A STRANGE WEDDING BREAKFAST
Mr. Allison, who had never before been known to leave his books and
papers, not only called the next day to express his gratitude for what
he was pleased to style my invaluable warning, but came every day after.
After he became an habitue of the house, Mrs. Vandyke grew more
communicative in regard to him. Mrs. Ransome, the lady in whose house he
lived, had left her home very suddenly. He anticipated a like return;
so, ever since her departure, it had been his invariable custom to have
the table set for three, so that he might never be surprised by her
arrival. It had become a monomania with him. Never did he sit down
without there being enough before him for a small family, and as his
food was all brought in cooked from a neighboring restaurant, this
eccentricity of his was well known, and gave an added eclat to his
otherwise hermit-like habits. To my mind, it added an element of pathos
to his seclusion, and so affected me that one day I dared to remark to
him:
"You must have liked Mrs. Ransome very much, you are so faithful in your
remembrance of her."
I never presumed again to attack any of his foibles. He gave me first a
hard look, then an indulgent one, and finally managed to say, after a
moment of quiet hesitation:
"You allude to my custom of setting two chairs at the table to which
they may return at any minute? Miss Hunter, what I do in the loneliness
of that great house is not worth the gossip of those who surround you."
Flushing till I wished my curls would fall down and hide my cheeks, I
tried to stammer out some apology. But he drove it back with a
passionate word:
"You love me, Delight" (he was already pressing me in his arms), "you
love me or you would never have rushed so impetuously to warn me of my
danger that night. Make me the maddest, happiest man in all the world."
I hardly realized what I had done till I stood abashed before Mrs.
Vandyke, and told her I had engaged myself to marry Mr. Allison before
he went to Europe. Then it seemed I had done a very good thing. She
congratulated me heartily, and, seeing I had certain fear of taking my
aunt into my confidence, promised to sit down and write to her herself,
using every encomium she could think of to make this sudden marriage, on
my part, seem like the result of reason and wise forethought.
I had not, what every one else seemed to have, full confidence in this
man, and yet the thrall in which I was held by the dominating power of
his passion kept me from seeking that advice even from my own
intuitions, which might have led to my preservation. I was blind and
knew I was blind, yet rushed on headlong. I asked him no questions till
our wedding day.
We were married simply, but to the sound of wonderful music, in a
certain little church not far from ---- Street.
Mr. Allison had told me that it would be impossible for him to take me
out of the city at present. It was therefore to the house on ---- Street
we were driven.
In the hall stood the old serving man with whose appearance I was
already so familiar.
"Luncheon is served," he announced, with great formality; and then I saw
through an open door the glitter of china and glass, and realized I was
about to take my first meal with my husband.
The next moment I was before the board, which had been made as beautiful
as possible with flowers and the finest of dinner services. But the
table was set for four, two of whom could only be present in spirit.
I wondered if I were glad or sorry to see it--if I were pleased with his
loyalty to his absent employer, or disappointed that my presence had
not made everybody else forgotten. To be consistent, I should have
rejoiced at this evidence of sterling worth on his part; but girls are
not consistent--at least, brides of an hour are not--and I may have
pouted the least bit in the world as I pointed to the two places set as
elaborately as our own, and said with the daring which comes with the
rights of a wife:
"It would be a startling coincidence if Mrs. Ransome and her daughter
should return to-day. I fear I would not like it."
I was looking directly at him as I spoke, with a smile on my lips and my
hand on the back of my chair. But the jest I had expected in reply did
not come. Something in my tone or choice of topic jarred upon him, and
his answer was a simple wave of his hand toward Ambrose, who at once
relieved me of my bouquet, placing it in a tall glass at the side of my
plate.
"Now we will sit," said he.
I do not know how the meal would have passed had Ambrose not been
present. As it was, it was a rather formal affair, and would have been
slightly depressing, if I had not caught, now and then, flashing glances
from my husband's eye which assured me that he found as much to enchain
him in my presence as I did in his.