THE ENGAGEMENT OF ONE
Many times during those winter days Billy thought of Marie's words: “But
what if the man and the music both happen to be on the same side?” They
worried her, to some extent, and, curiously, they pleased and displeased
her at the same time.
She told herself that she knew very well, of course, what Marie meant:
it was Cyril; he was the man, and the music. But was Cyril beginning
to care for her; and did she want him to? Very seriously one day Billy
asked herself these questions; very calmly she argued the matter in her
mind--as was Billy's way.
She was proud, certainly, of what her influence had apparently done for
Cyril. She was gratified that to her he was showing the real depth and
beauty of his nature. It WAS flattering to feel that she, and only she,
had thus won the regard of a professional woman-hater. Then, besides
all this, there was his music--his glorious music. Think of the bliss
of living ever with that! Imagine life with a man whose soul would be so
perfectly attuned to hers that existence would be one grand harmony!
Ah, that, truly, would be the ideal marriage! But she had planned not to
marry. Billy frowned now, and tapped her foot nervously. It was, indeed,
most puzzling--this question, and she did not want to make a mistake.
Then, too, she did not wish to wound Cyril. If the dear man HAD come
out of his icy prison, and were reaching out timid hands to her for
her help, her interest, her love--the tragedy of it, if he met with
no response!.... This vision of Cyril with outstretched hands, and of
herself with cold, averted eyes was the last straw in the balance with
Billy. She decided suddenly that she did care for Cyril--a little; and
that she probably could care for him a great deal. With this thought,
Billy blushed--already in her own mind she was as good as pledged to
Cyril.
It was a great change for Billy--this sudden leap from girlhood and
irresponsibility to womanhood and care; but she took it fearlessly,
resolutely. If she was to be Cyril's wife she must make herself fit
for it--and in pursuance of this high ideal she followed Marie into the
kitchen the very next time the little music teacher went out to make one
of her dainty desserts that the family liked so well.
“I'll just watch, if you don't mind,” announced Billy.
“Why, of course not,” smiled Marie, “but I thought you didn't like to
make puddings.”
“I don't,” owned Billy, cheerfully.
“Then why this--watchfulness?”
“Nothing, only I thought it might be just as well if I knew how to make
them. You know how Cyril--that is, ALL the Henshaw boys like every kind
you make.”
The egg in Marie's hand slipped from her fingers and crashed untidily
on the shelf. With a gleeful laugh Billy welcomed the diversion. She had
not meant to speak so plainly. It was one thing to try to fit herself
to be Cyril's wife, and quite another to display those efforts so openly
before the world.
The pudding was made at last, but Marie proved to be a nervous teacher.
Her hand shook, and her memory almost failed her at one or two critical
points. Billy laughingly said that it must be stage fright, owing to
the presence of herself as spectator; and with this Marie promptly, and
somewhat effusively, agreed.
So very busy was Billy during the next few days, acquiring her new
domesticity, that she did not notice how little she was seeing of Cyril.
Then she suddenly realized it, and asked herself the reason for it.
Cyril was at the house certainly, just as frequently as he had been; but
she saw that a new shyness in herself had developed which was causing
her to be restless in his presence, and was leading her to like better
to have Marie or Aunt Hannah in the room when he called. She discovered,
too, that she welcomed William, and even Bertram, with peculiar
enthusiasm--if they happened to interrupt a tete-a-tete with Cyril.
Billy was disturbed at this. She told herself that this shyness was not
strange, perhaps, inasmuch as her ideas in regard to love and marriage
had undergone so abrupt a change; but it must be overcome. If she was to
be Cyril's wife, she must like to be with him--and of course she really
did like to be with him, for she had enjoyed his companionship very
much during all these past weeks. She set herself therefore, now,
determinedly to cultivating Cyril.
It was then that Billy made a strange and fearsome discovery: there were
some things about Cyril that she did--not--like!
Billy was inexpressibly shocked. Heretofore he had been so high, so
irreproachable, so god-like!--but heretofore he had been a friend.
Now he was appearing in a new role--though unconsciously, she knew.
Heretofore she had looked at him with eyes that saw only the delightful
and marvelous unfolding of a coldly reserved nature under the warmth of
her own encouraging smile. Now she looked at him with eyes that saw only
the possibilities of that same nature when it should have been unfolded
in a lifelong companionship. And what she saw frightened her. There was
still the music--she acknowledged that; but it had come to Billy with
overwhelming force that music, after all, was not everything. The man
counted, as well. Very frankly then Billy stated the case to herself.
“What passes for 'fascinating mystery' in him now will be plain
moroseness--sometime. He is 'taciturn' now; he'll be--cross, then. It is
'erratic' when he won't play the piano to-day; but a few years from now,
when he refuses some simple request of mine, it will be--stubbornness.
All this it will be--if I don't love him; and I don't. I know I don't.
Besides, we aren't really congenial. I like people around; he doesn't.
I like to go to plays; he doesn't. He likes rainy days; I abhor them.
There is no doubt of it--life with him would not be one grand harmony;
it would be one jangling discord. I simply cannot marry him. I shall
have to break the engagement!”
Billy spoke with regretful sorrow. It was evident that she grieved to
bring pain to Cyril. Then suddenly the gloom left her face: she had
remembered that the “engagement” was just three weeks old--and was a
profound secret, not only to the bridegroom elect, but to all the world
as well--save herself!
Billy was very happy after that. She sang about the house all day, and
she danced sometimes from room to room, so light were her feet and her
heart. She made no more puddings with Marie's supervision, but she was
particularly careful to have the little music teacher or Aunt Hannah
with her when Cyril called. She made up her mind, it is true, that she
had been mistaken, and that Cyril did not love her; still she wished to
be on the safe side, and she became more and more averse to being left
alone with him for any length of time.