The Trumpeter Swan Part 33

And now Mary sobbed--a little slip of a thing in her father's arms.

All the long months she had kept her secret, holding it safe in her heart, dreading yet longing for the moment when she could tell the world that she was the wife of Truxton Beaufort, whom she had adored from babyhood.

"I would have married him, Dad, if--if I had had to tramp the road."

Truxton came on the noon train. He drove at once to Huntersfield with his mother, was embraced by the Judge, kissed Becky, and suddenly disappeared.

"Where's he gone?" the Judge asked, irritably. "Where has he gone, Claudia?"

"He will be back in time for lunch," said Mrs. Beaufort. "May I speak to you in the library, Father?"

Becky, from the moment of her aunt's arrival, had known that something was wrong. She had expected to see Mrs. Beaufort glowing with renewed youth, radiant. Instead, she looked as if a blight had come upon her, shrivelled--old. When she smiled it was without joy; she was dull and flat.

It was a half hour before Aunt Claudia came out from the library. "My dear," she said, finding Becky still on the porch, "I have something to tell yon. Will you go up-stairs with me?--I--think I should like to--lie down----"

Becky put a strong young arm about her and they went up together.

"It's--it's about Truxton," Aunt Claudia said, p.r.o.ne on the couch in her room. "Becky--he's married----"

"_Married?_"

"Married, my dear. He did not tell me until--last night. He wanted me to be happy--as long as I could. He's a dear boy, Becky--but--he's married----" She went on presently with an effort. "He has been married over two years--and, Becky--he has married--Mary Flippin."

"_Aunt Claudia----_"

"He married her in Petersburg--before he went to France with the first ambulance corps. They decided not to tell anyone. Mary took Truxton's middle name. When the baby came, Truxton was wild to write us, but Mary--wouldn't. She felt if he was here when it was told that we would forgive him---- If anything--happened to him--she didn't want him to die feeling that we had--blamed him---- I must say that Mary--was wise--but--to think that my son has married--Mary Flippin."

"Mary's a dear," said Becky stoutly.

"Yes," Aunt Claudia agreed, "but not a wife for my son. I had such hopes for him, Becky. He could have married anybody."

Becky knew the kind of woman that Aunt Claudia had wanted Truxton to marry--one whose ancestors were like those whose portraits hung in the hall at Huntersfield--a woman with a high-held head--a woman whose family traditions paralleled those of the Bannisters and Beauforts.

"Then Fiddle is Truxton's child."

"And I am a grandmother, Becky. Mrs. Flippin and I are grandmothers----" She said it with a sort of bitter mirth.

"What did Grandfather say?"

"I left him--raging. It was--very hard on me. I had hoped--he would make it easy. He declares that Mary Flippin shan't step inside of his front door. That he is going to recall all the invitations that he had sent out for to-night. I tried to show him that now that the thing is done--we might as well--accept it. But he wouldn't listen. If he keeps it up like this, I don't want Truxton to come back--to lunch. I had hoped that he might bring Mary with him---- She's his wife, Becky--and I've got to love her----"

"Aunt Claudia," Becky came over and put her arms about the pitiful black figure, "you are the best sport--ever----"

"No, I'm not," but Aunt Claudia kissed her, and for a moment they clung together; "you mustn't make me cry, Becky."

But she did cry a little, wiping her eyes with her black-bordered handkerchief, and saying all the time, "He's my son, Becky. I--I can't put him away from me----"

"He loved her," said Becky, with a catch of her breath. "I--I think that counts a great deal, Aunt Claudia."

"Yes, it does. And they did no wrong. They were only foolish children."

"If anyone was to blame," she went on steadily, "it was Truxton. He had been brought up a--gentleman. He knew what was expected of a man of his birth and breeding. Secrecy is never honorable and I told him--last night--that I was sorry to be less proud of my son than of the men who had gone before him."

"Did you tell him that?"

"Yes. If pride of family means anything, Becky, it means holding on to the finest of your traditions. If you break the rules--you are a little less fine--a little less worthy----"

What a stern little thing she was. Yet one felt the stimulus of her strength. "Aunt Claudia," said Becky, tremulously, "if I could only be as sure of things as yon are----"

"What things?"

"Of right and wrong and all the rest of it."

"I don't know what you mean by all the rest. But right is right, and wrong is wrong, my dear. There is no half-way, in spite of all the sophistries with which people try to salve their consciences."

She stopped, and plunged again into the discussion of her problem. "I must telephone to Truxton--he mustn't come--not until his grandfather asks him, Becky."

"He is coming now," said Becky, who sat by the window. "Look, Aunt Claudia."

Tramping up the hail towards the second gate was a tall figure in khaki. Resting like a rose-petal on one shoulder was a mite of a child in pink rompers.

"He is bringing Fiddle with him," Becky gasped. "Oh, Aunt Claudia, he is bringing Fiddle."

Aunt Claudia rose and looked out---- "Well," she said, "let her come.

She's his child. If Father turns them out, I'll go with them."

Truxton saw them at the window and waved. "Shall we go down?" Becky said.

"No--wait a minute. Father's in the hall." Aunt Claudia stood tensely in the middle of the room. "Becky, listen over the stair rail to what they are saying."

"But----"

"Go on," Aunt Claudia insisted; "there are times when--one breaks the rules, Becky. I've got to know what they are saying----"

The voices floated up. Truxton's a lilting tenor----

"Are you going to forgive us, Grandfather?"

"I am not the grandfather of Mary Flippin's child," the Judge spoke evidently without heat.

"You are the grandfather of Fidelity Branch Beaufort," said Truxton coolly; "you can't get away from that----"

"The neighborhood calls her Fiddle Flippin," the Judge reminded him.

"What's in a name?" said Truxton, and swung his baby high in the air.

"Do you love your daddy, Fiddle-dee-dee?"

"'Ess," said Fiddle, having accepted him at once on the strength of sweet chocolate, and an adorable doll.