Brentwood (Romance Classic). Grace Livingston Hill

conscience, since you seem to be exercised in the matter. But on no account let them know that you have done anything for them. They will just be after you all the time, begging and whining, and making your life a misery. They are all suckers, those people! They never cared anything for you or they wouldn't have sold you in the first place. And now you are a being of another world than theirs and they have no right to intrude into your life and try to get your property away from you! I insist—!"

      Marjorie drew her hand decidedly away from under his again and stood up, her own chin lifted defiantly, her eyes bright and indignant.

      "Evan! You must not talk that way! You simply don't understand at all. I thought you were my friend and I could talk it over with you, but you don't seem willing to listen. I'm sorry I mentioned it, but since I have started I must finish. I tell you Mother left me a letter in which she tells me more about my people than I ever knew, and than she ever knew until a few months before Father died. I think she meant to tell me, but found it hard to talk about, and so left this letter. She gives me all the circumstances of my adoption, and how my own mother afterwards was grieved that she had given me up and begged to see me, and—"

      "Yes! Exactly! Didn't I tell you? People like that can never honorably abide by a bargain—"

      "Please don't interrupt me, Evan. You must hear me to the end. Mother felt I ought to know about everything, and that I was free to do what I liked about hunting up my people and doing everything I liked for them. She says in the letter that they positively refused money. Sent back a check that she sent them!"

      "Oh, probably only a fine gesture!" sneered Evan. "My dear, trust me! I know that class of people—"

      "Be careful, Evan," said Marjorie drawing herself up. "Please don't say any more! It is my own mother and father you are talking about! This is something I have to work out myself. I'm sorry I said anything about it until I had made my decision."

      "But, darling, be reasonable!" said Evan softening his voice. Marjorie didn't even notice he had called her darling. It was such a common phrase of the day, and Evan was a very close friend. But his voice was less aggressive now, more gentle. He got up and stood beside her, taking her hands in his and drawing her nearer to him. "Listen, little girl! If you are really serious about this thing, of course it will have to be investigated. I still think it would be better not, but if you have set your conscience to it, I beg you will let me do the investigating for you. I am a lawyer. I know how to protect your interests, and I will do whatever you want done conscientiously. I am sure you can trust me, Marjorie. I love you, don't you know it, little girl?"

      She looked up at him startled. It was the first time he had ever spoken of love. He had just been a good friend, somewhat as she supposed a brother might be, only more polite than some brothers. One who would protect and advise and care for her when she needed it. And even now she was not sure but it was just in this way he meant that he loved her, as a man might love a dear sister whom he wanted to guide and protect. But somehow he had created a doubt in her mind as to his full willingness to understand and do all that she needed now. She could not get away from the harshness in his voice when he had said "Let sleeping dogs lie!" The, very words by which he had hoped to turn her away from her purpose had served to clarify her decision, and give her a certain loyalty to these unknown ones of her family.

      Her eyes searched his for an instant, keenly, doubtfully. There was a light in his own as he looked possessively down at her now, that seemed to be different from any look she had ever noticed there before, but it did not stir her deeply. She tried to think that perhaps this was the rest she sought, Evan's love and care, but the thought failed to bring any joy or rest. If this was love she wasn't ready for it yet, not until she had found out the whole truth about her people.

      She drew back and tried gently to take her hands away from his clasp, but he held them firmly and drew her closer.

      "Dear little girl!" he said suddenly, putting his face down and laying his cheek against hers, seeking her lips with his own and pressing a kiss upon them.

      For an instant she yielded herself to that embrace, her lips to that kiss; but only an instant so brief it might scarcely have been recognized by the man as yielding. For suddenly she sprang away, and put out her hands in protest.

      "No, please, not now! I can't think of such things now!"

      He snatched at her hands again, trying to draw her back quietly to his embrace.

      "Poor child!" he said stooping and kissing her fingers gently. "Don't you realize that this is where you belong, in my arms? Don't you love me?"

      "I don't know!" said Marjorie turning unhappy eyes away from him. "I haven't ever thought of you in this way. And my heart is full of so many other things now."

      "I know, poor child!" he continued. "But you do love me. I'm sure you do. I've seen it in your eyes a thousand times when you have looked at me. You love me only you haven't recognized it as love yet! But I will teach you what love means!"

      And he suddenly drew her close again and pressed hot kisses on her lips.

      But now she sprang away again, covering her face with her hands.

      "No! No!" she cried out. "I will not let you kiss me until I am sure, and I am not now! Please, won't you go away and let me think? My mind is so tired and all mixed up!"

      "Poor child!" he said gently. "I am sorry if I have seemed to hurry you. I only wanted to show you that I am your natural protector. But I am willing to wait, to go slow, till your sorrow is not so sharp. I only ask one thing of you and that is that you will not make any move in this matter of your family till you have talked with me again. That you will think it over, and if anything has to be done you will let me handle it for you. Will you promise?"

      Marjorie was still for several seconds, looking down at her hands clasped tightly before her, then she said slowly, seriously:

      "I will promise to think over what you said. Everything that you have said."

      She looked up at him quietly, and smiled a cold little wistful smile. Then she added:

      "I'm sorry to seem so—uncertain—and so—unappreciative—of your—love. But I just can't seem to think tonight!"

      "Well, that's all right, little girl!" he said and his voice was very gentle again, as if he were talking to a child who didn't quite understand. "I know you've been terribly upset, and I don't want to rush you. But I do want you to understand that you can come to me for everything!"

      "Thank you!" she said simply, but her face looked white and tired.

      He was a wise young man and he saw that he couldn't get any further tonight.

      "Well, then, we'll say good night. Are you going to let me kiss you again?"

      "Please, no," she said with a troubled protest in her eyes.

      "All right," said the young man gravely. "It shall be as you wish, but I wish you would consider that we are engaged. I'd like to put a ring on your finger tomorrow and feel that you are my promised wife."

      Marjorie turned her head away and looked troubled again.

      "I can't think of these things now!" she said. "Please let us be just friends, as we have always been!"

      He studied her for a moment and then his lips set in a firm line of determination.

      "Very well," he said quite cheerfully. "I am just your friend for now, but a very special friend, you know. One whom you can call upon for anything. Will you feel that?"

      She smiled with relief.

      "Yes," she said. "Thank you! Good night!" and she put out her hand and gave his a brief impersonal clasp.

      Then he was gone, and she stood alone, looking down at the gardenias he had brought, and wondering why she had not thrilled to his touch. Why, somehow, her feeling of his friendliness had been lost in a new something that she did not understand nor want. Not now, anyway.

      II