A Radical Arrangement by Jane Ashford Page A

encourage the woman to go on without seeming too eager.
    Mrs. Dowling merely nodded, and the girl could not immediately think of another question. A silence fell between them, which lengthened until Margaret felt uneasy. Some of her old shyness returned, and she could think of no remark to end the pause. She was about to rise and admire one of the shrubs when Mrs. Dowling said abruptly, “Mayhap the man is your brother. Flos Appleby thinks so, and she sees more of you than me. But if he bain’t…” She paused and gazed into Margaret’s face, as if to find the truth there. Margaret, who had started inwardly when she first spoke, strove to remain impassive. Mrs. Dowling shrugged. “If he bain’t,” she went on, “he’s worth the candle. That’s all I meant to say.”
    “Worth…” The girl frowned.
    “I’ve seen a deal of people in my time. And mostly men and women together, bringing babies into the world. I know a fine specimen of a man when I see one.”
    Now Margaret did rise. She walked to the corner of the terrace and looked down over the sea, struggling with herself. Part of her wanted to protest hotly and tell Mrs. Dowling exactly what a despicable person Justin Keighley was. But another part kept her silent and finally forced out the words, “I’m sure my brother would be very flattered by your opinion.”
    “Aye. Well, you know best, miss. Flos Appleby says you and the gentleman quarrel whenever he’s awake. She takes that to mean you are brother and sister.” She laughed. “Flos would think that; she and Dan get on like they grew up together. But I know better. Bob and me fought like cats, but we always ended up somewheres else before we was done.”
    Margaret did not understand precisely what the old woman meant, but she caught enough to realize that she was implying some romantic connection between herself and Keighley. “I assure you, you are mistaken,” she replied earnestly. “There is nothing like that involved.” By not mentioning the false “brother” story, she was able to speak with absolute conviction.
    Mrs. Dowling eyed her, looking both puzzled and curious.
    “I should get back to my…my brother now,” added Margaret. “Thank you for asking me in.”
    In another moment she was walking back toward the inn after a hasty farewell. As she went she frowned. Had Mrs. Dowling believed her denials? It would ruin everything if the old woman began telling the villagers that Margaret and Keighley were not brother and sister. She would have to visit her again and make sure she did not. When she decided this, Margaret at once felt better. She hadn’t the least notion that this was partly because she was curious to hear more on the subject of men and their oddness.
    Sir Justin was finishing a bowl of broth from a tray across his knees when Margaret came in. He greeted her much more cordially than she had expected and asked her to sit down. He had indeed been bored through his first morning of full wakefulness, and he was ready to embrace any form of amusement. For her part, Margaret a little regretted her show of temper and was ready to do what she could for her patient.
    “Have you had luncheon?” Keighley asked politely. “I believe Mrs. Appleby mentioned a lamb pie.”
    “I never eat at midday.” This was not strictly true. She never had because she had never been hungry at this time, but recently she sometimes ate the luncheon the landlady pressed on her when she returned from one of her walks. However, she did not think it was Keighley’s place to be urging food on her. She wished to be cordial to him but not to appear subject to his guidance in any way. “Have you finished?” she added, indicating the now empty bowl.
    “Yes.”
    She leaned over him and took the tray, carrying it to a small table in the hall outside, where one of the Appleby girls would find it.
    “Have you plans for the afternoon?” Sir Justin called after her, in a tone more eager and conciliatory than