Chapter 2

The village gossips were pleased to commend this union, as Mr. Carleton
was a man of irreproachable habits, and handsome enough to appear well
beside the magnificent Madeleine.

He was not a rich man, but, as her marriage would bring her inheritance,
they could rank among the millionaires of the day. Yet there were those
who feared for the future happiness of this apparently ideal couple.

Mrs. Markham, who was both housekeeper and chaperon to her young charge,
mourned in secret over the attitude of the betrothed pair.

“He adores her, I’m sure,” she said to herself, “but he is too courtly
and polished in his manner. I’d rather he would impulsively caress her,
or involuntarily call her by some endearing name than to be always so
exquisitely deferential and polite. And Madeleine must love him, or why
should she marry him? Yet she is so haughty and formal, she might be a
very duchess instead of a young American girl. But that’s Madeleine all
over. I’ve never seen her exhibit any real emotion over anything. Ah,
well, I’m an old-fashioned fool. Doubtless, they’re cooing doves when
alone together, but their high-bred notions won’t allow any sentiment
shown before other people. But I almost wish she were going to marry
Tom. He has sentiment and enthusiasm enough for two, and the
relationship is so distant it’s not worth thinking about. Dear old Tom!
He’s the only one who ever stirs Madeleine out of that dignified calm of
hers.”

And that was true enough. Madeleine had inherited the Van Norman traits
of dignity and reserve to such an extent that it was difficult for any
one to be a really close friend.

She had, too, a strange little air of preoccupation, and even when
interested in a conversation would appear to look through or beyond her
companion in a way that was discouraging to the average caller.

So Miss Van Norman was by no means a favorite with the Mapleton young
people in a personal sense, but socially she was their leader, and to be
on her invitation list was the highest aspiration of the village
“climbers.”

And now that she was about to marry Schuyler Carleton, the event of the
wedding was the only thing talked of, thought of, or dreamed of by
Mapleton society.

Madeleine, who always kept in touch with Tom Willard by correspondence,
had written him of her approaching marriage, and he had responded by
coming at once to America to attend the ceremony.

Relieved from the embarrassment of his uncle’s presence, Tom was his
jovial self, and showed forth all the reprehensible attractiveness which
so often belongs to the scapegrace nature. He sometimes quarreled with
Madeleine over trifles, then, making up the next minute, he would caress
and pet her with the privileged air of a relative.

He was glad to be back among the familiar scenes of Mapleton, and he
went about the town renewing old acquaintances and making new ones, and
charming all by his winning personality.

In less than a week he had more friends in the village than Schuyler
Carleton had ever made.

Carleton, though handsome and distinguished-looking, was absolutely
without personal magnetism or charm, which traits were found in
abundance in Tom Willard.

The friends of Schuyler Carleton attributed his reserved, almost
repellent demeanor to shyness, and this was partly true. His
acquaintances said it was indifference, and this again, was partly true.
Then his enemies, of whom he had some, vowed that his cold, curt manner
of speech was merely snobbishness, and this was not true at all.

His manner toward his fiancée was all that the most exacting could
require in the matter of courtesy and punctilious politeness. He was
markedly undemonstrative in public, and if this were true of his
behavior when the two were alone, it was probably because Madeleine
herself neither inspired nor desired terms or acts of endearment.

Tom’s attitude toward Madeleine angered Carleton extremely, but when he
spoke to her on the subject he was gaily informed that the matter of
cousinly affection was outside the jurisdiction of a fiancée.

Tom, on his part, was desperately in love with Madeleine, and had been
for years. Repeatedly he had begged her to marry him, and she knew in
her heart that his plea was prompted by his love for herself and not by
any consideration of her fortune.

And yet, should she marry another, all hope of his uncle’s money would
be forever lost to Tom Willard.

But prodigal and spendthrift that he was, if Tom felt any regret at his
vanishing fortunes, he showed no sign of it. Save for sudden and often
easily provoked bursts of temper, he was infectiously gay and merry, and
was the life of the house party already gathered under Madeleine’s roof.

The fact that Tom was staying at the Van Norman house, which of course
Carleton could not do, gave Willard an advantage over the prospective
bridegroom, of which he was by no means unconscious. Partly to tease the
imperturbable but jealous Carleton, and partly because of his own
affection for his cousin, Tom devoted himself assiduously to Madeleine,
especially when Carleton was present.

“You see, Maddy,” Tom would say, “there are only a few days left of our
boy and girl chumminess. I fancy that after you are married, Schuyler
won’t let me speak to you, save in most formal terms, so I must see all
I can of you now.”

Then he would tuck her arm through his own, and take her for a stroll in
the grounds, and Carleton, coming to search for her, would find them
cosily chatting in a secluded arbor, or drifting lazily in a canoe on
the tiny, lily-padded lake.

These things greatly annoyed Schuyler Carleton, but remonstrance was
never an easy task for him, nor did it ever affect Madeleine pleasantly.

“I wish, Madeleine,” he had said one day, when he had waited two hours
for her to return from a drive with Tom, “that you would have a little
regard for appearances, if you have none for my wishes. It is not seemly
for my betrothed wife to be driving all over the country with another
man.”

Magnificent Madeleine looked straight at him, tilting her head back
slightly to look beneath her half-closed lids.

“It is not seemly,” she said, “for my betrothed husband to imply that I
could be at fault in a matter of propriety or punctilio. That is not
possible.”

“You are right,” he said, and his eyes gleamed with admiration of her
glorious beauty and imperious manner. “Forgive me,—you are indeed
right.”

Though Schuyler Carleton may not have been lavish of affection, he
begrudged no admiration to the splendid woman he had won.

And yet, had he but known it, the apparently scornful and haughty girl
was craving a more tender and gentle love, and would gladly have
foregone his admiration to have received more affection.