The Clue. Carolyn Wells

you greatly, but he doesn't love you—at least, not as I do!"

      "Don't be foolish, Tom. Naturally you know nothing about Mr. Carleton's affection for me—he does not proclaim it from the housetops. And I desire you not to speak of it again."

      "Why should I speak of what doesn't exist? Forgive me, Maddy, but I love you so myself, it drives me frantic to see that man treating you so coolly."

      "He doesn't treat me coolly. Or, if he does, it's because I don't wish for tender demonstrations before other people. I'm fond of you, Tom, as you know, but I won't allow even you to criticise the man I am about to marry."

      "Oh, very well, marry him, then, and a precious unhappy life you'll lead with him,—and I know why."

      Madeleine turned on him, her eyes blazing with anger.

      "What do you mean? Explain that last remark of yours."

      "Small need! You know why as well as I do;" and Tom pushed his hands into his pockets and strode away, whistling, well knowing that he had roused his cousin's even temper at last.

      In addition to some of her Mapleton friends, Madeleine had invited two girls from New York to be her bridesmaids. Kitty French and Molly Gardner had already come and were staying at the Van Norman house the few days that would intervene before the wedding.

      Knowing Madeleine well, as they did, they had not expected confidence from her, nor did they look forward to cosy, romantic boudoir chats, such as many girls would enjoy.

      But neither had they expected the peculiar constraint that seemed to hang over all the members of the household.

      Mrs. Markham had been so long housekeeper, and even companion, for Madeleine that she was not looked upon as a servant, and to her Kitty French put a few discreet questions regarding the exceeding reserve of Mr. Carleton.

      "I don't know, Miss French," said the good woman, looking sadly disturbed. "I love Madeleine as I would my own child. I know she adores Mr. Carleton,—and—yes, I know he greatly admires her,—and yet there is something wrong. I can't express it—it's merely a feeling,—an intuition, but there is something wrong."

      "You know Mr. Willard is in love with Maddy," suggested Miss French.

      "Oh, it isn't that They've always had a cousinly affection for each other, and,—yes, Tom is in love with her,—but what I mean is aside from all that. The real reason that Madeleine flirts with Tom—for she does flirt with him-—is to pique Mr. Carleton. There! I've said more than I meant to, but you're too good a friend to let it make any trouble, and, anyway, in a few days they will be married, and then I'm sure it will be all right,—I'm sure of it."

      Like many people, Mrs. Markham emphasized by repetition a statement of whose truth she was far from sure.

      Chapter II.

       Miss Morton Arrives

       Table of Contents

      The day before the wedding the old house was a pleasant scene of bustle and confusion.

      Professional decorators were in charge of the great drawing-room, building a canopy of green vines and flowers, beneath which the bridal pair should stand the next day at high noon.

      This work was greatly hindered by a bevy of young people who thought they were helping.

      At last, noting a look of dumb exasperation on the face of one of the florist's men, Molly Gardner exclaimed, "I don't believe our help is needed here; come on, Kitty, let's go in the library and wait for tea-time."

      It was nearly five o'clock, and the girls found most of the house guests already assembled in the library, awaiting the arrival of the tea-tray.

      Several other young people were there also, most of them being those who were to be of the wedding cortege next day.

      Robert Fessenden, who was to be best man, had just come from New York, and had dropped in to see Miss Van Norman.

      Although he was an old friend of Carleton's, Madeleine did not know him very well, and though she made him welcome, it was with that coldly formal air that did not greatly attract the young man, but he could not fail to be impressed by her great beauty.

      "Lucky fellow, Carleton," he said to Tom Willard. "Why, that woman would create a sensation in any great city in the world."

      "Yes, she is too handsome to live all her life in a small village," agreed Tom. "I think they intend to travel a great deal."

      "An heiress, too, I believe."

      "Yes, she has all the desirable traits a woman can possess."

      "All?" Fessenden's tone was quizzical.

      "What do you mean?" asked Tom sharply.

      "Nothing; only, if I were to marry, I should prefer a little more softness of nature."

      "Oh, that's only her manner. My cousin is most sweet and womanly, I assure you."

      "I'm sure she is," returned Fessenden, who was a bit ashamed of his outspokenness; "and she's getting a sterling good fellow for a husband."

      "She is so," said Tom, heartily, which was kind of him, considering his own opinion of Carleton.

      And then both men strolled over to where Madeleine sat at the tea-table. She was reading a telegram that had just been brought to her, and she laughingly explained to Tom that it meant a bother for him.

      "Miss Morton has concluded to come to the wedding, after all," she said. "She wrote me that she wouldn't come, but she has changed her mind, it seems. Now, it does sound ridiculous, I know, but in this big house there isn't a room left for her but the one you have, Tom. You see, one bedroom is used for a 'present room,' one is reserved for Schuyler tomorrow, the bridesmaids have another, and except for our own rooms, and those already occupied by guests, there are no more. I hate to ask you, Tom, but could you go to the Inn?"

      "Sure, Maddy dear; anything to oblige. But it does seem too bad to turn me out of your house the very last day that your hospitality is all your own to offer. Tomorrow the grand Seigneur will be master here, and my timid little Madeleine can no longer call her soul her own."

      This reference to the tall and stately mistress of the house raised a general laugh, but Madeleine did not join in it.

      "I'm so sorry, Tom," she said earnestly, as she looked again at the telegram she was holding, "but Miss Morton was an old friend of Uncle Richard's, and as she wants to come here I can't turn her away. And unless you give her your room, there is no other."

      "Nonsense, Madeleine! I'm only joking. Of course I'll go to the hotel. Only too glad to accommodate Miss Morton. Forget it, girl; I assure you I don't mind a bit. I'll pack up a few traps after dinner and skip down to the picturesque, if rather ostentatious, Mapleton Inn."

      As Tom spoke he put his arm carelessly round Madeleine's shoulders, and though scarcely more than a cousinly caress, it was unfortunate that Schuyler Carleton should enter the room at that moment. A lightning glance flashed between the two men, and as Tom moved away from Madeleine with a slightly embarrassed shrug of his shoulders, Carleton's face grew so stern that an uncomfortable silence fell upon the guests.

      However, the arrival of the tea-tray saved the situation, and Madeleine at once busied herself in the pretty occupation of serving tea to her guests.

      With an air of jealous proprietorship, Carleton moved toward her and, looking handsome, though sulky, stood by Willard with folded arms, as if on guard.

      Urged on by a daredevil spirit of mischief, and perhaps remembering that Madeleine would soon be beyond his reach as Carleton's wife, Tom also moved toward her from the other side. Endeavoring to treat the situation lightly, Madeleine held up a newly-filled teacup.

      "Who will have this?" she asked gaily.

      "I will!" declared Carleton and Tom at