The Heather-Moon
only by Aline, nobody did justice to it or enjoyed it much. Perhaps
there was thunder in the air, which upset the nerves of every one, even
the nerves of Moore, who spilt _bouillon_ on Miss MacDonald's sleeve.
This was the explanation which occurred to Basil; and certain it was
that the sky had suddenly clouded over, hiding all the stars.
"I do hope we're not going to have rain for our trip," he remarked, more
for the sake of something to say than because, even if rain came, it
were likely to last. "It's just the ticklish time of the month for
weather, you know: to-morrow we shall have the new moon."
"The heather moon!" Barrie said softly, looking out of the open window
at the purple night, purple as heather.
"What do you mean by a heather moon?" asked Basil, interested. "It
sounds sweeter than honeymoon."
"It's the sweetest moon of the year," the girl answered. "The moon when
all the most beautiful things ought to happen to the people who are
worthy of them--and the honeymoon can't come till afterward. I've always
wanted something romantic to happen to me in the heather moon; yet
nothing ever has, so far. It couldn't, at Grandma's!"
"But you haven't explained the heather moon," Basil reminded her.
"Don't you _really_ know?" She opened her eyes very wide as she smiled
at him in a friendly, childlike way; and Basil and Somerled forgot that
there was a Mrs. West in the room. It was a momentary lapse of memory,
but Aline felt it electrically. She was enraged at Basil, and disgusted
with Barrie, though merely grieved with Somerled.
"_There's_ a minx for you!" thought Moore, who was plain, and had been
chosen by Mrs. Keeling because her teeth stuck out more than the lady's
own.
"Wait! I believe, as a good Scotsman, I can guess," said Somerled. "The
heather moon's the moon of August, the moon when the heather's in its
prime of bloom."
"Yes!" cried Barrie, joyous that it should be he, her first friend, the
friend of her mother, who had solved the puzzle. "That's it: and it's
the moon for falling in love. That's why the honeymoon has to come
afterward." Then, seeing that Mrs. West was looking at her with a look
that might mean astonishment or disapproval, she blushed. It was queer,
but for a minute that pretty, quite young woman--if widows could be
called _quite_ young--had an expression almost like Grandma's.
"Oh, I do hope I haven't said anything horrid?" Barrie appealed from one
to another. "You see, I never dared say anything at all about love
before Grandma or Heppie, but it is talked about so _much_ in books, I
thought I might mention it in company. I'm sorry if I've not been
maidenly, which Miss Hepburn is always telling me I'm not."
"I suspect most maidens think a good deal about love whether or no they
talk of it, don't they, Norman?" said Somerled.
"How should I know?" Basil asked.
Both men were different from their everyday selves to-night. They seemed
self-conscious.
"Why, it's your business to know. You write novels. Or do you leave all
the love parts to your sister?"
"I suppose widows may talk as much as they like about love," said Barrie
reflectively, "having had it and passed it by."
The creature was pretending to take for granted that widows were poor,
_passee_ things who had lived their lives and could have no more
personal interest in heather moons or honeymoons! Mrs. West grew pale,
and was angry with herself for caring. Barrie made her feel faded--a
"back number." She told herself that if she could not get rid of this
girl the first thing to-morrow, she should be ill.
"You must ask your mother these questions, and she'll answer them better
than I can," Aline said in her pretty voice, with her gentle smile.
Already she had heard from Barrie and from Somerled something of the
girl's story, and knew that through family misunderstandings mother and
daughter had been separated for years. "You must be _so_ impatient to
see her!" she went on.
"I am," said Barrie.
"I know Sir George Alexander a little," Aline answered. "He may take a
curtain-raiser of ours; and it's occurred to me to telegraph him in the
morning, as soon as the post-office opens. He'll be able to let us know
where Mrs. Ballantree MacDonald's acting. We won't trust to the stage
papers alone. It would be a pity to keep this child in suspense a minute
longer than necessary. Don't you think it's a good plan, Mr. Somerled?"
"Very," he agreed. It was a good plan. And it _would_ be a pity to keep
the child in suspense. The pretty doll must be packed up and sent away
where it belonged, whereupon everything would go on as before. And the
heather moon would begin to shine gold on purple, for the trip through
bonny Scotland, which he had planned. He had been looking forward to the
tour, not with keen enthusiasm indeed, but with interest. He had been
satisfied with the companions he had chosen, and the fact that they
wanted to see Scotland had given him an incentive for taking the rest
cure he had been imperatively ordered, in his native land rather than
elsewhere. Once, long ago, self-exiled at the age of Barrie MacDonald,
he had passionately yearned for his "ain countree," and often regretted
the boyish vow he was too proud and obstinate to break. But years had
passed now since Duncan MacDonald and his daughter Margaret visited
America to find themselves worth knowing only as kinsfolk of the
despised peasant. Accepting the situation because of its advantages and
his necessities, the old man had ignored the past and "made up" to the
young millionaire artist. Ian's sense of humour had been so tickled
that, to his own surprise, he had laughed and forgotten his youthful
rancour. It struck him as distinctly funny that he had ever taken old
Duncan's waspishness seriously enough to make vows of any sort because
of it. And he saw that indirectly he owed fortune to the haughty lord of
Dhrum. It had amused Somerled a good deal and pleased him a little that
"his highness" (as he called the great one) should implore the "peasant
brat" to become tenant of Dunelin Castle for an unlimited term of years;
that Duncan should chat to newspaper men of his "distinguished relative
Ian MacDonald, who had won fame under the very suitable _nom de guerre_
of Somerled"; and that "Cousin Ian" should be pressed to meet "Cousin
Margaret." It was a queer world, and nobody in it was queerer than one's
self. So Somerled had felt when, just because the miracle had happened
to free him of his vow, he no longer pined to gaze upon his native
Highlands. He felt at home and happy enough in America; and if being
"happy enough" wasn't quite the beautiful state he had pictured as a
boy, it was full of interest. He had taken Dunelin Castle off its
owner's hands at a high yearly rent, in order that no rich and vulgar
Cockney should become the tenant, but he had never stayed there, though
once, even to have the right of entrance would have seemed a fairy
dream. There were no such things as fairy dreams for him since he had
thoroughly grown up, because in the process of becoming a millionaire he
had ceased to believe in any kind of dreams. Friendships and sympathies
he had vainly longed for in his poverty could be his for the asking or
even without the asking now; and that was the reason he did not feel
they were worth having. He had no use in his heart for little brothers
and sisters of the rich, and in his experienced hardness he was
sometimes unjust to kindly people. But he had liked the novels of Aline
West and Basil Norman before he met the two popular Canadian authors on
shipboard; and learning that they planned to write a "Scotch book," it
had occurred to him that they might all three go about sight-seeing
together. His rest cure had ceased to bore him in prospect; he had
thought with some pleasure of showing Aline Dunelin Castle and the
island of Dhrum. Suddenly, however, Aline's own words damped the
prospect as with a douche of cold water.
She was perfectly right, too. It would be a very good plan to place the
waif he had picked up as soon as possible in the care of a mother, even
such an extraordinary, incredible mother as Mrs. "Bal" MacDonald: a good
plan for the girl's sake, and for everybody's sake, because it was
arranged to start for Scotland the day after to-morrow. Still, Barrie's
impromptu ode to the heather moon had for a moment irradiated his mind
with a light such as had not shone for Somerled on land or sea since he
had become rich enough to afford the most expensive lighting. Then as
quickly it had died down. He saw himself spinning agreeably through
Scottish scenes with Mrs. West and her brother, and suddenly,
treacherously, he felt that to spin agreeably was not enough to satisfy
him, that it was unworthy of wondrous golden light on purple hills of
high romance. He wanted something more, something altogether different,
and the plans which had contented him looked dull as ditchwater in the
fading glamour. He himself looked dull. Aline looked dull, and for a
moment he almost disliked her sweet blue eyes, her pretty, ever gentle
smile, behind which must lurk some true feeling, or she could not write
those delicately charming books.
"And don't you think, too," Aline urged kindly, "that we ought to put
Miss MacDonald's poor grandmother out of her misery? I might write a
note to--Hillard House, I think she said?--explaining--er--what has
happened, as well--as well as I could? Let me see, what _would_ be best?
Oh, I could say that by accident her granddaughter had met a guest of
mine, a friend of Mrs. Ballantree MacDonald's; that she wasn't to worry,
because, though her granddaughter refused to return, we would see that
the child reached her mother safely, by to-morrow night if possible. I
can mention Basil, and say we are the writers. If she has heard of us,
that may relieve the poor lady's mind."
"Grandma hasn't heard of you, I'm sure," said Barrie, "unless you write
religious books; but she won't _need_ her mind relieved. While I was
with her, I think she considered it her duty to take strict care of me;
but now I've gone my own way, she'll see it was predestined. It was just
the same with a Dresden china teapot she inherited. She didn't approve
of it because it was too gay, but she always washed it herself because
it was her father's. When it broke in spite of her, she wouldn't have it
mended, and told Heppie to throw the pieces away."
"Nevertheless, I must write, and send the letter to Hillard House by
hand," Aline insisted. "If I didn't do that I should not be able to
sleep." She spoke with fervour, for she felt that she must have two
strings to her bow. If "Mother" failed, she must be able to fall back on
"Grandma."
VII
Barrie meant to be up and dressed before any one else in the house, but
she lay awake until long after midnight, an unprecedented thing for her,
and in consequence slept late, making up her accustomed nine hours.
Usually she fell asleep at ten or soon after, and jumped briskly out of
bed at seven, waked only by her eager desire for renewed life, in a
perfectly new day which no one else had ever seen yet. This morning it
was a repeated knocking at the door which mingled with her dreams and
shook her out of them. What door could it be? Where was she? the girl
wondered for a dazed instant. Then Moore appeared with a breakfast-tray.
"Mrs. West said not to wake you for early tea," she explained with a
glacial coldness worthy of Hillard House. "Madam and the two gentlemen
are having breakfast out of doors in the summer-house; and when you get
up, miss, I advise you to draw your curtains well across the windows or
you may be seen."
Barrie wished that she too were having breakfast in the summer-house,
and thought it mistaken kindness on the part of Mrs. West not to have