The Blythes Are Quoted (39 page)

“Even if he wouldn’t come to see you?”

“No ... but I’d manage it some way.”

“Clack, I believe you’ve gone over to the enemy.”

“Never, my lamb. You know me better than that. But I just wanted you to look at both sides of the question.”

“There was only one side. Well, finally I was sent here ... or rather I was given my choice of coming here or going to the Coast. I didn’t take a split second to decide. ‘You are making a mistake,’ said Aunty icily.”

“I know just how she would say it,” reflected Clack.

“‘I have a right to make my own mistakes,’ I said.”

“So have we all,” thought Clack, “but we haven’t the right to blame the consequences on somebody else. Though most of us do it,” she added honestly. Aloud ...

“And what did your aunt say?”

“Oh, just ‘Indeed!,’ like that! You know quite well how she would say it. And you know when Aunty says, ‘Indeed!,’ I usually wilt. But I didn’t wilt this time. Clack, I was so glad to get away ... and relieved.”

“For the time being,” thought Clack.

“You know I had such an uneasy feeling that Aunty always gets her way in the end.”

“So she does,” thought Clack.

“But she isn’t going to get it this time.”

“George may be very nice, my lamb.”

“Clack, he’s fat. I’m sure he’s fat. All the Georges I know are fat.”

“George Mallard is as thin as a lathe.”

“He is the exception that proves the rule then. Besides, there is a picture of him at home ... one his mother sent Aunty when a baby ... his mother had some sense ... she didn’t hold with old feuds and traditions ... he was a little fat baby, with his mouth open ...”

“But babies change so, lamb. Some of the thinnest men I know were fat dumplings when they were babies.”

“I feel quite sure George hasn’t changed. I know that he is a little fat man with a moon face. I can’t bear a pudgy man with a moon face. And who could marry a moon face, Clack?”

“Lots of women do,” said Clack. “And they are very happy with them, too. But I wish you would talk the matter over with Mrs. Blythe.”

“Clack, I told you this was to be a profound secret.”

“And of course it will as far as I am concerned, lamb. But Mrs. Blythe knows so much about men ...”

“I think you worship those Blythes, Clack. You are always quoting them.”

“I worship only my Maker,” said Clack rebukingly. “But Mrs. Blythe has made so many matches ...”

“That is no recommendation, Clack. I don’t want anyone to make a match for me.”

“Anyhow, you are not going to marry anyone you don’t want to as long as you are under
my
roof, lamb,” said Clack loyally.

She meant it. It
would
be fun to get the better of old Mrs. Clark. But had anyone ever succeeded in doing that? Clack could not recall one, except herself.

“I knew I could depend on you, Aunty Clack. And remember, not a word to the Blythes or Susan Baker.”

“As if I ever told secrets to Susan Baker! Other people’s secrets, I mean.”

“There, I’ve eaten all the berries ... they were delicious. I can’t remember when I’ve had wild strawberries before. I even licked the dish when you were retrieving my comb from the wastebasket.”

“Oh, no, you didn’t, lamb. A Clark would never do that.”

“Do you think Nan Blythe would?”

“I would think it very unlikely. She has been better brought up. Susan Baker says ...”

“Never mind what Susan Baker says. I don’t care a hoot for her opinion or the Blythes’ either. Though I do think the Blythes are a nice family ... and I wish Jem Blythe was a few years older. He won’t be fat ... and his name isn’t George.”

“What are you going to do today, my lamb?”

“Why, I’m going to
live
it, darling Clack. It is so long since I have had a chance to live a day. You know we don’t live at Ashburn ... we just exist. As for today, I’m going to town with Don in the afternoon.”

“Don! Who is Don?”

“Clack, darling, have you forgotten so soon? Why, the boy who bought my pie.”

“Not Don Glynne ... not the gardener at Miss Merrion’s?”

“Who else? There aren’t two Don Glynnes hereabouts, are there? He has got to get a sod edger and some special kind of snails for the new cement garden pool he is making for Miss Merrion.”

Clack sat down. She really had to. And she felt that she had to register a protest.

“My lamb, don’t you think you should be more ... fastidious? He’s only a gardener ... really a hired servant.”

“I’m sure he’s an excellent gardener, if all you’ve told me of Miss Merrion is true. She’s a crank, Don says, but she knows about gardens.”

“Do you call him Don?”

“Naturally, Clacky. Would you have me call a gardener ‘Mr.’? And he calls me Chrissie ... I told him my name was Christine Dunbar. Now, darling, don’t look like that ... it isn’t deceit ... it’s just protective coloration. He’d never come near me if he found out I was Adam Clark’s daughter.”

“I should think not,” said Clack, with all the dignity she could muster.

“And he thinks I’m your niece ... I called you Aunty, you see. You are not ashamed of having me for a niece, are you?”

“Lamb,” said Clack reproachfully.

“And I
think
he got the impression, Clack ... I didn’t tell him ... I really didn’t ... that I was a nursery governess back in town. I only said that the life of a nursery governess was rather dull and hard.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Blythe would never allow any of her girls to go riding with a ... a servant.”

“Clack, if you quote any of the Blythes to me again ... I’ll throw something at you. And he gave my pie a word of praise ... so I am not the only deceitful person in the world. And tonight we are going for a moonlit swim down at Four Winds Harbour. Don’t look like that, darling. There will be a whole lot of others there. Don’t worry, dearest of Clacks. This is just a bit of adventure. There isn’t any danger of my falling in love with Miss Merrion’s gardener, if that is what you are afraid of.”

“It isn’t. You couldn’t forget you are a Clark of Ashburn.”

“Oh, couldn’t I! You’ve no idea how easy it would be. You don’t know how tired I am of being a Clark of Ashburn. But still I’ll not fall in love with Don Glynne in spite of his cloudy blue eyes.”

“But what of
him
?”

Clack felt she had a very good argument there.

“Oh, he won’t fall in love with me. He struck me as being a very level-headed, self-sufficient young man out for a little amusement in a dull summer. Besides ... the men can look out for themselves, can’t they, Clack?”

Clack, having always preached this very doctrine, could not deny that Chrissie’s argument was reasonable, but still ...

“Running around with common people, my lamb ...”

“He is more intelligent than most of the young men I know back home.
He
would not have refused to come east to see what kind of a wife his great-uncle had picked out for him. He would have packed a grip and taken the first train.”

“How do you know he would ... or could, lamb?”

“Wait till you see his eyes, Clack. You can always read a man’s character by his eyes.”

“Not always, lamb,” murmured Clack. “One of the best men I ever knew had what you call gooseberry green eyes ... and they bulged besides.”

“Well, I told you there were always exceptions. Clack, am I a spoiled baggage?”

“Of course you are not,” said Clack indignantly.

“Aunty says I am. And so does dad. Might as well have the game as the name. Besides, in the end I suppose I will really marry this George.”

“You’d never marry a man you didn’t love, lamb.”

“Well, we’ve always been a bit pinched for money, according to our standards of living, in spite of our Clarkism, and it’s not nice, Clack ... it really isn’t.”

“It’s better than marrying a man with gooseberry green eyes,” said Clack, swinging around easily.

“Oh, he may not have gooseberry eyes ... he may be as handsome as a god. Aunty told me once I wasn’t capable of anything but tissue paper emotions.”

“Then she told a fib,” said Clack indignantly.

“Well, it may be true, Clack. You are biased in my favour, you know. Anyhow, if it is true I might as well make the best market I can.”

“I don’t like to hear you talk like that, lamb,” said Clack uncomfortably. “It doesn’t sound like you.”

“That, as I’ve told you, darling, is because you have idealized me. I’m really just like other girls ... and I am full of Clark contrariness. If dad and Aunty had been opposed to the marriage I’d have been all for it. Anyhow, I’ve got this free, wonderful month before I have to decide, so don’t spoil it, Clackest of Clacks.”

“You were born that way,” said Clack resignedly. Apparently she washed her hands of things. Anyway, she knew Chrissie would do as she wanted to ... with everyone except old Mrs. Clark.

She had to go on washing her hands. There didn’t seem anything else she could do.

It wasn’t any use talking to Chrissie. She had even to snub poor Susan Baker who ventured to hint that it wasn’t quite the thing for a Clark of Ashburn to be running everywhere with Miss Merrion’s gardener.

Besides, she could not help liking Don Glynne himself, hard as she tried to hate him. He
was
very likeable and his eyes did things to you. Even when he wore overalls. For it was in overalls and the rackety Ford Miss Merrion kept for her hired help that he came to take Chrissie to town that afternoon.

Clack could only stand up to it by picturing old Mrs. Clark’s face, if she could have seen them as they whirled away, Chrissie cool and delicious in blue linen beside the faded overalls.

“Do you like me as well today as you did last night?” Don was asking, rather impudently.

The appalling thing was that she did, in spite of all the nonsense she had talked to Clack. She had thought the magic of the night before would vanish in broad daylight.

But he seemed even nicer in his overalls than in his party togs. As for magic ... why, magic seemed everywhere. It spilled all around them as they tore through the golden afternoon in the open car.

Chrissie’s curls blew back from her little face and stars came into her eyes. A cluster of roses from some part of Miss Merrion’s garden lay on her lap and their perfume seemed to go to her head.

Don Glynne hadn’t believed she could be as pretty as he had thought her at the dance ... and she was even prettier. They drove to town and Don got his sod edger and ordered his special snails for the water garden and then they drove home more slowly by a winding woodsy road under dark spruces. Don told her he liked his work and loved gardens.

“Some day I’m going to have a garden of my own ... a secret garden that very few people will ever see ... or criticize ... or admire.”

“Why?”

“Because they always admire the wrong things. The only people who have admired the right things in Miss Merrion’s gardens since I’ve been there were Dr. Blythe and his wife. They
did
seem to understand.”

Again Chrissie’s heart was torn by a pang of jealousy.

“Won’t you let anybody see it?” she asked wistfully. “I mean ... anybody you are not sure will admire the right things?”

Don looked sidewise at her.

“Oh, I can always tell the right kind. It’s a sort of instinct. But there will be no mobs. I’m fed up with sightseers at Miss Merrion’s in the short time I’ve been there. The tourists come there in shoals ... of course they’ve been told Miss Merrion’s gardens are one of the sights of the Island. I’d like to drown them in some of the pools. Miss Merrion likes it, though ... sometimes I think that is all she has a garden for ... for people to squeal over.”

“Miss Merrion
must
love some of her flowers,” said Chrissie.

“Oh, she likes a bouquet for the dining room table, especially when she has company. But she doesn’t care a hoot for the garden itself. As Mrs. Blythe says, you have to work in a garden yourself or you miss its meaning.”

Always those Blythes! Chrissie took the bull by the horns.

“Do you admire the Blythe family so much?”

Don looked his astonishment. “I’ve only been here a week, don’t you know? I just met Jem at the dance last night and one day Dr. and Mrs. Blythe brought some of their friends here. But everybody speaks of them as charming. They wouldn’t look at a plain hired gardener, I suppose. Though they say Susan Baker is a member of the family. As for Miss Merrion’s garden, it
is
a divine place, whether she really cares for it or not. Will you come over and see it some day?”

“But I might admire the wrong things, too.”

“I’ll take a chance on that. I believe you’ll love all the right things ... and pass by the wrong things just as the Blythes did.”

“I suppose it takes a great deal of money to have a garden like that?”

“Scads. But it’s well spent. How could I make an honest living otherwise? And Miss Merrion is rolling in it, so they tell me. That is why she never married ... she told me she was
afraid all her suitors were after her money. I daresay they were, too ... have you ever seen Miss Merrion?”

“No.”

“Well, she could have been no beauty at her best and youngest.”

“It must be abominable ... to be married for your money,” said Chrissie hotly.

“Rotten,” agreed Don. “Or to marry for money.”

“M ... m ... m,” said Chrissie. “Only ... do you think it is as bad in a woman as a man?”

“Just as bad in either,” said Don. “Of course long ago there wasn’t anything a woman could do. But now there is no excuse for her.”

“But if she hasn’t been brought up to do anything useful?”

“Then her parents or guardians ought to be soundly spanked,” said Don. “In my mind, there is one valid reason for marrying ... genuine, earnest love.”

“But sometimes people mistake infatuation for love,” said Chrissie.

“Ah, that is the tragedy of life,” said Don with a sigh. “It
is
hard to tell which is which. But if you would be willing to be poor ... horribly poor ... together, I think you might take the chance. And now we’ve got to get back, because I have to spray the roses before dinner. Miss Merrion is very particular about that. And a good servant must please his employer if he wants to hold his job. Do you still want to go for that evening swim?”