They will have flouted a plain duty unless they speak of the
sense and the degree in which this novel, during the process of
reclaiming it, has been actually recreated. There is perhaps
somewhat more demand for satire, or at least a growing toleration of
it. For one, I shall enter none of them.' "'A happy day, my brother, is never wasted." "'Indeed, my brother?' For we espy, and hold more dear,
The Wicket of our Destinies. "'Farewell, fair Fields, none found amiss
When laughter was a frequent noise
And golden-hearted girls and boys
Appraised the mouth they meant to kiss. "'Farewell, farewell! "_
1. And spooning was absurd. Stella was not uninfluenced, it may be, by Miss Van Orden's example,
for even in girlhood the latter was a person of extraordinary beauty,
whereas, as has been said, Stella's corners were then multitudinous;
and it is probable that those two queer little knobs at the base of
Stella's throat would be apt to render their owner uncomfortable and a
bit abject before--let us say--more ample charms. The night was warm, the sky all
transparency. And there we sat for a while and talked in an aimless fashion. She looked out for a moment over the tree-tops. "The
stars are so big, and--so uninterested." "I think I am
rather afraid." I echoed. "Yes," she said, vaguely; "of--of everything." But we've got to take them, whether we want to or not. We've got to--well, got to grow up, and--marry, and--die, whether we
want to or not. "Rob,--are you ever afraid of dying?" Stella asked, "very much
afraid--Oh, you know what I mean." I did. I was about ten once more. So I said, "Yes." I--oh, I can't understand." "They get used to the idea, I reckon. Either way, there's
no getting out till they come to kill us in the morning." "Yes," sighed Stella; "I suppose we must make the best of it." "It's the only sensible thing to do, far as I can see." "I think I am, too--sort of," I conceded, after reflection. "Anyhow, I
am going to have as good a time as I can." Her lips were parted, and the
moonlight glinted in her eyes. I did.... I thought, even in the
instant; and, oh, the pity that, after all, it is slightly
disappointing....
Stella was not angry, as I had half expected. The spell was broken, utterly. I fidgeted. "You can't fight girls with fists," I reflected. 2. Honest injun, I mean." I meditated, and presently began, with leisure:
"Miss Hamlyn is a young woman of considerable personal attractions,
and with one exception is unhandicapped by accomplishments. And I know now that she was
right. They were Heart's
Desire, Florimel, Dolores, Yolande, Adelais, Sylvia, Heart o' My
Heart, Chloris, Felise, Ettarre, Phyllis, Phyllida, and Dorothy. For I don't want anybody but just you, and I
believe I never will." "A lot of imitation emotions." "Yes." "Only for a moment, though." And they would have gone into it, as you wanted, and have been
very, very happy for a while. "You are doing me," I observed, "an injustice. And however tiny they
may be, I hate 'em." Oh, very well! She has a great deal of money, too, I hear." "That's rather queer," said I. You've grown so fa--I mean, you are so well built. "No," said she, demurely, "I shall never never sit out
another dance with you." Men are so
absurd, don't you think? It
makes them happy, poor things, and injures nobody. You liked it, you
know; you grinned like a pleased cat. I like cats, don't you?" I was to follow in the morning, by an early train. In the sky was a low-hung moon, full and very red. It was an
evil moon, and it lighted a night that was unreasonably ominous. "Well--good-bye Bettie," I said at last. "Good-bye," she said, and casually shook hands. They will make another Townsend of my boy, and after all I've tried to
do. "No,--not me," she answered, almost as though she grudged the fact. "Indeed, I'm trying to believe you never
will. Oh, indeed, I am. So I promised her that. "I would thoroughly enjoy doing it," I said, grimly, "right now." the girl wailed, and but half
humorously. And I began to plead. I had to do it, because
she had insisted that I write. And besides, I hate writing
letters." I know it. But for me you always will,
and that makes all the difference." I retorted. "If you like. So I wrote to Bettie Hamlyn on the seventh of every month--because
that was her birthday,--and again on the twenty-third, because that
was mine. Really, though, their effect was curious. And, strangely
enough, you liked it. Something like this:
"Look here," a perspiring and fidgety Peter protested, at the last
moment, as we lurked in the gloomy vestry with not a drop left in
either flask; "look here, Henderson hasn't blacked the soles of these
blessed shoes. No, it's here all right, but you are on the wrong side of
me again. And there goes the organ--Good God, Peter, look at her! simply look at her, man! Oh, you lucky devil! My shoulders straightened, and I was not out of
temper any longer. _Sic
transit gloria mundi_, as it says in the back of the dictionary. 4. for loving his neighbor a little less than
himself, and his neighbor's wife a little more. ditto. ditto. Then comes the dreadful order,
'Take down your breeches, sir!'.... "Well, now I approach my moral, Mr. Townsend. "First, to the world--"
3
But at this point I raised my hand. It was foolish of
him. Now
_my_ remedy'--and so they waddle on, to price asparagus." At
least, so you will find it. "No,--I shall not quite forget," said I. No, by heavens! I would have nothing changed, and
least of all would I forget; having drunk nectar neat, one would not
qualify it with the water of Lethe." And I said: "The play is over, the little comedy is
played out. but she did. I grimaced. Good-night,
you glorious boy." 5. So I did,
and found it astonishingly pleasant. Good Lord, who would have
thought it!" Why, they're as big as golf-balls! And her voice--why, a violin--a
very superior violin--if it could talk, would have just such a voice
as that woman has! Oh, you make me ill! Why, man, just
look at her!" I said, conclusively. I queried, when she had vanished. "Well, and what do you think of her--of her looks, I
means? Of course, she couldn't act, but, then, who
wanted her to act? One simply wanted to look at her, and hear her speak. And if her speech was that,
what must her singing be! I consulted my programme. And I sighed. "I have always had a sneaking liking for burlesque." And besides, as I so often say to Mr. Rabbet, it is sad to think
of our greatest dramatist having been a drinking man. said Charteris. "Why, nothing," I explained, lucidly. It may be mentioned, however, that we were, at this moment, passing a
tall hedge of box, set about a large garden. "Why, great heavens!" "I prefer it," I insisted, "oh, yes, I really prefer it. So much
milder and more wholesome, you know. I really must economize, I think." said I. 6. This was unfortunate, for, as has been said,
the hedge was a tall and sturdy hedge. --so windy," she complained. "Er--ah--yes, quite so!" I agreed, hastily. She looked up at a
cloudless sky, and sighed. I observed. Why--why, you're positively incredible! You might be swept away,
just as your hat was." "The very thing," she assented. "There is a splendid oak yonder, just
half a block up the street." "Such a rickety old tree," I objected,
sulkily. She bent her head to one side, and looked up at
me. asked Miss Montmorenci. And I, on a sudden, was abjectly ashamed of myself. "Why, you can't
think that of me!" I babbled. "I--oh, don't think me that sort, I beg
of you! I'm not--really, I'm not, Miss Montmorenci! And I am delighted to
meet you, Miss Montmorenci. And, by the way," I suggested, after
a moment's meditation, "there is a very interesting old college here--
old pictures, records, historical association and such like. I would
like to inspect it, vastly. Won't you, Miss Montmorenci? she asked. she cried,
suddenly; "oh, yes, you talk bravely enough, but you'd be afraid, of
course, when the time came! I had taken the hat, but my head was still uncovered. "No,"
said Miss Montmorenci, "I thank you, but--good night." "Oh, I say! No; you look too big and strong and clean, Mr. Townsend. "An eternity," I proffered. "I adore the drama," I pleaded. You _are_, you
know." She said of course not, only I was not to be silly. 7. she asked, as I sat down beside
her. "Well, for that matter, no more do I." "It doesn't suit you," I
protested--"not in the least. Whereas, you might be a Signorina
Somebody-or-other, you know. You are dark and stately and--well, I
can't tell you all the things you are," I complained, "because the
English language is so abominably limited. He really doesn't deserve
you, you know." Then, "Signorina? Yes, you may call me Signorina, if you like." "I don't want to talk about it," she said, candidly. I laughed. "You see," she explained to me--this was on Thursday night, when I
found her contentedly eating cheap candy out of a paper bag,--"the
world is really very like a large chocolate drop; it's rather bitter
on the outside, but when you have bitten through, you find the heart
of it sweet. I thought her adorable; and in exchange for that last candied cherry I
promised her some of the new books,--_David Harum_ certainly, and,
_When Knighthood Was in Flower_, because everybody was reading it, and
Mr. Dooley, because they said this young fellow Dunne was nearly as
funny as Bill Nye....
4
In fact, the moon seemed to shine down each night upon that particular
garden in a more and more delightful and dangerous manner. My letter told her, in fine, of a variety of matters. There
is just room to say--"
6
This was, as I have stated, on Thursday afternoon. "Oh, it is dear of you!" she cried; "and I--I do
care for you,--how could I help it? "Oh, boy, boy! dear, dear boy!" she murmured, half in wonder,
"how foolish of you and--how dear of you!" "Oh, the great, brave, stupid boy!" Why, I might hold you to
your word! you would give me your name, you
would make me your wife! Ah, how dear of you!" I inspected her, critically,
and then smiled. I cried. Then, "I belonged to your world once, you
know." "Why, of course, I knew as much as that." They are wasted,
madam,--utterly wasted, I assure you." "Oh, Bobbie, Bobbie!" Give
me time," she pleaded weakly. And promise me, you won't speak of
this--this crazy nonsense again tonight. So I promised at once. 7
"And besides, why _not_?" I said,--for the eleventh time. She laughed a little. "Why, then, you disgusting old harridan," said I, "I grant you it is
utterly impossible to defend my behaviour in this matter, and, believe
me, I don't for an instant undertake the task. Ah, but come now! Come
now, have you the face to deny it,--Mrs. I am just a poor, dumb brute!" I groaned. 8. Well, she would
have done with such people soon! "Fine evening, sir," suggested the stranger. Oh, yes, yes! said she. But, deuce take it! "He--he is my husband," she said, in a toneless voice. Then, on a
sudden, she wailed: "Oh, forgive me! "You told me--"
"Ah, I lied to you! I lied to you!" she cried. "I didn't, mean to--
hurt you. I did not know--I couldn't know--I was so lonely, Bobbie,"
she pleaded, with wide eyes; "oh, you don't know how lonely I am. "Yes," I said; "I think I understand." "And I thought for a week--just to peep into it, to be a lady again
for an hour or two--why, it didn't seem wicked, then, and I wanted it
so much! I--I knew I could trust you, because you were only a boy. I lied to you. I took both her hands in mine, and laughed a little. "But, oh, my dear, my dear," I said, "you should have told me that you
loved another man; for you have let me love you for a week, and now I
think that I must love you till I die." she echoed. she asked, as simply
as a child. Then I laughed again, somewhat
bitterly. That was the one thing
which mattered. "Why, of course, I went with him," she assented, a shade surprised;
"he was my husband, you know. "He
took that money for--for another woman, if you remember. But he is
fond of me, and--and he _needs_ me." I did not say anything; and after a little she went on, with a quick
lift of speech. "Oh, what a queer life we have led since then! You can't imagine it,
my dear. But he
is always afraid of meeting someone who knows him, and--and he drinks
too much. "Oh,
it's queer, it's queer, Bobbie! And--and they hurt, they hurt, Bobbie, those
little, unimportant things! They--grip my throat." She laughed, not very mirthfully. Isn't it queer, Bobbie? But, oh, you don't know half--"
I was remembering many things. Oh, the brave woman who had followed! Oh, the brave,
foolish woman! "Your husband," I said, quickly, "he does not love you? He _doesn't_ need you,--and, oh, my
dear, I need you so! You
belong to us." said I. She used to know you, too, didn't
she? "I love you," I said, simply. "You don't understand," she said. "I am a Catholic--my mother was one,
you know. And--and besides, I'm not
modern. You don't, do you, Bobbie? I am all he has. I--oh, boy
dear, boy dear, I love you so!" And her voice broke, in a great,
choking sob. They would be right, I thought. The wind murmured above in the
maples, lazily, ominously. "That is
probably Ned," she said wearily. So good-bye, Bobbie. You--you may
kiss me, if you like." 9. "I remember Amelia Van Orden perfectly," he said--"now. Only, she was never, in her best days, the
paragon you depict. She is an angel,
John, if there was ever one." "In your eyes, doubtless! I kissed her. Write me, then, a book
about the past." You would, though;
it is eminently characteristic. "What would you demand, then, of a book?" I meditated. "Oh, 'people!'" "Yes,--but that's Biblical, and publishing a book is business. "Yes,--but with your tongue in your cheek." "It is all very well for you to sneer, and talk about art. "Well, the most important limitation of writing fiction nowadays is
that you have to appeal to people who would never think of reading you
or anybody else, if they could possibly imagine any other employment
for that particular vacant half-hour. And I paused, a little out of breath. said Charteris. Write the trashy book, then. I
never argue with children; and besides, I do not have to read it." They were not the right sort of people,
I felt forlornly.... And a number of persons, in fine, were so misguided as to enthuse over
the result. Even so, I now owned the Townsend house and
an income sufficient for daily bread; and it looked just then as
though the magazine editors were willing to furnish the butter, and
occasional cakes. Why, she goes out of her way to be rude to me." "Yes," said Mr. Charteris; "but that is because she is getting worried
about her interest in you. And what is the meaning of this, by the
way? I shook hands. "A palpable hit," said I. "Yes, you mentioned as much, I think, at Nice. No, I
believe it was you. "Heavens, no! 10. "All right," said Gladys, cheerfully. "Now tell me a story," said Gladys. "Oh, Gladys, Gladys! Yes, she is my daughter." "I wish you wouldn't imitate John Charteris so. "I wish you would," I said, "if only because your sponsors happened to
christen you Gillian. "And it was
only Jill, as I remember, who got the spanking," she said. "Oh, well! "But it was Jack who broke his crown," said I; "Wasn't it--Jill?" and wept. "Oh, I lied to you," she wailed; "but you are so cruel! Ah, don't be
cruel, Jack!" she breathed. "You are not being very intelligible now, sweetheart. Find me, therefore, a new emotion!" "So many of them, dear!" she promised. "I do not love you, understand,--and your husband is my friend, and I
admire him. 4
Well, but women are queer. There is positively no way of affronting
them, sometimes. "Now you watch me, Jack!" I am not particularly proud of it. I prattled with him, and he liked it. Regularly, I was
told off to play with her, as being the only other child in the house. Yes, it is
rather sudden. I am off to-morrow. I am really going. We
will not argue it." I can't. It--it is for good, isn't it?" "Yes," I said. "It had to be--some time, you know." "No, don't look at me. Watch the dancing, I will fan myself and seem
bored. No, I shall not do anything rash." And I did not look at her. "I was proud once. Sweetheart, you must know how I love you. I know it is not right for me to ask or expect you to love
me always, but it seems so hard." I won't mind. I never cared before, Jack. You have tired of
me, I know. Well, you shall have your way in
everything. But don't leave me, dear! oh, my dear, my dear, don't
leave me! They were playing the _Valse Bleu_, I
remember. "It is no use, Jill," I kept repeating,
doggedly. She was all in black, and throughout
that moment she was more beautiful than any other woman I have ever
seen. "Yes, this is our dance," she said, brightly. "I thought you had
forgotten me, Mr. Armitage. good-bye, Mr. Townsend. Oh, this dress _always_
gets in my way--"
She was gone. 11. "You must overlook my wife's unfortunate tendency toward the most
unamiable of virtues. Where are your Hardresses now?" And why is your wife rushing on to Paris,
John?" "Shopping, as usual. Yes, I believe I did suggest it was as well to
have it over and done with. Besides,
she has an aunt there, you know. "Oh, Lord, yes!" said I, emphatically. "Well, after all, you have been sponging off them for a full year. The
adjective is not ill-chosen, from what I hear. "There is at any rate in Milan," said I, "a magnificent Gothic
Cathedral of international reputation; and upon the upper gallery of
its tower, as my guidebook informs me, there is a watchman with an
efficient telescope. said I,
disapprovingly. Mere, near, hemisphere--no, but
the Greeks thought it was flat. They were not unpleasant eyes, and a stray
dream or two yet lingered under their heavy lids. "Well, then," she suggested, cheerfully, after due reflection, "since
we can't go down, why not go up?" As a matter of fact, nothing could be more simple. Better come up." "There is Mamma!" she cried, excitedly; "there!" "It was a bucket," she laughed, "and I stumbled over it,--and it
fell--and--and I nearly did,--and I am frightened!" "I can't," she cried, hysterically. "Oh, I am so frightened! "You see," I said, with careful patience, "we must go on. "Why, look!" In fact, I do not
remember drawing a really satisfactory breath from the time I left the
hotel-roof, until I lifted a soft, faint-scented, panting bundle to the
roof of the Councillor von Hollwig. But, aloud, I only said, "We are quite
safe now, you know." She laughed, bewilderingly. But there were, so far as we could discover, no trapdoors in the roof
of the Councillor von Hollwig, or in the neighbouring roofs; and, after
searching three of them carefully, I suggested the propriety of waiting
till dawn to be melodramatically rescued. "You see," I pointed out, "everybody is at the fire over yonder. "And left you," thought I, "left you--to save a canary-bird! And so, you are an American and a Southerner as well." she asked. "Ah--oh, yes, me!" She looked up. "Yes," I admitted, guiltily--"of Helen." She echoed the name. "Why, that is my name, only we call it Elena." "Late of Troy Town," said I, in explanation. I drew my gown about me and sat down. "But, you
see, she is alive--to me." "Tell me all about it," said she, coaxingly. "I have always loved her," I said, with gravity. And there I first read of Helen--and remembered. Oh, the book was full of pictures,--and Helen's was the most
manifestly impossible of them all. And as I ended, I sighed effectively. "I know," said she. Good thing the wind is veering, too. I cried, as the main body of the Continental toppled
inward like a house of cards; "they are splashing, actually splashing,
like waves over a breakwater!" She is as old as youth, she is more old than April even, and
she is as ageless. Oh, very often she transmutes her fleshly covering. "Yes--like Pythagoras" she said, a bit at random. "Oh, I know. "Yes, I believe that Helen always comes. "I do not know. she queried, softly. "No," I conceded, "I was wrong. She inspected the scene, critically. "It does look like Ilium," she
admitted. 12. And I said aloud, "Signorina!" "I have seen you twice in Liége," she said. I would have preferred to avoid it, though. I said, very quietly. "That is unworthy of you,--no, I mean it would have been unworthy of a
boy we knew of." She led me to it now. "Look, Bobbie. I at least, am unmistakable. 'Their eyes are different, somehow',
you remember. You haven't changed as much,--not outwardly. Yes, as soon--as soon as I could afford it, I
read every book you ever talked about, I think. And there was a girl I tried to help in
London--an Agnès Faroy--"
"Ah!" I said. "She had your picture even then, poor creature. She didn't know that I had ever heard of you. Oh, how _could_ you!" I wasn't. You won't believe it now, perhaps. And it doesn't
matter, anyhow." So I wrote to him, at the Embassy. And
after all, what is the good of talking--now!" "No, I suppose there is no good in talking
now." We stood there, as yet, hand in hand. The mirror was candid. "I don't sing very well, of course, but then I'm not dependent on my
singing, you know. Oh, why not be truthful? And, moreover, I've a
deal put by. I thought, in any event, of those execrable rhymes that
likened her to the Lady in _Comus_, moving serene and unafraid among a
rabble of threatening bestial shapes; and I thought of the woman who
would, by this time, be with Von Anspach. And "Oh,
well!" "By the way, I am done with you, John. And in consequence--"
I left him mid-course in speech. "Words, words!" said I; and it
appeared to me for the moment that words were of astonishingly trivial
import, however carefully selected, which was in me a wholesome,
although fleet, apostacy of yesterday's creed. Why, I might die within the five minutes! The thought obsessed me, especially at
night. "Now, I have tricked You!" I wanted to live normally--to live as these persons thick about me, who
seemed to grow up, and mate, and beget, and die, in the incurious
fashion of oxen. I wanted to think only from hand to mouth, to think if
possible not at all, and to be guided always in the conduct of my life
by gross and obvious truisms, so that I must be judged at last but as
one of the herd. I stood with a yet lifted hat, irresolute. Why, of course! And moreover, I was always very fond of Peter." Then, on a sudden, she rested both hands upon
my breast. When she did that you tingled all over, in an agreeable
fashion. Yes, and of daffodils, too." I sat down,
and sighed, pensively. "Dear, dear!" I suggested, pleasantly. I paused. I sighed. "I am," I confided, "already in that deplorable condition." "I don't mean--anything silly," said she, untruthfully. Oh, she was vain,--I grant you that. "Yes," said I, quite gravely, "that is the reason." It defied
you, it allured you, it conquered you at a glance. Odorous, for there were a great
number of pink roses about. said I. For it was really no affair of Peter's. "Quite like a pig, they assure me," I continued, with relish. Silence. I stirred my tea. said she. She was deaf to my righteous rebuke. said I. "I wish you had been," quoth I, in gallant wise. she asked. Yes, it is very simple. I set down my teacup, and I clasped my hands. I am an ant." But
he lived. For I am like him. She pouted. "Yes," she assented, "that is my career--to be adorable. But, you see, there was really nothing I could do. Music, painting,
writing--I tried them all, and the results were hopeless. At any rate, I
couldn't make a success by myself. But there was one thing I could do,
--I could make a success of Peter. And so," said Stella, calmly, "I did
it." That was done with, long ago. "Well, he isn't the least bit dissipated now. You know he isn't. "Then--oh, I have helped
him in lots of ways. "There was the last appointment, for
instance. That is only an
instance, but it shows how I help." Stella regarded me, uncertainly. "I don't like it," I
said, decisively. It isn't worthy of you,
Stella." And I am doing
it for Peter." It
isn't safe." 14. Yes, one would. Well, one would, I suspected. Of a
sudden I knew. Stella was calling for Peter. "Tell me the truth," says Stella, pleadingly. He had been called to Denver, San Francisco
and--I forget today just why or even whither. He was hurrying back. Oh, the story ran lamely, I grant you. But, vanity apart, I told it
with conviction. And I got my reward. "Stella, before God, it is true!" I said, with fervour. "On my word of
honour, it is as I tell you!" "I--I am glad. "Dear,
dear!" I cried, and very hoarsely; "why--why, nonsense,
child! "Ah, I know," she interrupted. "I am a little afraid to die," she went
on, reflectively. "After all," she said, "it isn't as if I hadn't
accomplished anything. And I helped." "Yes," said I. My voice was shaken, broken out of all control. "You
have helped. And you have
done it all, Stella--every bit of it! Why, it's preposterous! Oh, how can any of us get on without you? You _must_ get well, I tell you. In a month, you will be right as a
trivet. Why, nonsense!" I laughed. "But I have done all I could. "Yes," said she, "I think I am
satisfied with my life altogether. "Good-bye, Stella," said I; and I kissed her. "Yes, I remember that first time. Oh, Bob, it hurts me to see you mind so much! 15. Nor,
for that matter, could I. "But it was flagrant, flagrant!" O Setebos, it
wasn't worthy of omnipotence. "Which attests, in any event, my morals to be above reproach. I hear many
things of you...."
"Oh, well!" "Now, please don't preach," I said. Stella was a dear child, and I was really sorry to hear of
her death." She was the first, you see, and, somehow, the others have
been different. And--she disliked dying. Why, look, Bettie! she said. "I regret that I should have sailed so far into the north of your
opinion," said I. "Though, as I dare assert, you are quite probably in
the right. So I'll be off to my husks again, Bettie." "And that too is only for old sake's sake, dear," I said. As it was, I left Fairhaven the same day I reached it, and in some
dissatisfaction with the universe. And, in fine, "Well, really now--?" I did not greatly care what Lichfield said one way or the other. So that, all in
all, I was not discontented when I left her. For, at bottom, any one of us is tediously like any other. 16. Why, think of it! Try now, nunky! "Oh, I say, you know!" In _Afield_,
you know, I tried a different tack. we'll
put it, something of the sort you _can_ do. For you can, you know." I softly queried. "I had no money. he said. "For the reign of subtle immorality," I sighed, "is well-nigh over. Yes, it is a pity!" "Mad, quite mad!" said
he, in parenthesis. I brought my fist down, emphatically, on the table. The Vision was in white, with a profusion of open-work. "I don't seem to have it about me," I answered, with cryptic, but
entire veracity. I searched about my pockets, with a puckered brow. The Vision moved a little, lest I be crowded. "It might be further up the road," she suggested. "Oh, I must have left it at the hotel," I observed. "You might look--" said she, peering into the water. I assented. The Vision flushed, "I didn't mean--" she began. "Why, you would be a bold-faced jig," said I, composedly; "but, after
all there is nobody about. The Vision sat down. quoth she. said I, defiant, "but it _is_!" She looked about her. "They form a quite appropriate background," said I. "It is a veritable
Eden, before the coming of the snake." she queried, dubiously. "Undoubtedly," said I, and felt my ribs, in meditative wise. "It is not good," I pleaded, "for man to be alone." she observed, with wide, indignant eyes. "I--I mean--" I stammered. "--upon," I firmly said, "the third piazza of the hotel. Then, with an indignant
toss of the head, the Vision disappeared. 17. For we two were very happy there. That was the main thing. said I. 3
So the book was builded, after all, a little by a little. And I began to see that Bettie was right, as usual. So the Book was builded, after all, a little by a little. And there were panicky surmises raised
everywhere as to "what these anarchists may do next," so that Maggio
was mobbed in Columbus, and Emma Goldman in Chicago; and Colonel
Roosevelt was found, after days of search, on Mt. And there will be only
ghosts in the woods, and I shall be very lonely." And it is only for a little." "Yes," I said. Oh, I know,
Marian! she said. said I. said she.... "Yes," she answered. "Dear God, how I have longed! I didn't. And
afterward, all night, I tossed in sick, fevered dreams of you. I am mad
for love of you. And so, once in a while I kiss your hand. Dear God,
your hand!" My voice quavered, effectively. "Yes," said she; "still, I remember--"
"I have struggled; and I have conquered this madness,--for a madness it
is. Now comes the ending. Ah, I have seen you
puzzling over my meaning before this. She smiled; and I remember now it was rather as Mona Lisa smiles. "For we can laugh together,--that is all. We are not mates. We are not
mates. But you have been very kind to me, Marian dear. "Good-bye," said she. I queried, tenderly. "Yes," she answered; "I understand--not what you have just told me, for
in that, of course, you have lied. That Jemmett girl and her money is
at the bottom of it all, of course. So you were pulled two ways, poor
dear." She did
things of her own accord, and I was merely her scribe... "Don't know the lady," said I. "And
it is the book of the year. And it is your book." said
I. I observed, in a careful voice. "Oh, look here!" my uncle cried, and caught up the papers. "It is
infernally good, you know! Can't you--can't you fix it,--and--er--
change it a bit? "As you
justly observe," said I, "it is infernally good. "Why, then--" said Uncle George. "Why, then," said I, "the only thing that remains to do is to read _The
Imperial Votaress._"
8
And I read it with an augmenting irritation. "Oh, the adorable jade!" I said; and then: "George Glock, forsooth! This, look you, when I had been
at pains to prepare a perfectly convincing one. I cried in horror. "It wouldn't be proper! said Rosalind. "But golf is a very ancient game," I reassured her. "Then," queried she, after a pause, "who are you? "You see," I explained, "there were conceivably other men in Arden--"
"I suppose so," she sighed, with exemplary resignation.
" said Rosalind, irrelevantly.
" cried she, indignant. "I don't like cynicism, sir," said she; "and inasmuch as tobacco is not
yet discovered--"
"It is clearly impossible that I am smoking," I finished; "quite true." "I don't like cheap wit, either," said Rosalind. She considered that the plot of this epic was not sufficiently
inevitable. "Well, in any event," I optimistically reflected, "I am a nickel in. Maybe I can't write verses, then. And
I did so. "Can't," she echoed. She was especially so just now, in pouting. And, therefore,
"--pretend," I added. I am Jaques." "You can't be Jaques," she dissented; "you are too stout." I asked, with appropriate ardour. I groaned once more. "It was a girl," I darkly said. Then she went
on, and more sympathetically: "Now, Jaques, you can tell me the whole
story." I asked. I thought, triumphantly. And aloud, "It is an old story," I warned her, "perhaps the oldest of
all old stories. "It happened," I continued, "that, on account of the man's health, they
were separated for a whole year's time before--before things had
progressed to any extent. When they did progress, it was largely by
letters. "To the man," I said, firmly, "they meant a great deal. I love this woman greatly, and she, I think,
loves me. said Rosalind. It was--oh, just about her. In fact, I was believing every word of it by
this time. "Oh, but who wants a man to _die_ for her?" For the girl had merely liked him, and
had been amused by him. It was, she said, rather a rare variety, and much prized by
collectors." said Rosalind; and then, remorsefully:
"Was it a very horrid girl?" "It was not exactly repulsive," said I, as dreamily, and looking up
into the sky. said she. Alfred, if you like. Oh, yes! said Rosalind. "Only that time they talked about the weather," said I. "So the man
fell out of bed just about then, and woke up and came to his sober
senses." "He did it very easily," said Rosalind, almost as if in resentment. "The novelty of the process attracted him," I pleaded. That was
a lie. So he
laughed--and lied--and broke away, hurt, but still laughing." "I told you he was a fool," said I. "And, after all, that is the entire
story." "You see," continued Rosalind, oblivious to interruption, "I know all
about the girl,--which is more than you do." Well, that is the way she felt at first, when she
read his note. She didn't even
plan what she would wear, or what she would say to him. I sat up. Then she went to
her room, and had a good cry. Now," she added, after a pause, "you
understand." "Yet a woman would," she murmured. "Yes," I assented,--"for Orlando." "Oh, eminently!" "Yes," said I. she murmured, scandalised. "It happened," I continued, "that he was cursed with a good memory. Rosalind sighed, wearily; but in her cheek at about this time occurred
a dimple.
" I queried, obtusely. "Yes--since it wasn't, for her." He is rather like a muffin, isn't
he?" "Oh, Rosalind," I babbled, "I mean to prove that you were right. And I
_will_ prove it, too!" Rosalind said: "Oh, Jaques, Jaques! 19. "But I have the money," Rosalind would say, "and you haven't. And besides, it's really only selfishness on my part,
because I like doing things for you, and _if_ you liked doing things
for me, Jaques, you'd understand." They were a queer lot. Lizzie retained the terrier, however, as she was
honestly attached to it. She said, very gently: "I understand. For it was a little after sunset, and outside,
carriages were already rumbling down Regis Avenue, and people were
returning from the afternoon drive. "'Oh, I have wanted you,--I have wanted you!' I said, 'O dear, dear Stella! "'But you weren't there,' I protested; 'nobody was there. "'But how did you come hither, O my dear--?' "'Why, through your wanting me so much,' she said. And Stella was never to go driving on the twenty-seventh
of April, so that we would be quite safe, and would live together for a
long, long while. It is none of my business of course;
oh, I don't meddle. And so, "But why
not?" said I. Though, to be sure, Catullus now--" "This is not
a time for pedantry. said I. Rosalind was an orphan, and lived in
turn with her three aunts. I know, for I counted them. She answered, in some surprise: "Why, because you have the good taste
to be heels over head in love with me, of course." She answered, "I remember." Something changed in me
then, my lady. Something changed in you, too, I think." Then Rosalind said, "Don't, Jaques--!" I did not even kiss you, my beautiful and
wealthy Rosalind." "Don't keep on talking about the money," she wailed. "Why, you can't
believe I think you mercenary!" I wanted to
settle myself, you conceive, and as an accomplice you were very
eligible. "Yes,--but by the tiniest syllable a thought too volubly, my dear. "Then give me back my freedom," said I. "Jaques, is
there another woman in this?" "Why, in a fashion, yes. I thought her action damnably theatrical, but still, it was not
as though I could afford to waste money on rings, so I took the trinket
absent-mindedly. said Rosalind, and her voice broke. "Oh, and I had
thought--! I thought it admirable for early morning wear upon the
house tops of Liege, but it seems equally effective for dinner parties." "You see," said I, "I was horribly late. "It really is funny," she confided to a spoonful of _consomme a la
Julienne_. sighed I, ever so happily. I recalled the canary-bird, and the purple shawl. "I sought wildly,"
said I; "you were evanished. As you very justly observe, liquor has been the curse of
the South." "And so--?" She was the exact contrary, which was why
I said it quite audibly. "And your neighbour--why, _his_ neighbour is
Nannie Allsotts. Of two evils one should choose the lesser,
you know." "Oh, I finished it; every magazine in the country knows it. "I looked her up,"
confessed their owner, guiltily, "in the encyclopaedia. "The salt, please," quoth she. "Why, dear me! Nowadays
divorces are going out, you know, and divorcees are not allowed to. said Mrs. Dumby; "I've no doubt that you must find it a most
inconvenient fad!" "Two," I declared, "would be sufficient." "I adore orange ices, don't you? was her comment. "Well, then, you' re a pig," was mine. Say, the third on the left hand." "Oh, very possibly!" she queried, helpfully. "No," said I, critically; "the
depth of her dimples." Nevertheless, the dimples were, and by a deal, the more
conspicuous. "You must know that I love you," I said, simply, "I have always loved
you, I think, since the moment my eyes first fell upon you in
that--other pink thing. Of course, I realize the absurdity of my talking
in this way to a woman whose name I don't know; but I realise more
strongly that I love you. She considered this, dubious and flushed. "Thank you, sir," said she, demurely. "Oh, very well! "Rejection not implying any lack of merit," I suggested. Your mother and I were at school together, you know. Yes, I know everybody else. said she. "Indeed," said I, "I _don't_ deserve it." said she. "Your husband," I suggested, delicately. "It is usually better not
to," said she, with the air of an authority. Of course, though, it is none of my business." She smiled, inscrutably, a sphinx in Dresden china. I have lost you. The notion of you dazzles me like
flame,--and I dare not think of you, for I love you." she queried, sweetly; "then I reckon Mrs. Dumby was right after
all. said I; and I sat down. Why, how dare you be a widow! "Or a strange roof"--and I laughed, contentedly. Of course," she sighed, quite tolerantly, "I know he is clean out of
his head, for otherwise--" "Yes,--otherwise?" I prompted.
" Why," she cried in horror, "I
couldn't think of it!" said I. She closed the album, with firmness. "Why, you are just a child," said
Mrs. Barry-Smith. And besides, opals
_are_ unlucky." 21. Them Yankee huzzies, she estimated, did
beat her time. I did not say anything. You are a
curmudgeon." 6
"Will you not have me, lady?" And "I give it up. was my annotation. "Oh, I'm not making jokes to-day. She came to me, and her finger-tips touched my hand ever so lightly. "That is another quotation, I suppose. And it is one other reason why I
mean not to marry you. "Listen, dear. "Oh, very well!" "Oh, now and then one must be sociable. They are so different from you, dear. Oh, you've
been very nice to her. She adores you. "But, oh, my dear--!" I laughed. You'd find it out some day. And--and that is what I mean,
I think." "Oh, well!" "Well, well!" said Mrs. Vokins, comfortably; "and who's a-beating?" I must protest, until my final day, I could not help it. "Why, we is," I said. "That," she said, "is one way to deal with you." And I'm not. I began,--"wait, just a moment! and I believe you do love me, in at any rate
a sort of way. Yes, she
_is_ ignorant and tacky, and at times she is ridiculous. Why, she adores you! "I think that is all," she said. Any way, you
have broken your solemn promise," she said, with indignation. I was fond of you. 22. So, not unstirred by
trepidations, I met them at the pier. As it was, I talked that morning for an hour or more with fat Jasper
Hardress.... He was too old for her, too stolid, too dissimilar in every
respect, he said. She wanted to marry someone else, he
rather thought. And "Oh, Lord! He wants--well, just her happiness." "No,--that is done with, Jill. That is dead and buried now, my dear." we have done with each other, once for all," said I, half angrily. I am not polite
about it, and--I am sorry, dear. He dwarfs us. She's done with. Have I not always known
that, Jack?" "You accuse me of selfishness," I cried. I snapped my fingers airily; I was trying, of course, to disgust her by
my callousness. she said. Why, deuce take it, Jill! "You kissed them," she said, "and
even today they liked it, and so they are not clean. They will never
again be clean, my dear. And Stella, being dead, could never know what I had done. I thought it was a joke of some sort. 23. He was extremely glad to see me, though, to do
him justice. "Oh, I suppose you can't help it. I cried, and shook my fist
under the nose of an imaginary Lachesis. "You flatter me," I answered, as with proper modesty. "You must remember
that there are maids at Selwoode. I don't. I would cut your
acquaintance, Peter, if I could afford it." And, finally, I have position. So, the point is settled, and you may give me a
cigarette." Peter handed me the case, with a snort. "You are a hopelessly conceited
ass," Mr. Blagden was pleased to observe, "for otherwise you would have
learned, by this, that you'll, most likely, never have the luck of
Charteris, and land a woman who will take it as a favour that you let
her pay your bills. Yes, in a great many respects, you are
hopelessly parvenuish. I shall take it,
for I am going for a walk, and I haven't any of my own. And it is true," I continued, after an interval of
meditation, "that I have, in my time, encountered some very foolish
women. Good morning,
Peter. You're an ass. Where are you going, anyway?" "I am going," said I, "to the extreme end of Gridlington. I gave a gesture. And I, Peter, am very, very brave." Then I departed, whistling. It may be a
spring-gun, and it may be a bull-dog, and it may be a susceptible
heiress. She can't be
real, you know--I am probably just dreaming her. 24. ... For it was spring,
you must remember, and I was twenty-five. By
and by, though, the girl sighed. I sketched a bow. "You are a rogue," I commented, in my soul, "and I like you all the
better for it." Consider, then, my position. She laughed from the chest, this woman. "Oh, yes, I have
heard a deal of you. I was down--as the phrase runs,--in the twinkling of a bed-post. On
which side of the wall, I leave you to imagine.
" I'm Avis Beechinor, you know,--Miss
Hugonin's cousin. I cried, in my soul. I said. Why, simply look, Miss Beechinor!" I exhorted her, and threw
out my hands in a large pose of admiration. "This must be yours," she said. "You must have spilled it coming over
the wall, Mr. Townsend." "Why, dear me, yes!" I assented, affably. said I. "P.I.B., you mean? No, that stands for Perfectly
Immaculate Behaviour. My friend gave it to me because, he said, I was so
good. "Now that," my meditations ran, "is the absolute truth. So, this far, I have been a model of veracity." I queried, sadly. dear, _dear_ Avis!" I experimented. And
why did you pout at me, Avis dear? said I, aloud, "what luck!" "So Byam was right, after all. "Eh, well! You have begun the comedy, my lady, and I will play it to the end. Ah, no, not I! 25. said I. "Was
she cruel, my boy, or was she kind? I
daresay, though, he doesn't know it. You are damn disagreeable
this morning, Bob. I have spent a most enjoyable day, though," I continued, idly. "I have
been communing with Nature, Peter. And besides that--"
"Yes?" She may have borrowed it or
have got it by mistake, somehow. Then I consulted my watch, and subsequently grimaced. Now, isn't that a sweet name? I daresay, unbeknownst to myself, I am a bit of
a prophet." 3
But she did come. "Why, how extraordinary!" She reached for it. Our hands touched, with the usual result to my
pulses. Also, there were the customary manual tinglings. "You are very kind," was her observation, "for I am wondering which one
of the two he will marry." "Forman tells me he has no notion, himself." she queried, innocently.
" --so humpy," I complained. said she. "Why, then, how silly of you to continue to sit on
them!" --and, indeed, I was not yet twenty-six,--"I am a comparatively
young man." "--and I am not a new brand of marmalade, either." "Dear me, you have no idea how admirably that paternal tone sits upon
you! Townsend." Discreetly, she forbore to ask what
they were. It's your name, isn't it"
"Yes,--to my friends." We have not known each other long enough, Mr. Townsend." "Oh, what's the difference? We are going to be friends, aren't
we--Avis?" "Why--why, I am sure I don't know." Well,--I know. And I can inform you, quite confidentially, Avis, that we are not going
to be--. friends. We are going to be--"
"We are going to be late for luncheon," said she, in haste. "Good-morning, Mr. Townsend." "And why, Avis?" So,
suppose we say this June?" "Well, Avis?" "Dear me, aren't those roses pretty? Townsend." "Avis, we are not discussing roses." "Well, they _are_ pretty." "I--I hardly know." 26. You may depend upon it, though, we had our emotions. "See how they meet, see how
they greet! Ah, sweet, sweet, sweet, to meet in the spring!" But, first, I have a confession to make." And her glad, shamed eyes bemocked me. she softly
breathed. And did you think,
then, I was blind?" said I. I've had to try so
hard to keep from doing it before, Peter." So,
then, of course, I knew you were Peter Blagden." Ah, yes!" "Ah, sweet! they sang. "Ah, sweet, sweet, sweet, to meet in the spring." "Oh,
how dear of you to care so much! I didn't mean that you were _ugly_,
Peter. "But I'm not," the girl said, in bewilderment. I queried, and took it from my pocket. And you--Ah, how--how funny! She gave me
eight of those handkerchiefs. Ah,
how--how funny!" she cried, again; "ah, how very, very funny! I said. "Ah no, ah no!" Of course, you must
marry sensibly,--of course you must, Mr. Townsend. It is I who am to
blame--why, of _course_ it's only I who am to blame. I have encouraged
you, I know--"
"You haven't! Ah, I tell you, I was tired, tired, tired! I did not interrupt her. For we are poor, Mr.
Townsend,--we are bleakly, hopelessly poor. We are only hangers-on, you
see. "Ah, sweet! sang the birds. "Can you see, can you see,
can you see? It is sweet, sweet, sweet!" They were extremely gay over
it, were the birds. "Yes," said I, "I think I understand. But that seems, somehow, a long while ago. Will you marry me, Avis?" she breathed. "Just you," I answered, gravely. Let us part friends, then,--Robert. Even if--if you really
cared, we couldn't marry. We are too poor." I
am to the contrary, an inordinately rich man, I tell you, for I have
your love. Are you going
to deny him that chance, Avis?" "It wouldn't be sensible," she wavered. Why, of course, it is not sensible. Ah, what will she say, indeed? And in consequence--will you
marry me, Avis?" She gave me her hand frankly, as a man might have done. In the silence that fell, one might hear the birds. "Sweet, sweet,
sweet!" "Can you see, can you see, can you see? It is sweet, sweet, sweet!" 3
But, by and by, she questioned me. I reproached her; "Avis, Avis, how
little you know me! That was the solitary fly in the amber,--that I
thought I was to marry a woman named Margaret. "Oh, what a child you are!" she said. 27. Why, of course I am." And would you believe it, Mr. He had been in the Boer War and came home just a
night before I left, wounded and promoted several times and completely
covered with glory and brass buttons. And, by the way, I am Miss Hugonin, and I hope you and Avis will
be very happy. said I. "Oh, go away, Billy!" "Just so," said Peter. "For I ought to tell Bettie about everything," I reflected. 5
When I had done so, Bettie shook her head. "Oh, Robin, Robin!" "Now you're jealous, Bettie. "Well,--but I've the right to, you see, and she hadn't. Oh, well, I shan't cry Willow. So let's go
into the garden, dear. In addition, I was vaguely rumoured to
write "pieces" for the magazines. I said. And I did it. I did not merely
mimic my former self, I was compelled, almost, to believe I was indeed
that former self, because not otherwise could I get Bettie Hamlyn's
toleration. I wash my hands of it. "But, oh, how good that
scene is!" I said, a little later. No, I couldn't have blamed her if
she laughed right out. Oh, I've no patience with you! was
her verdict. I queried, with due horror. Oh, but I know you!" 8
All in all, we were a deal more than happy during these three very hot
months. I did not greatly care
to, for to me it did not seem important, now....
9
Meantime, I meditated. "I am in love with Avis--oh, granted! In
fine, I do not want to die entirely. And that inclined us to forgive him
everything, except of course, the Booker Washington luncheon. Only I did not know, precisely, what I wanted. 28. Nature, you are a jade! Oh, well! "There is strange milk in this cocoanut, could I
but discern its nature." Why, but, of course! I loved her from the moment I saw her ... You did not
appreciate her, you know. "Oh, Stella! "Did you know, Jo, that he is crazy about that too?" As it was, they got loose, to annoy you by
their incredibility. "Oh, I have seen worse," said Bettie, as in meditation. Anyhow, he is a deal
more considerate than you. She was right. And besides, how dared she throw
you over--!" Can you do that bullying, Bettie,--and keep it up, I mean?" You are such a baby, riding for a fall--No, I don't mean the
boyishness you trade upon. "And I thought I had fooled you, Bettie! Well, I never could. I am
sorry, though, if I have been annoyingly clumsy--"
"But you were doing it for me," she said. But, oh, dear me! "Now, don't be an ass, John. I _was_ rather idiotic, I suppose--"
"Of course you were," he said, as we shook hands. Well, we will
let the aposiopesis stand." "You silly boy, it was not at all for
that. Child, you have found your metier. I am very, very glad. And, in fine, we became
again, upon the spot as it were, the very best of friends. "You are very well rid of the Hardresses," he adjudged. "But, after all, John, you _did_ make love to her." Why, naturally! "Why, of course not!" And then she grew very
angry and said, "Oh, you _dog!_" and threw a sofa-cushion at me. For it was he who taught you to adopt
infancy as a profession. He robbed me. And now
you are just a man I am going to marry--Oh, well!" "They must keep them for us somewhere, Bettie dear. And that is probably
the explanation of everything." And that's a comfort, too. 29. One day I said, "To-morrow I must have holiday. They had cost me a pretty penny, too, for this was in September. I did not know her. They
remember only an imaginary being who was entirely perfect, and of whom
they were not worthy. And I? Well, I was very fond of Stella. And it is not fair. And I? Well, I was very fond of Stella. Yes, it would be good. But,
upon the whole, I am not sorry that Stella is gone. She was always vain, was Stella; it
would have grieved her had no one remembered. "It
is in the air. I swear to you that, somehow, _I_ have been warned. No, that is not a compliment, it is
rather the reverse. And that is why so many people are fond of you, I think." That is not much to claim, but it is something." There you have my creed; and it may not be impeccable, but I
believe in it." See, here it is, your
own words printed in the book." "Dear me, did I say that? said Charteris, rather
mirthlessly. "Either way, you have as yet the courage of the
unconvicted. And you have managed, out of it all, to get together the
makings of an honest book. Even so, I wonder--? Come, let us concoct some curious sort of drink." I looked at him compassionately. 30. I looked again. In fine, there was nothing to worry over anywhere. "It was of a fever she died. She was delirious,--oh, quite three days. "Oh, it was very horrible," he
said. "Oh, I would like you, first of all, to comprehend how horrible it
was. She was always calling--no, not calling exactly, but just moaning
one name, and over and over again. He had been so cruel, she said. For it was that in chief. You act within
your rights; and, besides, you have a pistol, and I haven't. I am
getting afraid, though, Jasper. So for
God's sake, make an end of this!" Yes, I
am sure that someone told me he was here." "I thought at first it was you. Oh, only for a moment, boy. "Yes,--she did believe that. But it held me, none the less. You will
find him at Willoughby Hall, I suppose. "Well," she said, "and who's your fat friend, Mr. "I can't stop now, dear. Why, it is
shooting, isn't it?" "Yes," said I.
" Besides, Bettie, you are such a dear in that get-up. she said. And she would have gone, but I detained her. Now it is autumn. And now just such a
barrier was arising between Bettie and me, as I perceived in a sort of
panic.