"I'm not a bit blasé," remarked Helena, "but I'd like to be engaged for
a change--not to last, of course. Only I can't make up my mind which of
the four; and whichever I choose the other three will be so
disagreeable. If I could only let them know I didn't mean it,--at least
wouldn't later,--but that would never do, because I shouldn't enjoy
myself unless I really thought I was in earnest. Besides, I haven't been
able to fall in love with any of them yet."
"You don't really mean what you say when you talk that way, do you,
Helena?" asked Magdaléna, with much concern. "It would be so--so
unprincipled; and I can't bear to think that of you."
"But, 'Léna dearest, I should be in earnest for the time being; I'm just
talking from the outside, as it were. At the time I should think I
really meant it. Otherwise I'd be bored to death, and the engagement
wouldn't last five minutes after I was. I'm simply wild to fall in love,
if only to see what it's like. You won't tell me; anyhow, I don't think
that would satisfy all my curiosity if you did. I wish some new man
would come along."
"Alan Rush is charming."
"He's too much in love with me."
"Mr. Fort keeps your wits on the jump."
"My wits are in my brain, not my heart."
"Mr. Howard?"
"He has so much tact that he has no sincerity."
"There is still Mr. Webster."
"Poor Dolly!"
"What _do_ you want?"
Helena was moving restlessly about her boudoir,--a bower of pearl-grey
embroidered with wild roses, in which she reclined luxuriously when free
from social duties, and improved her mind. A volume of Motley lay on the
floor. Walter Pater's "Imaginary Portraits" was slipping off the divan,
and there was a pile of Reviews on the table. She was biting the corner
of a volume of Herrick.
"I haven't any ideal, if that's what you mean. I think it would have to
be a man of the world, for conversation so soon gives out with the men
of this village. Mr. Fort takes refuge in epigrams. If I married--became
engaged to him--I should feel as if I were living on pickles. I think
that one reason why Alan Rush and Mr. Howard are so determined to make
love to me is because they have nothing left to talk about."
"You've told me twice what you don't want, but you don't seem to know
what you do. 'A man of the world' is not very definite."
"No; he must be capable of falling violently in love with me, and at the
same time not make himself ridiculous; to keep his head except when I
particularly want him to lose it. Of course I want to inspire a grand
passion as well as to feel one, but I don't want to be surrounded by it;
and the first time he looked ridiculous would be the last of him as far
as I was concerned. I might be in the highest stages of the divine
passion, and that would cure me."
"Well! is that all? Some men could not be ridiculous if they tried."
"You are thinking of Mr. Trennahan, of course. If he did, I do believe
you wouldn't see it. But I should; I have a hideous sense of the
ridiculous. Well, lemme see. He must have read and travelled and thought
a lot, so that he would know more than I, and I could look up to him;
also that subjects of conversation would not give out. The platitudes of
love! That would be fatal."
"I don't believe they ever sound like platitudes."
"Hm! I won't undertake to discuss that point, knowing my limitations.
What next? He must have suffered. That gives a man weight, as the
sculptors say. My quartette will be much more interesting to the next
divinity than they are to me. Then of course he must have charming
manners and an agreeable voice: I could not stand the brain of a Bismark
in the skull of an Apollo if he had a nasal American voice. I believe
that's all. I'm not so particular about looks, so long as he's neither
small nor fat."
"And if you found all that wouldn't you marry it?"
"N-o-o--I don't know--but I'd be engaged a good long time. You see I
want to be a belle for years and years."
"And what is to become of the poor men when you are through with them?"
"Oh, they'll get over it. I shall. Why shouldn't they?"
"I thought you said once you wanted to marry a statesman."
"Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don't. I'll consider that question ten
years hence. I want to be a perfectly famous belle first."
"You are that already."
"Oh, I must have a season in New York, and another in Washington, and
another in London. The gods have given me all the gifts, and I intend to
make the most of them. Now let's read a chapter of Motley out loud, and
if I jump off to other things you jerk me back. Let's finish Pater,
though. It's like lying under a cascade of bubbles on a hot summer's
day. My brains are addled between trying to be well read and trying to
keep four men from proposing. You read aloud, and I'll brush my hair.
No, I'll embroider on papa's mouchoir case; I've been at it for thirteen
months. Oh, by the bye, I didn't tell you that I had a brilliant idea.
It darted into my head just as I was dropping off last night. I forgot
to speak about it to papa this morning, but I will to-night. It's this:
I'm going to give a ball at Del Monte. Take everybody down on a special
train. Don't you think it will be a change? The spring has come so early
that we can have the grounds lit up with Chinese lanterns; and there may
be some Eastern men there. There often are. So much the better for my
ball--and me. Now read."