Charley was right. She was the girl to tackle him, if he was to be
tackled at all; but Charley knew that better than the reader, who has
had merely a glimpse or so of the irrepressible Alice in her relations
with the subject of this Monograph. For Charley had, as mentioned in the
last chapter, witnessed innumerable scenes between the two, which had
caused him to wipe his eyes and look as though something hurt him; that
being his way of laughing before he was married. This being a Monograph,
however, I have not felt at liberty to place those scenes before the
reader; for a Monograph is, if I understand the term, a paper rigidly
confined to one subject; alien topics being admitted only as
illustrations throwing light on the main theme. So that the monotony of
this narrative, which a hasty reader might attribute to poverty of
invention, is in fact due to my rigidly artistic adherence to the
Unities. A Monograph I promised, and a Monograph this shall be.
And the theme is _not_ Love.
“Then why did you not say so at first?” I hear you ask, my Ah Yung
Whack,—hear you say this in plain English, for in your day all other
languages will be as dead as that of Cicero.
I cannot blame you for asking the question, though the answer is ready.
Because I should else have found no readers among my contemporaries. The
readers—that is, the people of leisure—of my day are mostly women and
preachers (the third sex usually having all they can do to take care of
the other two), and neither will bite freely at any bait save Love. They
will nibble at the hook, but a game rush—bait, hook, and all, at a
gulp—that is elicited only by a novel. Love is the bait now. Three
hundred years ago it was Hate, the ODIUM THEOLOGICUM. Three hundred
years hence it will be—but I cannot guess what, and you will _know_, my
almond-eyed boy,—almond-eyed and yellow of skin, though swearing by
Shakespeare, and perhaps by Magna Charta and Habeas Corpus.
If, indeed, in your day—but enough! and so fare thee well, Confucian of
far Cathay!
The piazza after breakfast, next morning. A bright, sunny day in the
beginning of February, with a voluptuousness in the air hinting at the
approach of spring. “How beautiful and sparkling the river looks!” said
one of the girls. “And just to think,” she added, with a little stamp of
her little foot, “we must bid farewell to it so soon!”
“That reminds me,” said Alice, rising briskly from the rocking-chair, in
which she reclined, drinking in the balmy air and bright talk in
half-dozing silence. But the silence and half-closed eyes were those of
pussy awaiting the appearance of Mistress Mouse.
“That reminds me.” And giving a quick glance at Charley, as she passed
him, she marched with a rapid, business-like tread, straight up to the
Don. Charley prepared to weep. I must mention, in passing, that his way
of weeping over Alice differed from her mother’s in this, that when the
tears stood in his eyes, those windows of the soul were wide open,
thereby revealing the fact that his ribs ached; whereas Mrs. Carter’s
being shut tight, it was left entirely to conjecture whether she wept
from pain or pleasure.
Alice planted her little self square in front of the towering figure of
the Don, and looked him in the eyes as though expecting him to begin the
conversation.
“What now, sauce-box?” asked Mrs. Carter, quickly, as though she felt
that if she delayed a moment longer she would become, as usual,
speechless; and a premonitory shake or two passing through her jolly
figure showed that her prudence was not ill-judged. “What are you up to
now?”
“Well?” said Alice, with her eyes fixed on those of the Don.
Charley dried his with his handkerchief, for he wanted to see
everything. The Don (I regret to have to use the expression) was in a
broad grin. As to Mrs. Carter, the faintest thread of hazel was still
visible between the lids of her fast-closing orbs of light. Alice turned
pettishly on her heel, and with her eyes retorted over her shoulder,
twirled her thumbs.
It was evident that there was something amiss about Charley’s ribs. Not
so with Mrs. Carter; for to any one surveying her person, ribs remained
the merest hypothesis, based upon the analogy of other vertebrates; but
the upper part of her spinal column gave way; that is, she lost control
of her neck, and her head rested helplessly against the back of her
chair.
“Well?”
“What an ornament is lost to the stage!” laughed the Don.
“The stage! Are we not enacting a real life-drama? and” (looking down)
“to me a very serious one? And I have been looking for the _denouement_
so long—_so_ long!”
“That only comes at the end of the play!”
“And did you not hear what Jennie said just now? Another short week only
is left! The end of the play has come. There is but time to come before
the footlights and say our last say!” She paused. “Hast thou naught to
say to me?” resumed she, with averted eyes, and in a stage-whisper.
“Naught to say to thee?” replied he, falling into her vein. “Can’st
believe thy slave so flinty-hearted?”
“Forbid the thought!” cried she, in melodramatic tone and gesture. “No;
long have I felt that thou had’st some sweet whisper for me o’er-hungry
ear, but thy bashful reticence—I deny it not—did breed in me girlish
heart a most rantankerous doubt. Speak! Remove this doubt rantankerous!
But st! One approaches! Let’s seek some secluded nook! Beholdest yon
fateful Argo? On!” And passing her arm through his, she advanced down
the piazza with the tread and look of an operatic gipsy-queen full of
mezzo-soprano mystery, which she is to unveil before the foot-lights;
while he, to the delight and amazement of the spectators, strode forward
in the well-known wide, yet cautious tread of the approaching bandit; to
which nothing was lacking save the muffling cloak and the _pizzicato_ on
the double-basses.
Reaching the steps. “On!” cried she, flashing forth an arm. “Descend!”
“Encore! Encore!” shouted the audience, to which she deigned no reply,
and the pair stepped upon the turf.
“Have you ever heard the ‘Daughter of the Regiment’?” asked she, halting
and speaking in her natural manner. “But of course you have. Strange to
relate, I have myself heard it twice. You remember the Rataplan duet? Of
course. Well, I am what’s-her-name, and you are the old sergeant! Come!”
And with that she strutted gayly off, rattling an imaginary drum with
rare vivacity.
Again the Don was not to be outdone; rubadubbing, to the surprise of
all, in a deep sonorous voice; strutting, who but he, and every inch a
soldier.
Vociferous applause! The actors turned and bowed low.
“Unprecedented enthusiasm!” (whispered Alice) “the Gallery has tumbled
into the Pit!”
Which was true; for the audience had rushed pell-mell upon the lawn,
Mrs. Carter alone remaining upon the porch, unable, for the present, to
rise, her chubby hands darting in every direction in vain search for her
handkerchief.
For the moment the household service at Elmington was disorganized, and
grinning heads protruded from the chamber windows. Let them grin on! In
those days there was time for play, as well as for work.
“Umgh—umgh, heish!” ejaculated Uncle Dick, from his pantry window.
“Miss Alice are a oner, _I_ tell you!”
What our august butler meant by “hush!” I cannot say, as Zip had uttered
no word. Perhaps he was shutting up some imaginary person, conceived as
about to deny the proposition that Miss Alice was a “oner.”
“Hein?” (pronounce as though French), said Zip, walling up his eyes.
“Wash dem dishes, boy! Do you ’spose I was gwine for to ’dress no
remarks to de likes of you ’bout a young mistiss? Mind you business, and
stop gapin’ through de window!”
Moses made a show of obedience, rattling the plates together with
unusual vigor; but for all that he craned his neck for a view of the
lawn, keeping a weather eye out, the while, upon the ready right hand of
his chief,—a man of summary methods with his subordinates.
“Come,” said Alice, “a repeat is demanded.” And away they went,
rubadubbing back towards the piazza. “Rataplan! Rataplan! Rataplan!”
This time (on the antistrophe) Alice outdid herself. Tossing her head
from side to side, with an inimitable mixture of reckless coquetry and
military precision; her jaunty little figure stiffened and thrown back;
tapping the ground with emphatic foot-falls, she was, in all save
costume, an ideal vivandière. She glanced at Charley as she approached
him.
“Rataplan! Rataplan! Rataplan!” thundered the Don.
“Rataplan! Rataplan! Rataplan!” chirped Alice.
In obedience to the glance he had received, Charley leaned forward; and
just as she passed him a saucy toss of her head brought her lips within
an inch or so of his attentive ear. “Rataplan! _I’ve a plan_, rataplan,
plan, plan, plan;” and the couple reaching the steps, the Don bowed in
acknowledgment of the joyous applause of the Pit; while Alice, her hand
resting lightly in his, after the manner of prime donne, executed a
series of the most elaborate courtesies ever witnessed on or off any
stage.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, hasten to the sideshow! Within this
tent,” said she, waving her hand towards the porch, “sits enthroned the
Fat Woman, better known as The Great American Undulator. Only
twenty-five cents, children a quarter of a dollar! A strictly moral
show, and all for the benefit of the church! Unlike the fiendish hyena,
her mocking laughter never curdles the blood of the living, while she
ravens among the bones of the dead. _Twen-ty-five cents!_ Warranted not
to laugh aloud in any climate; but has been known to smile in the face
of the fabled hyena aforesaid, well knowing that she has no bones,
herself, for his midnight mockery. _Children, a quar-ter of a dollar!_
Walk in, gentlemen, and take your sweethearts with you, and see The
Unrivalled Anatomical Paradox, or The Boneless Vertebrate; known
throughout this broad land as The Great American Undulator. A strictly
moral show, only twenty-five cents, and all for the benefit of the
church! Children—but I detain the primo basso,” said she, bowing
gravely to that gentleman, as she passed her arm within his. “We will
now hie us to the Fateful; since you insist on asking me, at that spot
only, ‘what are the wild waves saying?’ or is it some other question,
perhaps?—be still, my heart!”
The Don was never so happy as when Alice was girding at him in one of
her frolic moods, and he sallied forth in high good humor. The audience
watched from the piazza for some new mad prank on Alice’s part, but she
walked slowly forward, and even seemed to be talking about the weather.
At any rate, she raised her hand towards certain flying clouds.
“The saucy jade!” said Mrs. Carter, with ill-concealed admiration.
“Well, I suppose she is a privileged character, as the saying is.”
“I should like to know, Mrs. Carter, how we are to get on without her?”
said Mr. Whacker. “If I were thirty or forty years younger—but there is
Charley; eh, Mr. Mum?”
“If,” replied Mr. Mum, “I were such as you were thirty or forty years
ago, Uncle Tom, I don’t think she could possibly escape.”
“And what would become of me, then?” said Mrs. Carter. “How far are they
going? I believe she is actually going to take him to the Argo, as they
call it. There they go, straight on; he is helping her into the boat
now; well, upon my word! What is she up to? This bright sun will tan her
dreadfully, of course, but little she cares! She might raise her
parasol, at least, instead of poking holes in the sand, as she seems to
be doing.”
* * * * *
“Frightened? Yes, dreadfully,” said Alice, giving her collaborators an
account of the interview. “Of course I was; but I was ‘_in_termined,’ as
poor old Uncle Dick used to say, to go through with it. You see, my
liege-lord that was to be—Mr. Chatterbox, I mean,” tapping Charley with
her fan—“had, the evening before, commanded—”
“Commanded! Oh!” said Charley, darting his forefinger as an
exclamation-point into the middle of a smoke-ring.
“Yes, commanded me to do it. I see, Jack, that you have left out that
part of our talk (to make room for more of your own nonsense, I suppose)
in your account of our conversation; but just as I was about to run up
the steps, he stopped me and whispered, ‘_Mind, I wish it!_’”
“Oho!” cried Charley, brushing away with a sweep of his hand a wreath
that would not work, “that’s the way I talked then, was it?”
“Yes, that was what you said, and I—rather—liked it.”
“Hear, hear!” murmured Charley, his left eye shut, and slowly moving his
head, so as to keep the open centre of a whirling smoke-wreath between
his right eye and a certain portrait on the wall.
“You know, Jack, every real woman likes the man to be master.”
“Hear, hear!” gurgled Charley, in a rather choking voice; for by this
time, in his effort to keep his eye on a fly on the ceiling (the ring
having floated away from the picture and over his head), he had leaned
his head so far back that (to speak rather as a Bushwhacker than as an
anatomist) his Adam’s apple was impinging on his vocal cords.
Alice glanced from Charley to me, and tapped her forehead gently with
her fan, just as Charley snapped his head back from its constrained
position. “Clothed,” said she, “but not altogether in his right mind.
But we shall never get done if we go on in this way. Come! But before I
go any further, Jack, I must ask you to remember that I was not as well
acquainted with the Don at this time, as any reader would be who had
read your book up to this point. I see that you call him a ‘man of
surprises’ (a rather Frenchified phrase, by the way); but please bear in
mind that the only surprise he had ever caused me was when he bloomed
forth as a violinist. All the other surprises were devoured by this
Silent Tomb,” said she, glancing towards Charley. Him, detected in the
act of smoothing with his pipe-stem the jagged, interior edges of a blue
annulus, she brought to his senses by a sharp fan-tap on his head.
“What is to become of our Monograph if you go on in this way?”
“Monograph? I thought you were on a polygraph, or a pantograph, and was
amusing myself till you came back to the subject.”
“Very true. Well, I took my seat in the stern, and he sat opposite me,
looking much amused, and very curious to know what my whim was. I think
I was a ‘girl of surprises’ when I began. ‘Do you know, Mr. Don,’ said
I, ‘are you aware that you are a Fiend in Human Shape?’ He burst out
laughing. He obviously thought that I was unusually crazy, even for me.
‘No,’ said he, ‘I can’t say that I ever appeared to myself in that
light; but we will suppose that you are right; what then?’ And he
settled himself to be amused. I was far from amused, I assure you. I was
at my wit’s end, not knowing what to say next, so I began to make holes
in the sand (as observed by the lynx-eyed Boneless). Give a dog a bad
name and kill him; get the reputation of being a wag—should I say
waggess?—and your simplest acts amuse. As I looked down I could see,
out of the corner of my eye, his wondering smile. I felt that he mistook
my embarrassment for archness, and that my silence was, in his eyes, an
artistic rhetorical pause. By the way, to change the subject” (Charley
groaned and received a rap), “that’s where we women have the advantage
of men. You are the besieging army, we the beleaguered city. We can see
any confusion in your ranks, while a panic behind our walls is invisible
to you. If you feel confused, you imagine that you look so; and then you
_do_ look so. It is different with us. We know—”
Here Charley seized his pipe and began filling it with the most
obtrusive vigor. “Conundrum!” said he, claiming attention with uplifted
forefinger.
“Well?”
“What is the difference between a woman’s tongue and a perpetual-motion
machine? Answer: I give it up!”
As I could never learn to whirl smoke-wreaths, I twirled my thumbs
during the interruption of our session that ensued. The bashful and
evasive Charley upset every chair in the room, save mine, behind which
he was ultimately captured and punished. “Pshaw! Who minds Jack?” said
Alice, stooping to right her rocking-chair. “Ugh! How smoky your
moustache is!”
“I never heard anything like that while we were engaged.”
“And for a very good reason,” said she, with a toss of her head.
“Illustrious Bœotian!” sighed Charley.
Alice threw herself into her chair, panting and laughing. “Where was I?”
“You were without a compass, in a word-ocean without a shore.”
“On the contrary, I was on the shore, and poking holes in the sand.
‘Well,’ said the Don, ‘what should be done to a man who was so
unfortunate as to be a Fiend in Human Shape?’
“‘I should say that he needed a guardian. He lacks the warning voice of
a mother.’
“‘But we will suppose that he has no mother.’
“‘Then let him find one. How, for example,’ said I, feeling my way,
‘how do you think that I would look the character.’ And I put on a
demure expression.
“‘Admirably, admirably!’
“‘Then you adopt me as a mother?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘A mother with a warning voice?’ I added, beginning to find my
soundings.
“‘A mother with a voice soft as a zephyr!’
“‘No, with a voice of warning.’
“Up to this time he had been watching me somewhat with the expression of
a child when some one is about to touch the spring of a Jack-in-the-Box.
Up I was going to bounce, in some high antic or other. But just here his
countenance took on a look of perplexity. I suppose my voice became one
of warning. Can’t I talk seriously _sometimes_, Mr. Frobisher?”
“You? Oh, Lord!”
“Well, you needn’t be so emphatic. What will Jack think?”
“Pshaw! Who minds Jack? Ouch!”
“Well, where was I? Ah! ‘No, with a voice of warning,’ said I, looking
rather grave, I suppose. ‘Very well,’ said he, ‘with a voice of
warning.’ ‘I am your mother, then?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And you are my son?’ ‘Yes,
mumma,’ said he, smiling, and holding up his knee with interlaced
fingers and looking very comfortable.
“‘My son,’ said I, with perfect gravity, and feeling very
_un_comfortable. ‘My dear child, I need not tell you that I feel all a
mother’s affection for you. I have given you so many proofs of this ever
since I trotted you on my foot, a wee thing,—you, not the foot,—that I
do not feel called upon to add any more evidence of the love I bear
you.’ ‘Darling mumpsy!’ said he. You may look incredulous, but he said
it. ‘But no one is perfect,’—he nodded; ‘then you will not be surprised
to hear that your loving mother sees in you, mingled with many
excellencies that make her proud, some faults,—one fault at least? You
will not feel hurt? Consider your head patted.’ And I began again poking
holes in the sand. ‘What is my crime? Speak, mother dear?’ ‘You are a
handsome young man.’ ‘Ah, but how could I help that, with such a lovely
little mother?’ ‘No frivolity, my child; no bandying compliments with
your old mother. No matter whence your good looks are derived, you are
_devastatingly_ handsome—’”
“How could you say such a thing to a man’s face, Alice?”
“To put him in good humor. You are all vain, you know.
“Upon that he threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter. ‘Go on,’
said he, lolling back and nursing his knee as before. ‘No,’ said I, ‘the
fatal gift of beauty is not a crime in itself; it is the use one—’
“‘Do you know,’ said he, interrupting me and leaning forward with deep
conviction in his eyes, ‘that you are the most extraordinary girl—I
mean mother—that I ever encountered? You ought to write; it is your
positive duty. So much brightness—tit for tat, you know—ought not to
waste its sweetness, etc. Have you never thought of writing a book?’
‘Not I,—Mary Rolfe is our genius; I leave that to her.’
“His face flushed slightly, and instantly I changed my whole plan of
campaign. I had been making a reconnoissance under cover of the mother
and son fiction; but like a wide-awake general, I now, seeing the enemy
in confusion, unmasked my batteries and opened fire; that is, I dropped
my parasol and sprang towards him with an anxious look: ‘Are you ill?’ I
asked.
“His face grew crimson, for he knew what I meant. You see he had once or
twice heard me making fun of a certain threadbare trick of the
novelists. It would seem that characters in romances never have the
least idea that any one is in love with any one. One party casually
mentions to a second party the name of a third party. Instantly party
No. 2 changes color. ‘Are you ill?’ cries No. 1. ‘It is nothing,’ gasps
No. 2; ‘it will pass in a moment.’”
“Yes,” said Charley, “and how singular it is that No. 1 never for a
moment suspects the truth, but invariably goes off under the conviction
that the poor heroine has eaten something indigestible,—has a
pain—nay, even—who minds Jack?—an ache!”
“How shrewd a device!” said Alice, laughing. “The author lets the reader
know, while concealing it from the actors in the drama, that the poor
girl is desperately gone.”
“Yes,” added Charley; “the author may be said to tip the reader a wink,
‘unbeknownst’—behind No. 1’s back. Now don’t, Alice; do sit down and
let’s go on. That’s right. Why, in a novel, even a physician would ask,
‘Are you ill?’—even _he_ could not distinguish between the indications
of love and the symptoms of colic.”
“In one word,” said Alice, “those words make a book a novel,—and their
absence makes this—a sym—”
Charley here burst into a quotation, speaking fearfully through his
nose: “Of this disease the great Napoleon died. Some say that Napoleon
was a great man; some say that Washington was a great man; but _I_ say
that true greatness consists in moral grandeur. With this brief
digression, gentlemen, we will resume our subject.”
“Why, who on earth could have said that?” cried Alice; “it is immense!”
“Have you never heard Jack or myself quote it before? It was the one
solitary gem of rhetoric in the annual course of lectures delivered by
old P-P-P-P—too many confounded p-p-p-p’s! Imitate his
example,—resume!”
“Where did I leave him? Ah! ‘Are you ill?’ said I, and he blushed as red
as a rose. I waited a moment, then said, ‘You have lost the cue; repeat
after me,—“It—is—nothing!”’ ‘It is nothing,’ repeated he;
‘it—will—soon—pass! it will soon pass.’
“‘Will it?’ said I, charging bayonets. ‘That is the question, Mr. Don,’
said I, folding my arms,—these two, not the bayonets,—‘you are in
love!’ I looked him straight in the eyes, for my blood was up! My fear
was all gone!”
(“It has never come back!” said Charley.)
“‘To deny it would be useless as well as ungallant. Who would believe
me? Constantly associated for so long with a bevy of charming—’
“‘A bevy! Are you enamoured of the whole flock? Is there no bright
particular star? May I make a guess? Ah, I see I need not name her.’
“‘Miss Carter,’ said he, after a pause, ‘you seem so different from
your usual self this morning! Or are you merely laying a train for a
phenomenal display of fire-works? Are you in earnest, or are you
preparing to blow me up with an explosion of fun?’
“‘I am in earnest, and I am going to blow you up, too. Listen: but
before broaching my main topic, I must say one word on Mary Rolfe.’
“‘I had thought that she was to be the main theme of your sermon.’
“‘Of course _you_ thought so,—perfectly natural, the wish being father
to the thought.’ How that made him blush and stammer,—almost as badly
as the Silent Tomb in its courting days. Now, boys” (meaning her husband
and the subscriber), “I leave it to you: wasn’t I a regular
Macchiavelli? Didn’t I manage it neatly? You see it would not have done
to let him see that I was acting as Mary’s friend, even though without
her knowledge and consent; and she would never have forgiven me. So, at
the very outset, I planted an interrogation-point in his mind. ‘What is
she coming to?’ he kept thinking; but I was _there already_. I had made
my reconnoissance and found out where the enemy was weak; but, as you
veterans know, after a reconnoissance, the trouble is to get back to
camp without loss. This is how I managed that: ‘To begin,’ said I, ‘with
Mary Rolfe. Her you love. That’s admitted? Well, silence gives consent.
Now, whether you have told her so in words or not is more than I can
tell; for, although Mary and I are very intimate, girls do not—’”
“Oh!” grunted Charley.
“Well, in theory they do not,” replied Alice, laughing.
“‘Whether you have told her in words,’ said I—
“‘I have told her neither in words nor otherwise,’ said he.
“‘Indeed,’ said I, ‘that’s strange! strange, that you should have kept
her alone in darkness. You must be aware that you have told every one
else, as plainly as looks, at least, can speak. But I must proceed; _I
have no time to discuss that_.’ ‘One moment,—you say that my looks have
revealed my sentiments. Are you quite sure of this?’ ‘The fabled ostrich
and the sand!’ said I, laughing. ‘Confound it! Excuse me,—well, I
suppose I deceive myself, as other men do. There is our friend Charley,
for instance, the woman-hater! Now, he fondly imagines that nobody knows
that he adores somebody!’”
“Fondly! H’m! Well, go on,” said Charley.
“I colored faintly at this, for blushing is becoming to me. ‘And, yet,’
said I, ‘I venture to say that the somebody in question knew what was
taking place in his mind even before he suspected it.’ ‘Did you really?’
asked he. ‘I have no doubt _she_ did,’ said I. ‘All women are alike in
that,’ I added; ‘_but let us proceed_.’ ‘One moment,’ said he; ‘if all
women are alike in this intuitive power, then I infer that Miss Rolfe
cannot fail to have remarked that I—’ Here I gave my shoulders a
diplomatic shrug, which brought him to a dead pause. He nodded his head
gently up and down a little while, and seemed in great perplexity. ‘Miss
Carter,’ said he, suddenly looking up, ‘will you be my friend and advise
me?’ ‘I am your friend,’ said I, ‘and will do what I can in the way of
advice.’ Then he looked down for a long time, his face all corrugated
with cross-purposes. My blood began to run a little chill. Was the great
mystery about to be revealed?
“‘You say that by my bearing and looks I have, to all intents and
purposes, declared myself a lover of Miss Rolfe. Now, suppose—and I
pledge you my word that it is so—suppose all this was unintentional on
my part; suppose that I have striven not to show just what you say I
have shown,’—he paused again as before. ‘No,’ said he, resuming, in a
half-musing way, as though he thought aloud, ‘I don’t see how I can lay
the whole case before her’ (meaning me, I suppose). ‘Ah,’ said he, his
face brightening, ‘let us suppose a case. Suppose I loved you dearly,—a
_very_ supposable case, by the way,—and you did not suspect it.’ ‘_Not_
a supposable case; but go on.’ ‘Well,’ said he, smiling, ‘at that wharf,
yonder, lies a ship ready to sail. I am to go in her to seek my fortune
in the wide world, somewhere; ought I to speak, or would it not be
nobler to bid you farewell with my secret locked in my breast?’
“I saw, of course, how matters stood. The supposed case was a purely
imaginary one. His perplexity had been due to the difficulty of avoiding
all allusion to his incognito. ‘I don’t pretend to know which would be
the nobler course for _you_; but _I_ should want to know it, and hear it
from your own lips, too, were you to be off for Japan in fifteen
minutes. The sweetest music in the world to a woman’s ears is the voice
of a man telling her that he loves her; and it is music of so potent a
character, that it often melts a heart that was cold before.’
“That shot told. He threw his head back, like a horse taking the bit
between his teeth. It was plain that he had formed a resolution of some
sort. By the way, Jack, I could never understand how so transparent a
man as the Don, showing his inmost feelings with every glance of his
eye, and every movement of his features; with a face which was a
barometer of his slightest emotions, could ever have kept a secret. Here
is the S. T., on the other hand. Whisper a secret into _his_ ear, and it
is like dropping a stone into an artesian well. It is the last you ever
hear of it. There may be a subterranean splash, but you never see it.
But the Don’s face always reminded me of a lake that the merest pebble
causes to ripple from shore to shore.
“Well, the reconnoissance was a perfect success, and all that was left,
as I thought, was to retire under cover of a rattling skirmish fire.[1]
Very naturally, I did not suspect that my position was mined. But it
was; and I trod on the percussion fuse.
“‘Well,’ said I, ‘I don’t suppose you would ever get tired of hearing
me talk about Mary, but you have never heard the mother’s “warning
voice” yet, and you know you came to the Fateful Argo to hear that.’
“‘That’s true! Would you mind if I lit a cigar? Thanks!’ And, opening
my parasol, he struck a light behind it, and began puffing away, with
his head thrown back, and nursing his knee, as before; the picture of
serene contentment. His face was calm as the placid little lake of which
I spoke just now, and he looked as though, the absorbing question in his
mind being set at rest, he was at my service, to be amused and
entertained.
“‘A man of your wide experience, Mr. Don,’ said I, beginning the
skirmishing, ‘must have remarked the fact that girls will talk.’
“‘True, very true!’ And with dreamy, half-smiling, uplifted eyes, he
thrust his cigar into the other corner of his mouth, as though by
anticipation he rolled under his tongue some morsel of my nonsense. ‘Go
on, laughter-compelling siren!’
“‘Again, you cannot fail to have observed that girls, being wound up to
talk, by nature, must needs talk about one another or—the rest of
mankind. As we are not philosophers, could it be otherwise?’
“‘Impossible!’ said he, rocking gently to and fro. ‘Proceed,
enchantress!’
“‘Well, you being included among the rest of mankind—’
“‘You have occasionally honored me? And what did you say about me?’
“‘With one accord, that you were in love!’
“‘You have already entrapped me into a confession on that point.
Chaunt, Circe!’
“‘But the accord ends there; we are not unanimous as to the charmer’s
name.’
“‘Not unanimous? I don’t understand.’
“‘Well, we female doctors are agreed as to the disease, but differ as
to its cause. The majority of the Faculty at Elmington assign, as the
source of your trouble, Mary’s soulful eyes; but one or two, even of us,
and most of the neighboring physicians, urge another name; while one or
two, with the frankness so common among doctors, admit that they do not
know what is the matter with you.’
“‘You surprise me! I had gathered from what you said but a moment ago,
that the symptoms in my case were so pronounced as not even to require a
formal diagnosis.’
“‘But doctors will differ, and when they do—’
“‘The patient must decide. Well, I have done so. But—to drop your
metaphor—I cannot conceive what you mean by suggesting that I have the
credit of adoring two or more young persons?’
“You may recall, Jack, that the Silent Tomb was equally perplexed on the
same point, and that when I asked him ‘Mary or Lucy?’ he amazed our
whole circle by bursting into a laugh. Then the wretch, in repeating the
names after me, so carefully abstained from placing the accent of
astonishment on either, that not even a professional piano-tuner could
have detected any difference in the sounds—oh, the artesian well! I
remembered this. The Don had expressed no surprise when I named Mary
Rolfe; probably, then, it was the mention of Lucy that had amazed the S.
T. It flashed across my female mind, in the tenth part of a second, how
singularly Mr. Frobisher had acted, after the first flush of
astonishment was over,—how he pursed up his brow, gazed far away, in
fact, mooned around in the most absurd fashion, instead of telling me
all about it at once. Would the Don, too, laugh, when I mentioned Lucy’s
name?
“‘We do you that honor, at any rate,’ said I.
“‘We? Who are we? Which of you belong to the Rolfe faction, and which
to—you have not mentioned the name of the other dear charmer?’
“‘Well, so and so are for Mary, and so and so for the other.’
“‘Her name? But one moment,—Miss Rolfe herself—you failed to place
_her_. Would it be a breach of confidence to do so?’
“‘She has not taken me into her confidence; therefore I have the right
to make what surmises I choose. I place her between the two. She does
not know what to think.’
“Again he snapped his head backwards, as though he said that he would
settle that shortly. Tranquillized, he relit his cigar, which had gone
out, and again lolled back; and cocking up his cigar in the corner of
his mouth, asked. ‘And the other?’
“‘Guess,’ said I.
“Dropping his chin on his breast, with a quiet smile, he pretended to
reflect for a moment. ‘I am afraid I shall have to give it up. Oh, how
dull I have been! How intolerably stupid!’ And placing his hand on his
heart, he made me a low bow; then throwing back his head, with a merry
laugh, ‘Capital, capital!’ he ejaculated.
“‘No,’ said I, ‘her name is not Alice. Guess again.’
“A flash of surprise followed by a look of rising curiosity. ‘Really,
you perplex me!’
“‘You cannot recall any of the girls except Mary, in whom you have
shown marked interest?’—he shook his head—‘an ever increasing
interest?’ ‘An ever increasing interest?’ repeated he, opening his eyes
wide upon me; then, looking upon the ground, he appeared to reflect.
‘Not Miss Kitty? No? Nor Miss Jennie? Not Miss Jennie either! Upon my
word! But you _seem_ serious; are you really?’
“‘I am. You cannot think of any girl whom you have visited again and
again, of late?’
“‘_Visited!_’ exclaimed he. ‘Why, then she is not one of our Elmington
guests!’
“I fixed my eyes upon him, and saw nothing, though I had always thought
him as transparent as glass. It was my turn now to be bewildered.
‘What!’ I exclaimed, ‘can’t you guess, _now_, to whom I allude?’
“Gazing at me with the look of one who had totally lost his reckoning,
he shook his head slowly from side to side. I was positively vexed.
There came over me the impatient feeling of a teacher who is striving in
vain to hammer an idea into the head of a numskull. ‘Well, then,’ said
I, with some heat; and throwing out my arm at full length, I pointed
across the River.
“‘Across the River, too,’ said he, with contracted features. ‘Upon my
word, this conundrum grows interesting.’ And with his eyes fixed upon
the sand, he stroked his tawny beard. ‘Across the River—let me
see—Miss Jenny Royal—dinner-call—no other visit. The Misses
Surrey—party-call. Miss Adelaide Temple—breakfast—going to pay my
respects to-morrow. Anywhere else? No. Well,’ said he, suddenly throwing
up his hands, ‘I give it up! What is the answer?’
“I looked at him for a moment, but could make nothing of him. ‘There!
There! There!’ I exclaimed, at last, stabbing at Oakhurst with my
forefinger.
“‘Where?’ asked he, looking across the River and up and down the shore
opposite.
“‘There! There!’
“‘You seem to be pointing to Oakhurst.’
“My arm dropped across the gunwale.
“‘Oakhurst!’ exclaimed he, with a most natural look of surprise. ‘You
don’t mean Oakhurst? Why, there are no guests there! There is no one but
Lucy—Miss Lucy!’
“‘That’s true,’ answered I, dryly. ‘No one but Lucy.’
“He leaned forward and scanned my features with a mixture of amusement
and curiosity. ‘Surely you have not been alluding to _her_?’ I said
nothing. ‘Seriously? Yes?’ And with a shout of merry laughter, he threw
back his head with such vigor that his cigar flew out of his mouth and
over his shoulder upon the sand; and then, without the least warning,
his laughter ended in an abrupt ‘Oh!’
“He rose to his feet; not with a spring, but slowly, slowly,
thoughtfully tugging at his moustache, and his eyes intently glaring
into vacancy, as he rose and rose, till he seemed to my excited
imagination to assume almost colossal proportions. Then he slowly
subsided again into his seat, and sat there raking his beard with his
long fingers. A chilly sensation crept over me. I tried to speak, but
could think of no word wherewith to break the spell of silence. At last
he turned his eyes upon mine.
“‘So it seems to you that I have been paying Lucy Poythress much
attention?’
“‘Seems, Mr. Don? How can you use that word? It is a patent fact that
must be as clear to your eyes as to mine.’
“‘Yes, but what kind of attention? She is musical—so am I. I have
rowed across the River frequently, to play with her. Nay, my object has
not been pleasure alone. I have been giving her what are called, in
Paris, accompaniment-lessons. Does that amount to what is called
attention, in a technical sense? And you acknowledge yourself that these
visits never deceived _you_. You never thought that they were prompted
by love.’
“‘No, they did not deceive _me_. What if they have deceived—’
“‘HER!’
“The word shot from his lips like a ball from a cannon. He sprang from
the boat and began to stride to and fro in the sand, his nostrils
dilated and his eyes fixed. (He used a dreadful expression, too, which
was not at all patriotic, though it did end in —nation.) Presently he
turned quickly towards me, and leaning forward, with his hands grasping
the gunwale of the boat, eagerly asked, ‘But, Lucy, surely you do not
think that—that she—is—what you call interested?’
“‘She has not betrayed any symptoms of that character.’
“‘Thank you,’ said he, seizing my hand with a grip that made me wince;
and he began to stride to and fro again, till I stopped him.
“‘But, Mr. Don,’ said I, ‘though she may not be interested now, it does
not follow that she may not become—’
“‘Never fear,’ said he, biting his lip with a look of fierce
determination, and striding up and down again.
“Thinking to soothe him: ‘Be careful! Remember, we girls think you a
handsome, fascinating dog; so don’t raise false hopes.’
“‘No danger, no danger!’ replied he, earnestly, and without even a
smile for my compliment. ‘What a fool I have been!’
“He stood reflectively stroking his moustache for a while, and I thought
the scene over, when turning impetuously upon me, and seizing me by both
wrists with a grasp of steel, ‘You don’t think so?’ he cried. ‘Tell me
you do not, for heaven’s sake!’
“He seemed totally unconscious of the force he was using, for he jerked
me against the gunwale with such violence that I should have been hurt
had I not been so frightened. Oh, what eyes he had! I can feel their
glare now, as I remember how he held me as in a vise, and, bringing his
face close to mine, looked me through and through.
“‘Tell you what?’ I gasped.
“‘Lucy—she—the poor child—she has not—fallen in love with me: you
know! Tell me so, for God’s sake!’
“His fingers sank into my wrists, and his fearful eyes burned into my
brain.
“‘No! I am _sure_ she has not!’
“‘Thanks, thanks, thanks!’ he cried; and lifting both my hands to his
lips, he covered them with fervid kisses. I was not surprised; I was
past that point. Had he thrown his arms around me, I honestly believe I
should have been neither astonished nor angry.”
“I wish he had,” said Charley, musing. “Poor boy, poor boy!—well,
well!” and, sighing, he fixed his eyes upon the fire.
Alice, with a look of tender sympathy, took her husband’s hand in hers.
-----
[1] How strange, even pathetic, is the sound of these military metaphors
from a woman’s lips.—_Ed._