A PROPOSAL
"THE Dickses will be here to-morrow, Nan," Aunt Patty said to me one
morning more than a week later.
"Oh, I am glad!" I said involuntarily.
"So you have found our diminished household dull," said Aunt Patty,
smiling.
"Oh, no, auntie, it is not that," I said quickly; "but I have grown
very tired of hearing Miss Cottrell talk about Mr. Dicks and dilate
upon the glories and delights that await her in the future."
Aunt Patty laughed.
"Poor Miss Cottrell!" she said. "It is rather absurd the way she plumes
herself on the prize she has won, yet I am glad she is so happy. I
fancy she led a lonely life before she came here."
"After 'dear Lady Mowbray' died," I said. "Well, I am sure I do not
grudge her her happiness, though I should like to be sure that it will
not lessen Paulina's."
"I think you will find that Paulina takes it philosophically," aunt
said; "she is never one to fret or worry. I shall be glad to welcome
her back. Do you know she has been away from us for more than a month?
It hardly seems so long."
"It seems a long time to me," I said, and had hardly uttered the words
ere I longed to recall them, for I did not want aunt to discover why
it was that the time had seemed so long to me. It was more than a
fortnight since I had seen Alan Faulkner, and our last talk together,
when he had tried to warn me of the unworthiness of Ralph Marshman,
was a constant burden on my memory. While the hope of arriving at a
better understanding with him had to be deferred indefinitely, the days
dragged heavily. The entrance of Miss Cottrell, evidently in the best
of spirits, prevented Aunt Patty from making any comment on my words.
There was a pleasant bustle in the house that day as we prepared for
the return of our Americans. As I helped to set Paulina's room in
order, I thought of the miserable night when I had watched beside her
and she had suffered so much and shrunk in such dread from the prospect
of illness. How dark had seemed the cloud of trouble that loomed ahead
of her then! But it had passed and the blessing of health was Paulina's
once more. What had the experience meant for Paulina? Would she be just
the same as she had been before it befell?
I could hardly keep from laughing when Miss Cottrell brought some
of her choicest carnations to adorn Mr. Dicks's room. It seemed so
impossible that any woman could cherish a romantic attachment to Josiah
Dicks, and he was so prosaic a being that I feared the flowers would
be lost on him. I am afraid middle-aged courtship will always appear
ridiculous in the eyes of a girl of nineteen.
I was putting the finishing touches to Paulina's room when I became
aware of a shrill whistle from the garden. I looked out of the window.
Jack stood on the gravel below.
"Come down, Nan, please," he shouted. "I have news—such news for you!"
He was looking so elate that I had no fear of the news being other than
good. Full of wonder, I ran downstairs.
"No, I am not coming in," he said as we shook hands; "I am going to
tell you all by yourself. You know I went up to London this morning?"
"I know nothing about it," was my reply. "You generally tell me when
you are going to town, but you did not on this occasion."
"Oh, well," he said smiling, "there was a reason for that."
"You have not been to my home?" I asked eagerly. "The news has nothing
to do with my people, has it?"
"I cannot say that it has," he answered rather blankly. "Is there no
one else in whom you can take a little interest?"
"Why, of course! Now I know, Jack!" I cried, enlightened by his manner.
"You have passed for Woolwich! That is your news."
"You are right," he said, with shining eyes; "aren't you amazed?"
"Not in the least," I replied. "It is only what I expected; but I am
very glad."
"I thought that the result might be known in London this morning, so I
went up to find out," Jack explained. "I could not wait for the post to
bring me the news. Besides, I felt I'd like to be alone when I learned
how it was with me. I can tell you I trembled like a leaf when I saw
the list, and when I looked for my name, there seemed to be something
wrong with my eyesight. But I found it at last—'John Upsher'—sure
enough."
"Of course I knew it would be there," I said. "Let us go and tell Aunt
Patty."
"Not yet," he said, slipping his hand within my arm and drawing me away
from the house. "We'll tell her by and by; but I want to have a little
talk with you first. Do you know, I really believe that if my name
had not been there I should never have found courage to come back to
Greentree."
"Don't talk nonsense, there's a good boy," I said; "as you have passed
there is no need to consider what you would have done if you had not
succeeded."
"What a horrid snub!" he exclaimed. "And I wish you would not call me a
boy. They do not admit boys to Woolwich Academy."
"No, really?" I said, trying hard not to laugh.
"You are a most unsympathetic person, Nan," said Jack, with an
aggrieved air.
I glanced at him, and saw that he was more than half in earnest. I was
really delighted to hear of his success; but I was feeling a little
impatient with him for taking me down the garden just then, for I
wanted to finish the task I had in hand before the afternoon was over.
I prided myself on my methodical habits, though I got little credit
for these at home, where the others constantly prevented my practising
them. But my heart smote me when I heard Jack call me unsympathetic.
I remembered that he had neither mother nor sister with whom he could
discuss the things that most keenly interested him, so I resolved to
listen cheerfully to all he had to say.
"Am I, Jack?" I said meekly. "Well, I can only say that if I am
deficient in sympathy, it is my misfortune rather than my fault; but
such as I have is all yours. You don't know how pleased I am that you
have passed."
His face brightened instantly.
"I expect it's a bit of a fluke," he said.
"It's nothing of the kind," I returned. "You have been working hard and
you have done what you hoped to do. You need not talk as if you were
utterly incapable."
"Then you don't think me altogether good for nothing, Nan?" he said,
bending his tall person to look into my face.
"Why should I, Jack?" was my response. "I wish you would not ask such
foolish questions."
"I don't see that it is foolish," he said. "I know I am altogether
inferior to you, but I did want to please you. I longed to pass for
your sake."
"For my sake!" I repeated, growing suddenly hot as I realised that Jack
was not speaking in his usual light strain. "For your father's sake,
you surely mean."
"No, for your sake," he repeated. "Oh, Nan, you must know that I would
rather please you than any one else in the world!"
"Oh, Jack," I exclaimed in dismay, "do please stop talking in that
absurd way!"
"Absurd!" he repeated in a tone which made me know I had hurt him. "Is
it absurd to love you, Nan? Oh, you must know how I love you! I could
not speak of it before; but, now that I am all right for the Army, I
want you to promise that you will be my wife—some time. I know it can't
be yet."
I could have laughed at the audacity with which he made the proposal,
had I not seen that it was no laughing matter with him. He seemed to
think I was already won, and to expect me to pledge myself to him
forthwith. And all the while, eager and anxious as he was, he looked
such a boy!
"It can never be," I said decisively. "You must never speak of this
again, Jack. It is quite impossible. What can have made you think of
such a thing?"
"Why, I have always thought of it," he said, "at least that is, since
you came to stay at 'Gay Bowers.'"
"That is only six months ago," I remarked. "So now you must please
banish the idea from your mind. It could never be."
"Why not, Nan?" he asked wistfully. "Do you dislike me so much?"
"Jack, how silly you are! What will you ask next? Have we not been good
chums? But our marrying is quite out of the question. It vexes me that
you should speak of it. For one thing you are younger than I am, and
altogether too young to know your mind on this subject."
"Thank you, Nan," he retorted; "I assure you I know my own mind
perfectly. I am only six months younger than you, and you seem to have
no doubt of the soundness of your opinion. It is not such a great
difference I don't see that it matters in the least."
"I dare say it would not if we were both about thirty years of age,"
I replied; "but, as it is, I feel ever so much older than you. Mother
says that girls grow old faster than boys."
"That's all rubbish," he said impatiently. "I beg your mother's pardon,
but it is. Anyhow, by your own showing, it will not matter in ten
years' time, and I am willing to wait as long as that if need be.
So, Nan, give me a little hope, there's a darling. You say you don't
dislike me, so you can surely promise that we will always be chums."
I shook my head. I hated the position in which I was placed, but I had
no doubt as to my own feelings. "I can give no promise," I said firmly.
"Nan, you are unkind," he said. "You don't understand what this means
to me. If only you would consent to wait for me, how I would work! It
would be something to live for. You should be proud of me some day,
Nan."
"You have your father and your profession and your king and country to
live for," I said. "They ought to be enough."
"They are not for me!" he cried. "I don't profess to be a heroic being,
but you might make anything of me. It was the hope of winning your love
that brought me through my exam. I knew you would not look at me if I
failed."
"Oh, Jack, as if that would make the least difference if I cared for
you in that way!" I cried impulsively, and the next moment was covered
with confusion as I realised how I had given myself away. I grew
crimson as Jack halted and stood looking at me with sudden, painful
comprehension in his eyes.
"I see," he said slowly; "you know you care in that way for some one
else. I can guess who it is—that—"
"Stop, Jack!" I cried, so imperiously that the words died on his lips.
"Remember that you are a gentleman, and do not say what you will
afterwards be sorry for. You have no right to speak to me so, and I
will not listen to you. Never open this subject again. My answer is
final!"
To make it hard for him to disobey me, I started at a run for the
house. He did not attempt to follow me. At the end of the lawn I halted
for a moment and looked back. Jack stood motionless where I had left
him. He had so dejected an air that my anger was lost in regret. I
could not bear to give pain to my old playfellow. I went on more slowly
towards the house. As I entered I glanced back again. Jack was just
swinging his long limbs over the wall. He often preferred vaulting
it to making his exit by the gate. It seemed so odd an ending to
our romantic interview that I burst out laughing as I went indoors.
Colonel Hyde, who sat smoking just within the porch, looked at me in
astonishment, and I found some difficulty in replying to his query as
to the cause of my merriment. I could only say that I laughed at the
way Jack jumped over the wall. Then I made haste to tell him of Jack's
success. He was delighted, for, as the Vicar's old friend, he took a
great interest in Jack.
"But why could not the young scamp come in and give me an opportunity
of congratulating him?" he asked.
I murmured that I believed Jack was in a hurry to get home, and went
quickly upstairs. By the time I reached the room my merriment had
vanished. I sank into a chair, and began to sob. I was vexed and
unhappy about Jack, but my regret for his suffering was mingled with a
strange, overwhelming emotion which I could not well have explained. My
tears were not soon checked, and when I ceased to cry I looked such an
object that I could not go down when the gong announced that tea was
ready below.
After a while Aunt Patty came to discover what was the matter with me.
I both laughed and cried as I told her what had happened. Aunt Patty
laughed too. It struck her as inexpressibly droll that Jack should be
in love.
"I am really very sorry," she said, suddenly growing serious. "I might
have known—I ought to have seen; but I thought Jack had more sense—no
offence intended, Nan. I don't know that I could have done any good,
though, if I had foreseen it. Poor old boy. He is a silly fellow; but I
am sorry for him. He will suffer acutely, I dare say, for a day or two."
"A day or two!" I repeated.
"Why, yes; you don't think you have broken his heart, do you, Nan? I
assure you, calf-love is soon cured. If this were the hunting season a
day's hunt might do it. As it is, I dare say your rejection will rankle
in his mind till he meets with another girl who strikes his fancy;
but it will have ceased to trouble him much long before he gets to
Woolwich."
"You don't give him credit for much constancy;" I said, a trifle
nettled by her remarks, which were hardly flattering to my vanity.
"At his age there is none," said Aunt Patty. "What are you thinking of,
Nan? You don't want poor Jack to be miserable, do you?"
"Oh, dear, no!" I said, and then I laughed. "I am quite glad you think
he will get over it easily, for he seemed so hurt that it made me 'feel
bad,' as Paulina would say. I can't understand how it is that some
girls think it grand and desirable to have offers of marriage. I am
sure I hope that I shall never have another."
"Do you?" asked my aunt, with a mischievous glance. "You mean till the
right one comes-eh, Nan?"
"That will be never," I said decidedly; "I am quite sure that I shall
never marry. I shall be the old maid of the family."
"There are no 'old maids' nowadays," said Aunt Patty cheerfully; "the
term is quite out of date. So many careers are open to women that a
single life may be a most useful and honourable one. When you are at
the head of a college, Nan, you won't want to change places with any
toiling mistress of a house like myself."
"I am afraid not," I said, with a laugh that was not very mirthful. "I
should certainly never choose to do domestic work for its own sake."
"Ah, well, dear, you will soon be able to take to your books again,"
said Aunt Patty, kissing me ere she went away.
She meant to cheer me by so speaking; but somehow her words had quite
the opposite effect. My tastes had not changed, yet something within
me rebelled against the thought of going home and taking up a severe
course of study again.