“Good evening, Doctor,” he said cheerfully, going to the fire to warm his hands. “My word, as our cousins say — but a fire feels as good as it looks in this weather.”
She murmured something of welcome, and he seemed quite satisfied.
“Do you mind if I poke it? You know there are two things everybody can do better than anybody else — mend a fire and unlock a door. If it’s the door, you stand on one foot while the other fellow fumbles, and then you say — just barely polite— ‘If you’ll let me take the key—’ If it’s a fire — you poke it whether or no.”
He poked it with conscientious thoroughness, with artistic precision. He got all the ash and cinders out below, started a clear blaze above, and put on, with delicate accuracy, a large lump of cannel coal atop, hitting it one neat tap with the poker, so that the flames might leap along the line of cleavage.
“It’s a treat to find you in, Dr. Yale,” he continued. “There are so many other people always wanting to see you. Speaking of other people — I met Armstrong on the steps. On the run, too. Nearly knocked me down. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost.”
“He had,” said Margaret, before she could stop herself, and bit her lip. She must regain her composure.
“Speaking of ghosts,” he rambled on easily, his long legs stretched toward the fire, and his eyes upon it. “I always wonder why people are so afraid of ghosts. Ghosts don’t bite. Lots of things I’d be afraid of before ghosts. Mice, for instance.”
“Mice!” She was amused in spite of her preoccupation. “A man afraid of a mouse?”
“Why not?” He turned a merry smile on her. “Women generally are — aren’t they?”
“Yes, but that is on account of their clothes.”
There is nothing like a light, impersonal argument to steady the nerves. Plainly Dr. Newcome was aware of it.
“That is what looks so unreasonable to me,” he continued, easily. “Why, a woman could harbor a dozen white mice among her flounces — a whole merry-go-round of mice — and never know it. But a man! Let a mouse get up a man’s trouser leg — and he’s about crazy!”
“It would be rather annoying, I should think,” she admitted with an irresistible little laugh.
“Annoying? Well, rather! I had a friend — excitable fellow — a little inclined to hysteria. Men do have hysteria, you know, in spite of the name’s derivation.”
She nodded. “Yes, I know.”
“He was in a hotel in New York; sat in his room one evening very quiet, reading, and a mouse ran up his leg. Well — he raised the roof. He brought out two fire companies. It took three policemen to separate him from that mouse.”
Margaret laughed in spite of herself. What was it in this quiet man that always put her at her ease? A moment since and she had been ablaze with nervous excitement, all wrung and trembling from the intense experience. Now it had all ebbed away; her tense muscles were relaxed; she sat there comfortable as if nothing had happened, quite naturally amused by that mouse moving the mountain.
He wore his usual easy air, as of an old familiar friend.
“You women doctors have done a lot to help other women out of their foolishness,” he said musingly.
“Yes, it does help,” she admitted. “They will often speak more sincerely and frankly to another woman.”
“Of course, of course. Suppose it was the other way. Suppose a man had to go to a woman doctor — rather a young one, maybe, and attractive. Women doctors often are attractive, you know.” He turned to her with a half-inquiring, half-quizzical look.
She solemnly replied: “I have been told so.”
“I don’t doubt you have,” he answered heartily. “Often told so. Well — I’m telling you again. Where was I?”
Then Margaret laughed a pleasant, friendly little laugh, and leaned toward him, a grateful light in her eyes.
“You were in the midst of a very graceful, pleasant, subtle bit of mental therapeutics, Doctor. You were trying to put a tired and excited woman at ease — and you’ve done it beautifully.”
He shook his head admiringly. “How clever you are! No use trying to play tricks on you!”
“Just as useful — if they work,” she told him. “Thank you very much. Now I’ll be sensible. And shan’t I call Miss Yale?”
“Don’t be as sensible as that, please — not yet, at least. I have something I want to ask you about.” He took the poker again, and split the big cake into three flat fragments, making a jolly blaze. “I’ve got a business proposition to make to you. Fact is I have two — one business and one — well, I’ll tell you—”
“Yes? I’m listening.”
He did not seem to see his way quite clearly, even by looking down the poker with careful sighting. He put it back in the stand and turned to her.
“It is simple enough — and yet there are complications — a complication. I hope it won’t stand in the way. It is really two propositions, but not absolutely dependent on each other. You might accept one, and you might accept the other — and you might accept both. I can’t tell.”
His tone was friendly and sincere, his manner quiet. She felt as she always did, at ease and at home with him. Perhaps the reaction from the excitement she had been through rather dulled her perception of any further appeal to the emotions. At any rate she felt only a warm interest in his two propositions. In all the months of their acquaintance he had never once shown her anything save a steady friendliness, but that friendliness was so broadly efficient, it met and pleased her at so many points, that she had grown to accept it as a part of her life — a very pleasant part indeed — long before her own heart had wakened to a deeper feeling. This feeling she had never faced but once — that very evening, with Miss Yale; yet now, in the atmosphere of strengthening peace he brought with him, she unconsciously put aside everything else and merely rested.
She had liked him first for what he had done for Dolly, and because the child herself was so frankly fond of him; and upon that had grown a steadily increasing admiration for his fine qualities, as well as this deep personal content. Vaguely she felt that, whatever might hold them apart, they were still friends and that this friendship was enough — if there were nothing more.
He returned to his propositions.
“Be sure you remember,” he said carefully, “that the first one stands — whatever you may say to the second. And if you like the first, and don’t like the second — why, you take the first and I’ll never say a word about the second — see?”
She was naturally a little bewildered. “I can’t say that I see very much yet, Dr. Newcome.”
He turned to her with decision.
“Well, here goes for the first. You know you have a tremendous reputation, but not a very large practice — yet.”
She met this with more than admission. “In point of fact I haven’t any practice yet. I’ve not even started.”
“Yes, exactly. Now I haven’t much of a reputation.”
“You have, indeed,” she eagerly interrupted. “The best kind of one. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to you about it, but I do want you to know how much I appreciate your beautiful work. And it is so close to mine — overlaps, in fact, for I try to treat children, too, you know. But you have a special genius for them.”
He waved this aside and resumed solemnly: “As I was saying when I was rudely interrupted — I haven’t much of a reputation, but I have a pretty good practice — good size and good sort — mostly G.R’s, you know —— —”
“G.P.’s?” she questioned.
“Oh, you’re not on to our American slang yet? Grateful Patients. The lighteners of a doctor’s life. Pay their bills and then give him affectionate presents. Brass umbrella holders, cut glass, gold-topped inkstands, pearl pins — all sorts of premiums.”
“Oh, yes, I know. And I don’t doubt you are furnished, decorated, and gentleman-outfitted by them.”
“Not as strong as that, Doctor Yale! It’s nothing like as bad as wedding presents —
not much worse than Christmas. Seriously, though, it is a comfort for a fellow to feel that he has done something now and then and that some people appreciate it.”
They sat in pleasant silence for a little while. The fire glowed softly; the little French clock struck its veiled musical note. He glanced up at it — only ten. He almost hated to break the silence to disturb this atmosphere of peace and homelikeness with what might put an end to it.
She sat content for the present, free from the bitter thoughts which had so overcome her earlier in the evening. He watched her tenderly, yet with keen discernment. Was he too soon? Would it be better to wait yet for a while? Or would she be happier for having this settled one way or the other? That was what he had made up his mind to before coming, and he would abide by it.
“My first proposition,” he began briskly, “is that you and I go into professional partnership. Newcome and Yale. Yale and Newcome, M.D.’s., looks rather well, I think. You see, as you say, our work touches and overlaps. You have the women and I’ll take the children, and between us we can undertake any men that come along, too—”
“Undertake!” she cried. “Oh, Doctor! What a damaging admission. You don’t propose to add that business to the partnership?”
He laughed good-humoredly. “Well, no — we’ll keep that up our sleeves. But I mean this very seriously, Dr. Yale. I’ve thought it out carefully. I should consider it a great honor.”
Margaret was wholly earnest now. She was deeply touched by this evidence of esteem and appreciation from a fellow practitioner. It meant real help, too, in these years of beginning over, to have an established practice to draw upon, and she felt sure too that she would not be a drag on him; she knew that her work was good.
“You quite overpower me, Dr. Newcome. I don’t think you realize what a great — what a very great honor, and what a practical help you are offering me.”
“I appreciate what it would mean to my business,” he answered heartily. “You don’t seem to see what a solid advantage it would be to me. Let us speak quite honestly, Dr. Yale. I am a plodder; I do good work with children — shall do better, I hope. I think my practice will grow and that I can earn a fair income and fill an honorable place in the profession. But I shall never do anything spectacular — and you will. You are a brilliant young specialist — you’ll go far. But I think I can be of enough service to you to make it worth your while — especially at present. And further than that—” He had sat leaning for ward, elbows on knees, considering his boots, while making these statements, but now he lifted his face to hers, full of the frankest friendship and admiration. “You are such an extremely good fellow, Dr. Yale! I should so enjoy having you ‘round! You’re a square businessman, as well as a good surgeon. You will consider it now, won’t you?”
“I certainly will!” cried Margaret, heartily. “I must think a little, and I must speak to Miss Yale. I don’t know how to thank you—”
“All right — all right — don’t try till I’ve really been of some service to you. But now for number two.”
She waited, listening, but he did not seem to find number two so easy to unfold.
“Well?” she said, at length.
“If you can be patient for a moment while I get this off my mind,” he began slowly, his eyes on the rug between them. “And then — if you don’t like it — just forget the whole business — consider it unsaid. I give you my word of honor that I will never reopen the subject. Of course you might — possibly — but I won’t.”
“I’m all ears,” she assured him. “And full of curiosity. What is your second proposition? As to a suite of offices?”
“No,” he said slowly. “It’s not about offices.” He turned to her again, with an entire change of manner. His heart was in his eyes, in his voice, in his whole earnest appeal, yet he sat quietly. “I love you — with my whole heart,” he said. “Will you be my wife?”
Margaret stared at him in such astonishment that she could not for the moment grasp his question. Then it reached her, more through the look in his eyes than the words. And with it there rose, and swept over her again, all that bitter tide she had striven with but two hours since. She started to her feet, looking at him as if a widening gulf had opened between them, suddenly turned away, and burst into uncontrollable tears.
“I was afraid so,” he murmured to himself, then went to her and put a brotherly arm around her shoulders. “Now, my dear girl, don’t — don’t! I see how it is. Please don’t cry. See — we’ll be the best of friends for years and years. I won’t ever annoy you with that proposition again. Forgive me if I’ve hurt you.”
“Oh, it’s not that!” she cried softly. “It’s not that!” She let him hold her for a moment, resting her head on his broad shoulder, and sobbing as if her heart would break, while he patted her as if she were a crying child. Then she drew off from him. “I’m ashamed to make such a fuss,” she said, trying to smile. “But I’ve been through a good deal tonight. Dr. Newcome, you have a right to know. I do love you — I will not say how much. But I cannot be your wife.”
“You do love me?” he said, incredulously. “You love me! Oh, my Marjorie! That is enough!” And he came to her, the light rekindling in his eyes.
She moved away from him.
“No — it is not enough. Don’t — oh, don’t be so good to me! You don’t know—”
“I don’t want to know,” he declared briefly. “If you love me, I don’t ask anything else.” And again he would have taken her to his heart, but she held him off. Miss Yale’s advice was ringing in her ears.
Why tell him? Here was love waiting for her; here were happiness, home, real rest and joy at last. And Dolly loved him too. How could she not only crush her own heart but hurt his?
But Margaret Yale had not lived hard and true for ten long building years to be false to her own ideals now. With one long shuddering sigh she put that tearing grief beneath her feet and faced him calmly.
“I do not deserve your love,” she said in a low, dead voice. “I am not fit to marry. I have — sinned.”
“So have I,” he said, and took her in his arms. “Now, Marjorie — my Marjorie — be still and stop trying to tell me things. Bless you, child — don’t I know! Why, dear, I’ve loved you for ten solid years! Look here — I’ll let you have a look at the only comfort I’ve had all that time—” and he took out that wrinkled, faded bow of ribbon with one long, curly, glistening hair tied into it.
She looked at it — at him — wonderingly.
“Oh, my dear,” he went on, “my little girl! I loved you then — but it was too late. You wouldn’t look at me — and I couldn’t save you. But sweetheart —— —” He held her off and feasted his eyes on her happy face, where the rich color glowed and changed like roses pink and crimson. “You’ll have to love me very hard indeed, to catch up.”
In spite of her happiness she still clutched at that receding sea of shame and pain.
“But how can you love me — after—” Her head was down on his breast again.
He held her so without a word for some quiet moments, kissing one of her hands. Then he asked, “Marjorie, dear, do you like your new name?”
“Nobody ever called me that before. It’s your name, and I love it—” she said softly.
“Well, my Marjorie, let us talk our little ghost to death, and bury it — shall we?”
She nodded, without lifting her head from its resting place.
“All right — when you were barely sixteen, uneducated, unprotected, alone, you were fooled by a man ten years older, having both knowledge and experience. You did wrong — admitted. He did wrong — and why didn’t I drop him and hate him and cast him off? Why, Marjorie — I had done wrong too. Not so cruel a wrong as he perhaps — but far, far worse than any fault of yours, poor child. Why, my darling, my brave, strong, suffering darling, there is hardly one man in a hundred who has the right to blame a woman like you. Now do you see? Ethically we are even, except that you are less to blame t
han I.”
“But that doesn’t alter — the facts,” she murmured.
“What are the facts? You are to me like a beautiful widow — if I think of that at all. And as to main fact — which is Dolly — why, I love the child. It will be an honest pleasure to have her with us. I don’t hate her on Armstrong’s account, you see. In fact,” he added slowly, “I am almost a little sorry for Armstrong. He deserves all he’s got and more, but he’s suffered enough and will suffer enough, I fancy — to make any man sorry for him.”
“You think I was too cruel?” she asked hastily.
“Cruel? You cruel — to him? Why, my darling girl, you couldn’t in a thousand years make the account even. Don’t ever reproach yourself for that! I judge that you turned him down — and that he realized who did it — a nice situation. And I held my hand till you had done it, too. I was terribly afraid that you might consider it.”
“I did — for a little — on her account,” she murmured.
He nodded understandingly. “I know, my dear. It seemed as if he ought to have that chance, and as if you might possibly — prefer it — so I waited.”
She lifted her wet eyes to his with adoring love. “You are better than seven angels, I do believe!” she said.
“Thought you were going to say seven devils — as it usually goes. Well, where were we? Now I, being honored above all men, marry a lovely young widow. We have Dolly with us, but we keep the status quo — for her sake, if you choose. If not — just as you decide. We have our work together. And there won’t be anybody in the world as happy as I.”
“You don’t — really — mind it?” she asked incredulously.
“Do you mind what I did when I was a boy in college — before I loved you? Worse things, you understand?”
She pondered. “Why, I’m sorry, but I can’t say I really care much,” she answered slowly. “It seems so long ago. If you kept your health—” she glanced at him with a second’s apprehension— “and you love me now.”
“I kept my health,” he answered, eye to eye, “and I love you, now and always. Shall we call it square and bury it — forever and ever?”
Complete Works of Charlotte Perkins Gilman Page 68
