HER CLINGING ARMS
The ancient capital of Canada--the old gray queen of the mighty St.
Lawrence--is a city of many charms and of much stately beauty. Its narrow, climbing streets, with their quaint shops and curious gables, its old market, with chaffering habitant farmers and their wives, are full of living interest. Its noble rock, crowned with the ancient citadel, and its sweeping tidal river, lend it a dignity and majestic beauty that no other city knows; and everywhere about its citadel and walls, and venerable, sacred buildings, there still linger the romance and chivalry of heroic days long gone. But there are times when neither the interests of the living present nor the charms of the romantic past can avail, and so a shadow lay upon Maimie's beautiful face as she sat in the parlor of the Hotel de Cheval Blanc, looking out upon the mighty streets and the huddled roofs of the lower town. She held in her hand an open note.
"It is just awfully stupid," she grumbled, "and I think pretty mean of him!""Of whom, may I ask?" said Kate, pausing in her singing, "or is there any need? What says the gallant lieutenant?"Maimie tossed her the note.
"The picnic is postponed. Well, of course the rain told us that;and he is unavoidably prevented from calling, and entreats your sympathy and commiseration. Well, that's a very nice note, I am sure.""Where has he been these three days! He might have known it would be stupid, and Harry gives one no satisfaction." Maimie was undeniably cross. "And Ranald, too," she went on, "where has he been? Not even your music could bring him!" with a little spice of spite. "I think men are just horrid, anyway.""Especially when they will keep away," said Kate.
"Well, what are they good for if not to entertain us? I wish we could do without them! But I do think Ranald might have come.""Well," said Kate, emphatically, "I can't see why you should expect him.""Why not?"
"I think you ought to know."
"I, how should I know?" Maimie's innocent blue eyes were wide open with surprise.
"Nonsense," cried Kate, with impatience rare in her, "don't be absurd, Maimie; I am not a child.""What do YOU mean?"
"You needn't tell me you don't know why Ranald comes. Do you want him to come?""Why, of course I do; how silly you are."
"Well," said Kate, deliberately, "I would rather be silly than cruel and unkind.""Why, Kate, how dreadful of you!" exclaimed Maimie; "'cruel and unkind!'""Yes." said Kate; "you are not treating Ranald well. You should not encourage him to--to--care for you when you do not mean to--to--go on with it."
"Oh, what nonsense; Ranald is not a baby; he will not take any hurt.""Oh, Maimie," said Kate, and her voice was low and earnest, "Ranald is not like other men. He does not understand things. He loves you and he will love you more every day if you let him. Why don't you let him go?""Let him go!" cried Maimie, "who's keeping him?" But as she spoke the flush in her cheek and the warm light in her eye told more clearly than words that she did not mean to let him go just then.
"You are," said Kate, "and you are making him love you.""Why, how silly you are," cried Maimie; "of course he likes me, but--""No, Maimie," said Kate, with sad earnestness, "he loves you; you can see it in the way he looks at you; in his voice when he speaks and--oh, you shouldn't let him unless you mean to--to--go on. Send him right away!" There were tears in Kate's dark eyes.
"Why, Katie," cried Maimie, looking at her curiously, "what difference does it make to you? And besides, how can I send him away? I just treat him as I do Mr. De Lacy.""De Lacy!" cried Kate, indignantly. "De Lacy can look after himself, but Ranald is different. He is so serious and--and so honest, and he means just what he says, and you are so nice to him, and you look at him in such a way!""Why, Kate, do you mean that I try to--" Maimie was righteously indignant.
"You perhaps don't know," continued Kate, "but you can't help being fascinating to men; you know you are, and Ranald believes you so, and--and you ought to be quite straightforward with him!" Poor Kate could no longer command her voice.
"There, now," said Maimie, caressing her friend, not unpleased with Kate's description of her; "I'm going to be good. I will just be horrid to both of them, and they'll go away! But, oh, dear, things are all wrong! Poor Ranald," she said to herself, "I wonder if he will come to the picnic on Saturday?"Kate looked at her friend a moment and wiped away her tears.
"Indeed I hope he will not," she said, indignantly, "for I know you mean to just lead him on. I have a mind to tell him.""Tell him what?" said Maimie, smiling.
"Just what you mean to do."
"I wish you would tell me that."
"Now I tell you, Maimie," said Kate, "if you go on with Ranald so any longer I will just tell him you are playing with him.""Do," said Maimie, scornfully, "and be careful to make clear to him at the same time that you are speaking solely in his interest!"Kate's face flushed red at the insinuation, and then grew pale.
She stood for some time looking in silence at her friend, and then with a proud flash of her dark eyes, she swept from the room without a word, nor did Maimie see her again that afternoon, though she stood outside her door entreating with tears to be forgiven.
Poor Kate! Maimie's shaft had gone too near a vital spot, and the wound amazed and terrified her. Was it for Ranald's sake alone she cared? Yes, surely it was. Then why this sharp new pain under the hand pressing hard upon her heart?
Oh, what did that mean? She put her face in her pillow to hide the red that she knew was flaming in her cheeks, and for a few moments gave herself up to the joy that was flooding her whole heart and soul and all her tingling veins. Oh, how happy she was. For long she had heard of the Glengarry lad from Maimie and more from Harry till there had grown up in her heart a warm, admiring interest.
