A LITTLE GLIMPSE OF THE GARDEN OF EDEN.
"The moon--the moon, so silver and cold,
Her fickle temper has oft been told,
Now shady--now bright and sunny--
But of all the lunar things that change,
The one that shows most fickle and strange,
And takes the most eccentric range
Is the moon--so called--of honey."--_Hood_.
"My dear, will you kindly pour me a second cup of coffee? Not because
I really want it, you know, but entirely for the aesthetic pleasure of
seeing your pretty little hands pattering about the cups."
Lennox Sanderson, in a crimson velvet smoking jacket, was regarding
Anna with the most undisguised admiration from the other side of the
round table, that held their breakfast,--their first honeymoon
breakfast, as Anna supposed it to be.
"Anything to please my husband," she answered with a flitting blush.
"Your husband? Ah, say it again; it sounds awfully good from you."
"So you don't really care for any more coffee, but just want to see my
hands among the cups. How appreciative you are!" And there was a
mischievous twinkle in her eye as she began with great elaboration the
pantomimic representation of pouring a cup of coffee, adding sugar and
cream; and concluded by handing the empty cup to Sanderson. "It would
be such a pity to waste the coffee, Lennie, when you only wanted to see
my hands."
"If I am not going to have the coffee, I insist on both the hands," he
said, taking them and kissing them repeatedly.
"I suppose I'll have to give it to you on those terms," and she
proceeded to fill the cup in earnest this time.
"Let me see. How is it that you like it? One lump of sugar and quite
a bit of cream? And tea perfectly clear with nothing at all and toast
very crisp and dry. Dear me, how do women ever remember all their
husband's likes and dislikes? It's worse than learning a new
multiplication table over again," and the most adorable pucker
contracted her pretty brows.
"And yet, see how beautifully widows manage it, even taking the
thirty-third degree and here you are, complaining before you are
initiated, and kindly remember, Mrs. Lennox Sanderson, if I take but
one lump of sugar in my coffee, there are other ways of sweetening it."
Presumably he got it sweetened to his satisfaction, for the proprietor
of the "White Rose," who attended personally to the wants of "Mr. and
Mrs. Lennox" had to cough three times before he found it discreet to
enter and inquire if everything was satisfactory.
He bowed three times like a disjointed foot rule and then retired to
charge up the wear and tear to his backbone under the head of "special
attendance."
"H-m-m!" sighed Sanderson, as the door closed on the bowing form of the
proprietor, "that fellow's presence reminds me that we are not
absolutely alone in the world, and you had almost convinced me that we
were, darling, and that by special Providence, this grim old earth had
been turned into a second Garden of Eden for our benefit. Aren't you
going to kiss me and make me forget in earnest, this time?"
"I'm sure, Lennie, I infinitely prefer the 'White Rose Inn' with you,
to the Garden of Paradise with Adam." She not only granted the
request, but added an extra one for interest.
"You'll make me horribly vain, Anna, if you persist in preferring me to
Adam; but then I dare say, Eve would have preferred him and Paradise to
me and the 'White Rose.'"
"But, then, Eve's taste lacked discrimination. She had to take Adam or
become the first girl bachelor. With me there might have been
alternatives."
"There might have been others, to speak vulgarly?"
"Exactly."
"By Jove, Anna, I don't see how you ever did come to care for me!" The
laughter died out of his eyes, his face grew prefer naturally grave, he
strode over to the window and looked out on the desolate landscape.
For the first time he realized the gravity of his offense. His crime
against this girl, who had been guilty of nothing but loving him too
deeply stood out, stripped of its trappings of sentiment, in all its
foul selfishness. He would right the wrong, confess to her; but no, he
dare not, she was not the kind of woman to condone such an offense.
"Needles and pins, needles and pins, when a man's married his trouble
begins," quoted Anna gayly, slipping up behind him and, putting her
arms about his neck; "one would think the old nursery ballad was true,
to look at you, Lennox Sanderson. I never saw such a married-man
expression before in my life. You wanted to know why I fell in love
with you. I could not help it, because you are YOU."
She nestled her head in his shoulder and he forgot his scruples in the
sorcery of her presence.
"Darling," he said; taking her in his arms, with perhaps the most
genuine affection he ever felt for her, "I wish we could spend our
lives here in this quiet little place, and that there were no
troublesome relations or outside world demanding us."
"So do I, dear," she answered, "but it could not last; we are too
perfectly happy."
Neither spoke for some minutes. At that time he loved her as deeply as
it was possible for him to love anyone. Again the impulse came to tell
her, beg for forgiveness and make reparation. He was holding her in
his arms, considering. A moment more, and he would have given way to
the only unselfish impulse in his life. But again the knock, followed
by the discreet cough of the proprietor. And when he entered to tell
them that the horses were ready for their drive, "Mrs. Lennox" hastened
to put on her jacket and "Mr. Lennox" thanked his stars that he had not
spoken.