve got just twenty minutes to do it in.”

“Is that time enough?” asked Jean, anxiously.

“My dear young friends,” began Dr. Bushnell, “you must realize the grave importance of the step you propose to take. The responsibilities of—”

“What are you two children talking about?” broke in Mrs. Bushnell.

“Never mind what we are talking about,” said Lincoln, hurriedly. “We’ll tell you some other time—we’ll write to you—but now we want you to marry us—”

“But,” said Mrs. Bushnell, “have you thought this thing all over?”

“Indeed I have,” said Jean; “I had twenty minutes, and I thought fast. You see, it’s this way, Aunt Serena; I’m going to marry Lincoln, anyway, and if I marry him to-night and catch that twelve forty-five train, we can go on the most beautiful yachting trip you ever heard of. Way up to Labrador, and the ladies have the most beautiful clothes, and Japanese lanterns and flowers—and everything.”

“But, Jean—” began her aunt.

“Yes, I know, Aunt Serena, but we’ve only got twenty minutes, you know—and, Auntie, the yacht is the loveliest thing—it’s all white and brass and shining—”

“Ah, yes,” said Dr. Bushnell, “as the poet so effectively puts it, ‘A painted ship—a painted ship’—”

“Now hold on, Dr. Bushnell,” said Lincoln; “as I told you, we’ve only got twenty minutes—five are gone already. As Jean says, she’s going to marry me, anyway; so you may as well let us go on that yachting trip and send us off with your blessing.”

“You’re the only one that can do it, Uncle Isaiah,” said Jean; “and please do, ’cause I would love that trip!”

“But, Jean,” said Mrs. Bushnell, “does Miss Esther know about this?”

“No, and that makes me downright sorry; but I can’t help it, Aunt Serena. You tell her to-morrow, won’t you? and I’ll write to her. But we must catch that twelve forty-five train.”

“So you must,” said Dr. Bushnell, rising to the occasion, “so you must. Serena, my dear, if you will call the parlor maid—her name has for the moment escaped me, but you will doubtless remember it—if you will call her for a second witness we will proceed with the ceremony.”

“Her name is Martha,” said Mrs. Bushnell, still hesitating.

“Call Martha,” said Lincoln, decisively.

“Are you sure,” began Mrs. Bushnell, “that—”

“Call Martha,” said Jean.