Tessa Wadsworth's Discipline Part 59

He closed the door and seated himself on a chair near the end of the trunk.

"There is a confusion somewhere that I _do_ mind," he began nervously.

She looked up in surprise. "Why, father, is there something that you don't like? Don't you like it about Dine?"

"Daughter, if you are so blind that you will not see, I must tell you. I like it well enough about Dine, but I do not like it about _you_?"

Was it about Dr. Towne? How could he object to him? For he could not be aware of _her_ objection.

"I am afraid that you are teasing Gus rather too much."

"Teasing Gus! I never really teased him in my life. We have never quarrelled even once."

"I thought that women were quick about such things, but you are as blind as a bat."

"Such things?" She was making room for a glove box, a pretty one of Russia leather that Gus had given her. "He never cares for what I say!"

"How do you know that?"

"How do I know?" she repeated in perplexity, making s.p.a.ce in a corner while she considered her reply. "Don't _you_ know why he can not be teased by what I say and do?"

"I know this-he has asked me if he may marry you some day."

"_Me!_ You mean Dine. You can't mean me. I know it is Dine."

"Oh, child," laughing heartily, "why should I mean Dine? Why should it not be you?"

"It must be Dine," she said positively. "Didn't he say Dine?"

"Am I in my dotage?"

"Couldn't you misunderstand?"

"No, I could not. What is the matter with you, to-night? You act as if you were bewildered."

"So I am."

"One evening, on the piazza, was it in May or June? I was not well and I said so to him; and he answered by telling me that he had always thought of you, that he had grown up hoping to marry you. Dine! Am I blind? Have I been blind these ten years?"

"Didn't he say any thing about Dine?"

"We spoke of her, of course. I would not tell you, but I see how you are playing with him; he will not intrude himself. O, Tessa, for a bright girl, you are very stupid."

"I am not bright; I am stupid."

"This sisterly love is all very well, but a man can not bear to have it carried too far. He is pure gold, daughter; he is worthy of a princess.

Now don't worry; you haven't done any harm. Go to bed and go to sleep; you have had too much worry this last week."

"I know it must be Dine."

"If you did not look half sick, I would be angry with you. I thought women were quick witted."

"I suppose some are," she said slowly. "He will never ask me, never."

"Why not?" he asked sharply.

"Because-because-"

"Because you haven't thought of it. If you do not like any one-and I don't see how you can-you don't, do you?"

"I don't-know."

"There! There, dear, don't cry! Go to sleep and forget it."

"I thought it was Dine. I have always thought that it was Dine."

"Well, good night. Don't throw away the best man in the world. I have known him ever since he wore dresses, and he is worthy-even of you. Put out your light and go to sleep. Don't give him a heartache."

"Oh, I won't, I won't-if I can help it!"

"Don't have any whims. There, child, don't cry! Kiss me and go to sleep."

She did not cry; she was stunned and bewildered; it was too dreadful to be true; even if she did love Ralph Towne she would not love him if it would make unhappy this friend and helper of all her life! This new friend should not come between them to make him miserable. Even if the old dream about Ralph Towne _could_ come true, she would not accept his love at the cost of Gus Hammerton's happiness. Was he not her right arm?

Was he not her right eye? She had never missed him because he had always lived in her life; he was as much a part of her home as her father and Dine; she would give up any thing rather than hurt him. Had she not suffered with him when she thought that he was unhappy about Dine? She had loved him so much that she had never thought of loving him; she had been so proud that he had loved Dine. Was it his influence that had kept her from loving Felix Harrison? Was he the hindrance that was coming between her and Dr. Towne? Was she troubled because she could not honor and trust Dr. Towne as she had unconsciously honored and trusted this old, old friend? If the illusion about Ralph Towne had never been dispelled, she would not have discovered that Gus Hammerton was "pure gold" as her father had said. They were both miserable to-night because of her-and she had permitted one of them to kiss her. Ralph Towne had left her once to fight out her battle alone-he had not been the shadow of a rock in her weary land-she could think of this now away from the fascination of his presence; but, present or absent, there was no doubt, no reasoning about the old friend; he had been tried, he was steadfast and true. True, she had forgiven Ralph Towne; but her forgiveness had not wrought any change in him. He was the Ralph Towne of a year ago, with this difference that now he loved her. Had his love for her wrought any change in him? Was he not himself? Would he not always be himself?

Was she satisfied with him if she could feel the need of change?

A year ago would she have reasoned thus? Where love is, is there need of reasoning to prove its existence, its depth or its power of continuance?

She knew that she loved G.o.d; she knew that she loved her father. If she loved Ralph Towne, why did she not know that, also?

Why must she reason? Why might she not _know_? She did not know that she loved him. Did she know that she did _not_ love him? Wearied even to exhaustion, her head drooped until it touched the soft pile in the open trunk; there were no tears, not a sound moved her lips; she was very glad that she was going away.

If she might tell Gus, would he not talk it over to her and make it plain? It would not be the first matter in which he had taught her to discern between the wrong and the right. Was there a wrong and a right in this choosing?

The large tears gathered and fell.

Ralph Towne could not help her; he would say caressingly, "Love me, and end the matter." In her extremity he was not a helper. Would he ever be in any extremity of hers?

The tears fell for very weariness and bewilderment. What beside was there to shed tears about? She was so weary that she had forgotten.

A laugh in the hall below; the sound of a scuffle, another laugh, and the closing of the street door.

Those two children!

Dinah burst into the room, still laughing. "Why, Tessa! All through! You look as if you wanted to pack yourself up, too," she cried in a breezy voice. "The candle is almost burnt down."

"No matter. Don't get another."

"Your voice sounds as if you were sick. Mother has been expecting you to be too sick to go."