The Blythes Are Quoted (30 page)

Calm as a reaped harvest height

Lying in the dim moonlight,

Yet with wrinkles round the eyes,

Jolly, tolerant and wise:

Beauty gone but in its place

Such a savour, such a grace

Won from the fantastic strife

Of this odd business we call life.

Many a wild, adventurous year

Wrote its splendid record here,

Stars of many an old romance

Shine in that ironic glance;

Many a hideous vital day

Came and smote and passed away,

Now this face is ripe and glad,

Patient, sane, a little sad.

Friend to life yet with no fear

Of the darkness drawing near;

Those so-gallant eyes must see

Dawnlight of eternity,

See the Secret Vision still

High on some supernal hill ...

Tis a daring hope I hold

To look like this when I am old.

Anne Blythe

DR. BLYTHE
:- “One of your best, Anne. And I think I know the inspiration. Old Captain Jim, wasn’t it?”

ANNE
,
dreamily:
- “Partly. But there were others, too ... all blended together.”

SUSAN
:- “It reminds me of an uncle of my mother’s.”

DR. BLYTHE
:- “Do you really think life a fantastic business, Anne?”

ANNE
,
smiling:
- “Parts of it are, don’t you think?”

SUSAN
,
to herself:
- “Well, I never had any beauty to lose, so as far as that goes, getting old won’t matter to me. And if that queer old fellow they call Whiskers-on-the-Moon gets old he won’t lose much beauty either. But he is fantastic enough.”

Miss Shelley was going over to Lowbridge to forgive Lisle Stephens for stealing Ronald Evans from her thirty years ago.

She had had a hard struggle to bring herself to do it. Night after night she had wrestled with herself. She looked so pale and wan that her niece secretly consulted Dr. Blythe about her and got the tonic he recommended.

But Miss Shelley would not take the tonic. The struggle continued. Yet morning after morning she confessed herself defeated. And she knew quite well that she could not look the Rev. Mr. Meredith in the face until she had won the battle. He lived on such a high spiritual plane ... to quote Mrs. Blythe ... that it was hard for him to understand things like the quarrel between herself and Lisle Stephens.

“We must forgive ... we must not cherish old bitternesses and grievances and wrongs,” he had said, looking like an inspired prophet.

The Presbyterians of Glen St. Mary worshipped him ... especially Miss Shelley. He was a widower and had a family but she would not let herself remember that. Neither did she think any more highly of Mrs. Dr. Blythe after hearing her say to her husband as they had come down the church steps, “I suppose I’ll have to forgive Josie Pye after that sermon.”

Miss Shelley had no idea who Josie Pye was or what had been the nature of the quarrel between her and Mrs. Blythe. But it could never have been as bitter as the one between her and Lisle Stephens.

Miss Shelley could not conceive of Mrs. Blythe cherishing bitterness for thirty years. She liked her but she thought her too shallow for that. She had been heard to say that it was a pity Dr. Blythe had not selected a woman of deeper nature for his wife.

Miss Shelley’s neighbours had said that she thought he ought to have waited for her niece. But Miss Shelley did not know that and in due time she came to like Mrs. Blythe very well.

And at last she had brought herself to forgive Lisle and not only forgive her but to go and tell her she forgave her.

She felt indescribably uplifted over her victory. If only Mr. Meredith might know of it! But there was no chance of that. She could never tell him and she was very sure Lisle would not. She drew her shabby fur coat around her withered throat and looked at all travellers who passed her with condescending pity. It was not likely one of them knew the triumph of thus conquering their baser selves.

Lisle Stephens and she had been friends all through childhood and girlhood. Lisle had no end of beaus, but she, Myrtle Shelley, a little, thin, red-haired girl with large blue eyes, never had any until Ronald Evans came. Lisle had been away then on a visit to her aunt in Toronto.

It was apparently love at first sight with them both. Ronald was handsome. Slim-waisted and lean-hipped, with sleek, dark hair and dark, heavy-lidded eyes. There had never been anyone like him in Glen St. Mary.

Then came the barn dance.

Grey Myrtle Shelley recalled that dance as of yesterday. She had looked forward to it so eagerly. It would be the first time she had danced with Ronald. They would go home together beneath the moon which seemed waiting for the miracle.

Perhaps he would kiss her. She knew the Glen St. Mary girls were often kissed by the boys ... she had even heard some of them boast of it ... but she, Myrtle Shelley, had never been kissed.

She remembered the gown she had worn to the dance. Her mother thought it very frivolous. It was of pale green nun’s veiling with a red belt. She thought it became her. Ronald had once told her her skin was like a flower. That had been flattery but it was pleasant to hear. She had not had a great many compliments in her life.

When she reached the barn the first thing she had seen was Ronald dancing with Lisle, who had returned home that day. Ronald waved his hand to Myrtle but he did not ask her to dance. He danced with Lisle most of the evening and when they were not dancing they were sitting out in one of the buggies behind the barn.

He ate supper with her and after supper they disappeared. He never even looked at Myrtle with his handsome, careless eyes.

She came face to face with them later under the gay Chinese lanterns strung outside the barn. Lisle was flushed and excited. Her thick, wheat-hued hair was tied close to her head with a fillet of blue ribbon. Her tilted, golden-brown eyes were shining. What chance had anyone against eyes like that?

“Hello, darling,” she said to Myrtle, breezily and brazenly. “I just got home today. What have you been doing with yourself while I was away? Busy as a bee, as usual, I suppose, you industrious little creature. Mr. Evans, have you met my friend, Miss Shelley? We’ve always been great chums.”

Myrtle had lifted her hand and slapped Lisle across her face.

“What on earth do you mean, Myrtle Shelley?” Lisle had exclaimed indignantly.

To do Lisle justice she had not the faintest idea why she had been slapped. She had never heard that Ronald Evans was “beauing” Myrtle Shelley ... though it might not have made much difference if she had!

Myrtle said nothing ... had simply turned her back and gone home.

“Well, of all the jealous creatures!” Lisle had exclaimed when Ronald had made some lame explanation.

Lisle had flaunted Ronald for several weeks after that, then dropped him before he went away. She said he had nothing in either his head or his pocket. She tried to make up with Myrtle but was icily repulsed.

The next spring Lisle had married Justin Rogers, a Lowbridge merchant, who had been “after her” for years, and had gone to Lowbridge to live. Myrtle Shelley had never seen her since, though she had heard ten years ago of Justin Rogers’ death.

But now, thirty years after that dreadful night, she was going to forgive Lisle, fully and freely, at last. She revelled in her luxury of forgiveness.

It was quite a distance from the Glen to Lowbridge and Miss Shelley refused all offers of a “lift.” Her feet ached and the nipping wind brought tears into her faded blue eyes. She also knew that the tip of her nose was red. But she kept on resolutely.

Lisle’s house was a trim, well-groomed one. It was said Justin Rogers had left his widow well provided for. The bay window was full of very fine geraniums and begonias. Miss Shelley had never had any luck with begonias, though Susan Baker had given her slips from the finest plants at Ingleside.

Lisle came to the door. Miss Shelley knew her at once. The same sleek curves, the same tilted eyes, the same golden hair, with hardly a thread of grey in it.

“Just as flippant as ever,” thought Myrtle virtuously. “Lipstick! And her fifty!”

But she noted that Lisle was beginning to have pouches under her eyes. There was some satisfaction in that ... until she remembered Mr. Meredith.

“I ... I feel that I
should
know that face,” said Lisle. Her voice had not changed. It was still smooth and creamy.

“I am Myrtle Shelley.”

“Myrtle ... darling! Why, I’d never have known you ... how many years is it since I’ve seen you? Of course I hardly ever leave home ... but I
am
glad to see you again. We used to be such chums, didn’t we? Come right in. You don’t mean to tell me you’ve walked all the way down here from the Glen! You poor lamb! Aren’t you just dead? Surely somebody might have given you a lift. I always say people are getting more selfish all the time.”

“I didn’t want a lift,” said Myrtle.

“You were always so independent ... and a good walker, too. Do you remember the long walks we used to take together around the harbour?”

“Yes, I remember them,” said Myrtle. “And I remember another walk I took ... alone.”

“Oh, take
this
chair,” said Lisle, wondering what on earth Myrtle meant. She had heard she was getting a little queer. But fifty was too young for that. Lisle Rogers, at fifty, still thought herself quite young. Hadn’t Dr. Blythe guessed her age as forty?

“You’ll find it heaps more comfortable. Why, you are shivering. A good cup of tea will warm you up in a trice. Do
you remember how we used to laugh at the old ladies with their cups of tea? Fifty seemed to us very venerable then, didn’t it?”

“I didn’t come for a cup of tea,” said Myrtle.

“Of course not. But we’ll have one all the same. It won’t be a mite of trouble. And we’ll have a gabfest over old times. Nothing better than a good gossip over a cup of tea, I always say, is there, darling? Though people do say there never was a woman less addicted to gossiping than I am. But with an old friend like you it’s different, isn’t it? We just have a million things to talk over. Didn’t we have some silly old quarrel years ago? What
did
we fight about anyhow?”

Miss Shelley had not intended to sit down in Lisle Rogers’ house but she accepted the proffered chair because she felt a little queer.

“You ... you took Ronald Evans away from me at the Clark barn dance,” she said stonily.

Lisle Rogers stared for a moment. Then her plump shoulders shook.

“Who on earth was Ronald Evans? I seem to remember the name. Was
that
what we squabbled over? Weren’t we a pair of idiots? I was a terror to the boys in them days. I had only to
look
at them. It was my eyes ... folks used to say there was something about them ... sort of come-hither, really. Even yet, there are some old widowers and bachelors ... but I’ve had enough of the men. They are all alike ... blaming every mistake they make on the women. I don’t know but you were wise never to marry. Susan Baker says the only woman she knows that she would change places with is Mrs. Dr. Blythe. I’ve never met her. What is she like?”

Myrtle Shelley had not come to Lowbridge to discuss Mrs. Dr. Anybody. She did not reply and Mrs. Rogers babbled on.

“I remember Ronald now. Whatever became of him? He was a perfect clown to dance with, in spite of his good looks ... stepped all over my toes. I could never wear those slippers again. But he could pay compliments. It all comes back to me though I haven’t thought of him for years. Ain’t men funny? Put your feet up on this hot fender.”

“Do you remember that I slapped your face?” persisted Miss Shelley.

Lisle Rogers burst out laughing as she measured the tea into the teapot.

“Did you really? Yes, I believe you did. I’d forgotten that part of it. Well, never mind sitting on the mourner’s bench now about it, honey. Forgive and forget has always been my motto. Now we’ll have a real nice visit together and never think of all our old foolishness. We were only children anyhow. People
do
quarrel over such simple things, don’t they?”

To be forgiven when you came to forgive!

Myrtle Shelley stood up. Her face had turned a dull crimson. Her faded blue eyes flashed fire. Deliberately she slapped Lisle Rogers across her smiling face ... a hard, no-nonsense-about-it, tingling slap.

“You didn’t remember that first slap,” she said. “Perhaps you will remember this one,” she said.

Miss Shelley walked back to Glen St. Mary minding neither cold wind nor fallen arches after that satisfying slap. She did not even care what the Rev. Mr. Meredith might think about it. She had seldom done anything that gave her such a sense of not having lived in vain. Yes, Lisle would remember
that
slap if she had forgotten the other.

Uncle Stephen Brewster’s funeral was over ... the house part at least. Everybody had gone to the cemetery, or home ... everybody except Patrick, who wanted to be called Pat and never got anything but Patrick, save from Walter Blythe, out at Glen St. Mary. And he seldom saw Walter. Uncle Stephen did not like the Blythes ... he said he did not like educated women; it spoiled them for their duties in life. So it was only the Brewster boys who ever called Patrick Pat ... and they mostly called him Patty and laughed at him because they knew he hated it.

But he was glad they had not taken him to the cemetery. Graveyards always frightened him ... though he could not tell why. The father he did not remember at all and the mother he remembered so dimly had been swallowed up in a graveyard.

But all at once the loneliness of the big house overwhelmed him. Loneliness is a terrible thing for anyone and most of all when you are only eight and nobody likes you. Patrick knew quite well that nobody liked him ... unless it was Walter Blythe, with whom he had felt a strange kinship the few times they had met. Walter was like himself ... quiet and dreamy ... and did not seem to mind owning up that he was afraid of some things.