Page:Lippincotts Monthly Magazine-40.djvu/548

530 as we parted, Mr. Barlow, with pardonable self-complacency, asked me if I thought such a large transaction, involving so much money, would be so promptly and simply carried through in the East.

"What your lawyers' bills are, I do not know," he said, "but from what I have heard of your aunt's business ability, and from what I see of your clear head and quick decision, I should imagine that you did not allow them to draw you deeply into their clutches. As for us, the whole affair has been in the regular course of business. It has not been a single fat plum on a tree, but has belonged to the regular crop on our lawyer's potato-field, and goes with the other tubers into the measure. They won't believe you down East when you tell them how simple and plain the affair has been!" And then he smiled, and his bright little eyes beamed with delight, so well did he appreciate himself.

And I? Well, I was satisfied. I had carried the inquiry, the proof, the settlement, through without help, except that of the pilot who showed me a chart of the rocks which were to be avoided, the path which was to be followed. And no one was injured, and Juliet was served. I thought of Bernard, and that Juliet could go to him and say, "You know that I have loved you,—you only,—and you loved me when I was poor, and you have tenderly cared for me when I was sick and miserable, and will you turn me away because I am rich,—when it is love and not money that has knit us together? Is it possible that money can tear us apart?" I said this to myself as I walked back to the inn where I was staying, and I went carefully, picking my way over a muddy road. Then, crossing a little street, I suddenly turned as though I had been bidden to do so, and face to face met Duncan Macfarlane. Surprise and pleasure lighted his face. He sprang forward, he took both my hands in his own.

"Juliet!" he cried.

Then, standing thus, with my hands in his, there came into his face perplexity and dismay, and, letting my hands drop, he rubbed his eyes as if to clear his vision.

"I do not understand," he said, with a little gasp. "What have you been doing to yourself? Who are you? You look—you look—so strange! You are like—why, Janet, I thought you were Juliet!"

Duncan was not tall, but neither was he short. I was five feet seven inches, and he looked down on me. He gave one the impression of strength, so muscular and powerful was he. His head was handsome, and well set on a short, resolute neck. He wore neither beard nor moustache, and his skin, well bronzed by exposure, deepened into healthful color on his cheek. He was a good friend, an enemy easily prejudiced. As he now stood looking at me with eves that were both doubtful and pleased, I grew irritated with him. I had always resented Duncan Macfarlane. He had never taken me at the valuation with which I wished to be taken. He measured me, judged me, as he pleased, and his conclusions were not to my liking. It tired me to even think of being what he insisted I was. I did not wish to realize myself as he realized me. I preferred myself as I saw myself.

"Don't be absurd," I said. "You remind me of the stock actor in a melodrama. Of course I look like Juliet. When did I not?"