With the recovery of a leg sufficiently workable in the matter of
climbing stairs, Dr. Farr's boarder had resigned the family couch in
the sitting-room and had retired to his spartan chamber under the
eaves. From its open window that night he watched the moon. Let nothing
happen to the universe in the meantime, and there would be a full moon
on Friday night. The professor hoped that nothing would happen.
She had not exactly said "Yes" yet. He must not forget that. But it
could do no harm to feel reasonably sure that she was going to. He did
not conceal from himself that he had brought things off remarkably
well. That last argument of his had been a masterpiece of strategy.
There were other, shorter, words which might have described it. But
they were not such pleasant words. And when a thing is necessary it is
just as well to be pleasant about it. No harm had been done. Quite the
opposite. Desire's one valid objection had been neatly and effectually
disposed of. And now the matter could be dropped. It would be
forgotten.... What did it amount to in any case? Other men lied
every day saying they had never loved. He had lied only once in saying
that he had.... At the same time it might be very embarrassing to....
yes, certainly, the matter must be dropped!
They would, he supposed, find it necessary to elope.... No sense in
looking for trouble! The old gentleman had been odder than ever the
last day or so. He had ceased even to pretend that his guest's presence
was anything but an annoyance. He had refused utterly to enter into any
connected conversation and had been restless and erratic to a degree.
"Too muchy moon-devil," according to Li Ho. That very afternoon he had
met them coming down from their talk upon the rocks and the ironic
courtesy of his greeting had been little less than baleful. At supper
he had remarked sentimentally upon the flight of time, referring to the
nearness of Friday in a way eminently calculated to speed the parting
guest.
Friday, at latest, then? If they were to go they would go on
Friday.--Friday and the full moon.
In the meantime he felt no desire for sleep. The moon, perhaps?
Certainly there is nothing in the mere business-like prospect of
engaging a permanent secretary to cause insomnia. The professor
supposed it was simply his state of health in general. It might be a
good idea to drop a line to his medical man. He had promised to report
symptoms. Besides, it was only fair to prepare John. The candle was
burnt out, but the moon would do--pad on knee, he began to write....
"Beloved Bones--I am writing in the hope that the thought of you may
cause cerebral exhaustion. I find the moon too stimulating. Otherwise I
rejoice to report myself recovered. I can walk. I can climb hills. I
can un-climb hills, which is much worse, and I eat so much that I'm
ashamed to look my board money in the face. You might gently prepare
Aunt Caroline by some mention of an improved appetite.
I had a letter from Aunt Caroline yesterday. That is to say, three
letters. When you included (by request) "positively no letter writing"
in my holiday menu, you did not make it plain who it was that was
positively not to write. So, although she tells me sadly that she
expects no answers, Aunt Caroline positively does. I may say at once
that I know all the news.
On the other hand, there is some news which Aunt Caroline does not
know. Owing to your embargo on letters, I have not been able to inform
my Aunt of the progress of my book, nor of my discovery of the perfect
secretary. I have not, in short, been able to tell her anything.
So you will have to do it for me.
But first, as man to man, I want to ask you a question. Having found,
by an extraordinary turn of luck, the perfect secretary, would you
consider me sane if I let her go? Of course you would not. I asked
myself the same question yesterday and received the same answer.
So I have asked her to marry me.
I put it that way because I know you like to have things broken to you.
And now, having heard all your objections (oh, yes, I can hear them.
Distance is only an idea) I shall proceed to answer them.--
No. It is not unwise to marry a young girl whom I scarcely know. Why
man! That is part of the game. Think of the boredom of having to live
with some one you know? Someone in whose house of life you need expect
no odd corners, no unlooked for turnings, no steps up, or down, no
windows with a view? Only a madman would face such monotony.
No. It is not unfair to the other party. The other party has a mind and
is quite capable of making it up. She will not marry me unless she
jolly well wants to. Far more than most people, I think, she has the
gift of decision. Neither is it as if what I have to offer her were not
bona fide. Take me on my merits and I'm not a bad chap. My life may
have been tame but it has been clean. (Only don't tell Aunt Caroline).
I have a sufficiency of money. What I promise, I shall perform. And as
for ancestors--Well, I refer everyone to Aunt Caroline for ancestors.
If Miss Desire marries me she will receive all that is in the bond and
any little frills which I may be able to slip in. (There will not be
many frills, though, for my lady is proud.)
Yes. Aunt Caroline will make a fuss. I trust you will bear up under it
for my sake. I think it will be well for her to learn of my marriage
sufficiently long before our return to insure resignation, at least,
upon our arrival. After the storm the calm, and although, with my dear
Aunt, the calm is almost the more devastating, I trust you will acquit
yourself with fortitude.
And now we come to the only valid objection, which you have,
strong-mindedly, left until the last--my prospective father-in-law! He
is a very objectionable old party, and I do not mind your saying so.
But one simply can't have everything. And Bainbridge is a long way from
Vancouver. Also, as a husband I can take precedence, and, by George,
I'll do it! So you see your objection is really an extra inducement. It
is only by marrying the daughter of Dr. Farr that I can protect Dr.
Farr's daughter.
Are you satisfied now? I don't know whether I mentioned it, but she
hasn't actually said "yes" yet. She had certain objections, or rather a
certain objection which I found it necessary to meet in a--a somewhat
regrettable manner. I was compelled to adopt strategy. She thought our
proposed contract (we do things in a business manner) might not be
quite fair to me. She was ready to admit that I was getting a good
thing in secretaries but she feared that, later on, I might wish to
make a change. I had to meet this scruple somehow and I seemed to know
by instinct that she would not believe me if I expounded those theories
of love and marriage which you know I so strongly hold. Pure reason
would not appeal to her. So I had to fall back upon sentiment. Instead
of saying, "I shall never love. It is impossible," I said, "I have
loved. It is over."
Sound tactics, don't you think? ... Well I don't care what you think!
I have to get this girl safely placed somehow.
We shall have to elope probably. Fancy, an elopement at thirty-five!
The father seems to consider her continued presence here as vital to
his interest, though why, neither of us can understand. Well, I'm not
exactly afraid of the old chap but it will certainly be easier for her
if there are no wild farewells. Therefore we shall probably fold our
tent like the Arabs and steal away as silently as the "Tillicum" will
allow.
Li Ho will have to be told. He will know anyway, so we may as well tell
him. It appears that whatever may be the reasons for keeping a young
girl buried here, they do not extend to Li Ho. It will not be the first
time that his Chinese inscrutability has assisted at a (temporary)
departure.
I shall let Aunt Caroline know as soon as the act is irrevocable and
shall inform you at the same time so that you may not be unprepared.
You realize, I suppose, that you will be accused of being accessory?
Didn't you tell me that a trip would do me good?
We shall not come home for a few weeks. My secretary has spoken of an
old Indian whom she knows, a perfect mine of simon-pure folk-lore. He
lives some-where up the coast, about a day's journey, I think. We may
visit him. With her to interpret for me, I may get some very valuable
notes. I may add that we are both very keen on notes. When we have done
what can be done out here, we shall come home. The fall and winter we
shall spend upon the book. My secretary will insist upon attending to
business first. And then--well, then she wants to go shopping. So we
shall have to go where the good shops are.
What does she wish to buy? Oh, not much--just life, the assorted kind.
B. H. S.