Chapter 3

Yet the mystery was not hard to solve. It centered in an abnormally
sensitive father who had been unwilling that his daughter should accept
at the hands of society anything she could not return. There had been
generations of Oliphants in Annapolis—beginning with those men of rank
and title who had grants from the king. They had acquired wealth and
held offices of distinction. Then had come gradually diminishing
fortunes and the cataclysm of the Civil War. Kent Oliphant’s father had
been killed at Appomattox, and his mother, poor and proud, had shut
herself away from the world. Her son had, in his turn, followed her
example. Virginia and her young brother had been educated at home,
forbidden to mingle with those about them. “I will not have you
condescended to by those who are less than your betters,” their father
had told them, furiously.

Much of this was known to the people of the town. And they pitied
Virginia. She did not look, at the moment, as if she needed their pity.
She was so gloriously alive. Like a flame! Incandescent! Tony felt he
had never seen anything like it. He wondered what Marty thought standing
there beside her.

But Marty was troubled by nothing so unimportant as this girl in the
shabby sweater. She moved closer to Tony and murmured, “She’d be a
beauty if she were well dressed.”

“Do you think a woman like that needs—clothes?”

Marty wrinkled her nose at him in an enchanting way she had. “All women
need clothes.”

“Don’t be absurd, Marty.”

He turned from her to listen to what Virginia was saying to his mother:
“I am sorry. The candlesticks are withdrawn from the sale.”

Mrs. Bleecker protested. “But I want them more than anything.”

Virginia said again, “I’m sorry.” That was all. No yielding.

“They’ll bring a stiff price,” Jane Bleecker persisted, “and I
understand you need the money.”

Tony said something under his breath. There were times when Midget was
impossible!

A flush had come into Virginia’s cheeks. “I do need it. But the
candlesticks have associations.”

“You won’t reconsider?”

“No.”

That was all. She went away, taking the candlesticks with her.

As she left the room, she met Michael McMillan. Tony saw him stop and
speak to her. Heard his mother saying, maliciously, “I’ll wager anything
those candlesticks were one of the three things he wanted.”

They were, of course, and Michael seeing them borne away, asked
apprehensively, “They’re not sold?”

“No, but they’re withdrawn from the sale.”

“Why? Oh, I beg pardon. It’s none of my business. But you see I’ve a
bowl that matches these—and I’m rather mad about old silver.”

She liked his voice as much as she hated Mrs. Bleecker’s. It was because
of Mrs. Bleecker that she had withdrawn the candlesticks. She had known
she could not, no, she _could_ not think of those lovely garlands and
darling cupids in the possession of a woman like that.

And, having once withdrawn them, she knew that she would never let them
go. Not even to this man with the quick and thrilling voice. So she said
again, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he told her.

She hesitated for a moment, then explained: “I only consented to put
them on sale because my brother insisted. And I shouldn’t have
consented. You see, they lighted all our little feasts.” She stopped
suddenly, unable to go on.

He said, sympathetically: “You are finding it—hard?”

“Oh, yes. This room is haunted.”

For a moment he did not answer. He was, indeed, intensely moved by the
sight of her girlish distress. It was as if some sorrow in himself went
out to meet her sorrow. She was holding the candlesticks now against
her, and they made a cross, as if she had laid a crucifix upon her
breast.

At last he said, “Are you giving up the house?”

“Yes. It is mortgaged heavily. We can’t save it. I shan’t mind so much
if only someone will buy it who will love it and understand it. I’d hate
to have it go to people who’d make their money in pills or pork.”

She was trying to speak lightly, to recover her poise. He helped her by
shifting the conversation. “There were three things I wanted—the
candlesticks, the Dutch spoons and the little Chippendale chair.”

“The ladder-back? That was Mother’s. She always sat in it.”

“Is she—dead?”

“No. She’s gone away with Daddy. He’s very ill. This was his only
chance. That’s why we’re selling.”

She stopped as a young man appeared in the door. Michael knew at once it
was her brother. They were much alike. Young Oliphant was taller than
his sister, but there was the same grace and slenderness, and his head
was topped by the same bright hair. Yet there was this difference, that
Virginia carried herself more gallantly. Richard slouched a bit, and his
features showed a blurring of the lines which gave strength to the
girl’s face. Only a keen observer would have noticed the difference. But
Michael was a keen observer.

“The sale is beginning in a few minutes,” the boy said; “I thought you’d
like to get away from it.”

She explained to Michael, “We’re going to the attic and watch things
from there.”

At that moment, Richard saw the candlesticks in her arms. “Where are you
taking them, Jinny?”

Her voice had a note of appeal in it. “Rickey, I’m not going to sell
them.”

“Why not?” sharply.

“Because—we must save something out of it all—”

“But they’re the most valuable item in the lot. Grogan says so. He’s not
going to put them up until the last.”

“He’s not going to put them up at all.”

“Oh, you—that’s sentimental rot!”

As he flung himself away, the girl’s face went white. She spoke to
McMillan. “Rickey isn’t often like that.”

“I’m sure he isn’t,” he said heartily.

Her face lighted. “I hope you’ll get the things you want. If you do, I
have a feeling that you’ll be friendly to Mother’s little chair.”

Before he could answer, she turned and left him. He watched her as she
went up the stairs, the silver crucifix still clasped to her breast.
From across the room Anthony Bleecker also watched her. But he did not
see the crucifix. He saw only her beauty, the vivid loveliness which put
Marty’s more delicate charms in the shade.

CHAPTER TWO

The Man on the Table

Going up the stairs, Virginia shrank from the thought of facing Rickey.
He’d probably keep on tormenting her about the candlesticks. And she did
not mean to give in. Rickey had his way about most things. But he should
not have it in this. Yet she dreaded his arguments. They were always so
logical. And there was no logic in this feeling of hers. She had only
sentiment to urge, and Rickey was done with sentiment. “We’ve been held
back all our lives by the past. We’ve got to break away, Jinny, or go
under.”

And now she would hear it all over again!