He Fell In Love With His Wife - Edward Payson Roe (the speed reading book .txt) 📗

class="calibre1">Still, it’s nobody’s business,” added Tom thoughtfully. “Perhaps it’s worth

the trial. If she went I think she’d stay and do the best by you she could.

Would you like to see her?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Alida was summoned and stood with downcast eyes in the door. “Come in and take

a chair,” said Tom kindly. “You know I promised to be on the lookout for a

good place for you. Well, my friend here, Mr. Holcroft, whom I’ve known ever

since I was a boy, wants a woman to do general housework and take care of the

dairy.”

 

She gave the farmer one of those swift, comprehensive glances by which women

take in a personality, and said in a tone of regret, “But I don’t understand

dairy work.”

 

“Oh, you’d soon learn. It’s just the kind of a place you said you wanted, a

lonely, out-of-the-way farm and no other help kept. What’s more, my friend

Holcroft is a kind, honest man. He’d treat you right. He knows all about

your trouble and is sorry for you.”

 

If Holcroft had been an ogre in appearance, he would have received the

grateful glance which she now gave him as she said, “I’d be only too glad to

work for you, sir, if you think I can do, or learn to do, what is required.”

 

Holcroft, while his friend was speaking, had studied closely Alida’s thin,

pale face, and he saw nothing in it not in harmony with the story he had

heard. “I am sorry for you,” he said kindly. “I believe you never meant to do

wrong and have tried to do right. I will be perfectly honest with you. My

wife is dead, the help I had has left me, and I live alone in the house. The

truth is, too, that I could not afford to keep two in help, and there would

not be work for them both.”

 

Alida had learned much in her terrible adversity, and had, moreover the

instincts of a class superior to the position she was asked to take. She

bowed low to hide the burning flush that crimsoned her pale cheeks as she

faltered, “It may seem strange to you, sirs, that one situated as I am should

hesitate, but I have never knowingly done anything which gave people the right

to speak against me. I do not fear work, I would humbly try to do my best,

but—” She hesitated and rose as if to retire.

 

“I understand you,” said Holcroft kindly, “and I don’t blame you for doing

what you think is right.”

 

“I’m very sorry, sir,” she replied, tears coming into her eyes as she went out

of the room.

 

“There it is, Holcroft,” said Tom. “I believe she’s just the one for you, but

you can see she isn’t of the common kind. She knows as well as you and me how

people would talk, especially if her story came out, as like enough it will.”

 

“Hang people!” snarled the farmer.

 

“Yes, a good lot of ‘em deserve hanging, but it wouldn’t help you any just

now. Perhaps she’d go with you if you got another girl or took an old woman

from the house here to keep her company.”

 

“I’m sick to death of such hags,” said the farmer with an impatient gesture.

Then he sat down and looked at his friend as if a plan was forming in his mind

of which he scarcely dare speak.

 

“Well, out with it!” said Tom.

 

“Have you ever seen a marriage ceremony performed by a justice of the peace?”

Holcroft asked slowly.

 

“No, but they do it often enough. What! Are you going to offer her

marriage?”

 

“You say she is homeless and friendless?’

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you believe she is just what she seems—just what her story shows her to

be?”

 

“Yes. I’ve seen too many frauds to be taken in. She isn’t a fraud. Neither

does she belong to that miserable, wishy-washy, downhill class that sooner or

later fetches up in a poorhouse. They say we’re all made of dust, but some

seem made of mud. You could see she was out of the common; and she’s here on

account of the wrong she received and not the wrong she did. I say all this

in fairness to her; but when it comes to marrying her, that’s another

question.”

 

“Tom, as I’ve told you, I don’t want to marry. In fact, I couldn’t go before

a minister and promise what I’d have to. But I could do something like this.

I could give this woman an honest name and a home. It would be marriage

before the law. No one could ever say a word against either of us. I would

be true and kind to her and she should share in my fortunes. That’s all. You

have often advised me to marry, and you know if I did it couldn’t be anything

else but a business affair. Then it ought to be done in a businesslike way.

You say I can’t get along alone, and like enough you’re right. I’ve learned

more from this woman’s manner than I have in a year why I can’t get and keep

the right kind of help, and I now feel if I could find a good, honest woman

who would make my interest hers, and help me make a living in my own home, I’d

give her my name and all the security which an honest name conveys. Now, this

poor woman is in sore need and she might be grateful for what I can do, while

any other woman would naturally expect me to promise more than I honestly can.

Anyhow, I’d have to go through the form, and I can’t and won’t go and say

sacred words—just about what I said when I married my wife—and know all the

time I was lying.”

 

“Well, Holcroft, you’re a queer dick and this is a queer plan of yours.

You’re beyond my depth now and I can’t advise.”

 

“Why is it a queer plan? Things only seem odd because they are not common. As

a matter of fact, you advise a business marriage. When I try to follow your

advice honestly and not dishonestly, you say I’m queer.”

 

“I suppose if everybody became honest, it would be the queerest world every

known,” said Tom laughing. “Well, you might do worse than marry this woman. I

can tell you that marrying is risky business at best. You know a justice will

tie you just as tight as a minister, and while I’ve given you my impression

about this woman, I KNOW little about her and you know next to nothing.”

 

“I guess that would be the case, anyhow. If you set out to find a wife for

me, where is there a woman that you actually do know more about? As for my

going here and there, to get acquainted, it’s out of the question. All my

feelings rise up against such a course. Now, I feel sorry for this woman.

She has at least my sympathy. If she is as friendless, poor, and unhappy as

she seems, I might do her as great a kindness as she would do for me if she

could take care of my home. I wouldn’t expect very much. It would be a

comfort just to have someone in the house that wouldn’t rob or waste, and who,

knowing what her station was, would be content. Of course I’d have to talk it

over with her and make my purpose clear. She might agree with you that it’s

too queer to be thought of. If so, that would be the end of it.”

 

“Will, Jim, you always finish by half talking me over to your side of a

question. Now, if my wife was home, I don’t believe she’d listen to any such

plan.”

 

“No, I suppose she wouldn’t. She’d believe in people marrying and doing

everything in the ordinary way. But neither I nor this woman is in ordinary

circumstances. Do you know of a justice?”

 

“Yes, and you know him, too; Justice Harkins.”

 

“Why, certainly. He came from our town and I knew him when he was a boy,

although I haven’t seen much of him of late years.”

 

“Well, shall I go and say to this woman—Alida Armstrong is her name now, I

suppose—that you wish to see her again?”

 

“Yes, I shall tell her the truth. Then she can decide.”

 

Chapter XVIII. Holcroft Gives His Hand

 

Alida was seated by a window with some of the mending in which she assisted,

and, as usual, was apart by herself. Watterly entered the large apartment

quietly, and at first she did not observe him. He had time to note that she

was greatly dejected, and when she saw him she hastily wiped tears from her

eyes.

 

“You are a good deal cast down, Alida,” he said, watching her closely.

 

“I’ve reason to be. I don’t see any light ahead at all.”

 

“Well, you know the old saying, ‘It’s darkest before day.’ I want you to come

with me again. I think I’ve found a chance for you.”

 

She rose with alacrity and followed. As soon as they were alone, he turned

and looked her squarely in the face as he said gravely, “You have good common

sense, haven’t you?”

 

“I don’t know, sir,” she faltered, perplexed and troubled by the question.

 

“Well, you can understand this much, I suppose. As superintendent of this

house I have a responsible position, which I could easily lose if I allowed

myself to be mixed up with anything wrong or improper. To come right to the

point, you don’t know much about me and next to nothing of my friend Holcroft,

but can’t you see that even if I was a heartless, good-for-nothing fellow, it

wouldn’t be wise or safe for me to permit anything that wouldn’t bear the

light?”

 

“I think you are an honest man, sir. It would be strange if I did not have

confidence when you have judged me and treated me so kindly. But, Mr.

Watterly, although helpless and friendless, I must try to do what I think is

best. If I accepted Mr. Holcroft’s position it might do him harm. You know

how quick the world is to misjudge. It would seem to confirm everything that

has been said against me,” and the same painful flush again overspread her

features.

 

“Well, Alida, all that you have to do is to listen patiently to my friend.

Whether you agree with his views or not, you will see that he is a

good-hearted, honest man. I want to prepare you for this talk by assuring you

that I’ve known him since he was a boy, that he has lived all his life in this

region and is known by many others, and that I wouldn’t dare let him ask you

to do anything wrong, even if I was bad enough.”

 

“I’m sure, sir, you don’t wish me any harm,” she again faltered in deep

perplexity.

 

“Indeed I don’t. I don’t advise my friend’s course; neither do I oppose it.

He’s certainly old enough to act for himself. I suppose I’m a rough counselor

for a young woman, but since you appear to have so few friends I’m inclined to

act as one. Just you stand on the question of right and wrong, and dismiss

from your mind all foolish notions of what people will say. As a rule, all

the people in the world can’t do as much for us as somebody in particular.

Now you go in the parlor and listen like a sensible woman. I’ll be reading

the paper,