LOVE’S POSY.
“Such is the posy love composes--
A stinging nettle mix’d with roses.”--BROWN.
Two or three as blissful weeks as perhaps mortals ever know passed over
the heads of our lovers. They were almost constantly together, alone in
the crowd, for they haunted the Centennial daily, and Madame Le Conte,
showing herself as considerate as at first, either remained at home or
quickly dismissed them from attendance upon her, declaring that she
wanted Mary, and Mary only, to walk beside her rolling chair, and help
her to see the sights.
Espy’s pictures were much admired, spoken of with marked favor by the
critics, and he had several good offers for them, but would not sell.
In this happy state of affairs, and with his Floy by his side, he was
in the seventh heaven.
But all things earthly must have an end, and so it was with this season
of almost unalloyed felicity to Ethel and Espy.
One evening the latter, hurrying out of his hotel, bound, as usual, for
Madame Le Conte’s, nearly ran over an elderly gentleman who was just
coming in. Scarcely looking at the stranger, he was brushing past with
a hasty apology, when he felt a hand laid on his shoulder, while a
familiar voice exclaimed, in loud tones of unfeigned, exultant delight,
“Why, Espy! is it you? and don’t you know your own father, boy?”
“Father!” he cried, stopping short and wheeling about, half glad, half
sorry at the meeting, the gladness uppermost as his parent grasped his
hand in warm, fatherly greeting and gazed in his face with the proud,
affectionate look often in other days, ere pride and greed of gold had
come between them, bent upon the bright, promising boy.
“I did not know you were in the city, sir! When did you arrive?”
“Yesterday, or rather last night; slept late; spent the rest of the day
at the Exposition; just got back. Come with me to my room. I want to
talk with you; have no end of things to say. Had your supper?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I too; got it out there. I’m dreadfully tired, but there’s an easy
chair in the room; so can rest and talk at the same time. Here, let’s
go up in the elevator. Capital thing, isn’t it?”
“Very,” Espy answered absently, taking a seat by his father’s side, and
thinking of Floy waiting and watching for his coming.
“Well, where have you been all this time?” Mr. Alden asked as he took
possession of the chair he had spoken of, and signed to Espy to be
seated upon another close at hand.
The young man answered briefly that the greater part of the past two
years had been spent by him in Italy perfecting himself in his art;
that he was now doing well pecuniarily, and hoped soon to be doing
much better.
“Very good! very good indeed!” commented his father, rubbing his hands
and smiling broadly. “Glad you’re doing so well, my boy; have always
had your welfare very much at heart. Now about Floy Kemper--”
Espy flushed hotly, and half rose from his chair.
“Tut, tut! wait till you hear what I have to say!” exclaimed his
father, breaking off in the middle of his sentence. “I withdrew my
opposition to the match long ago, as you should have been informed if
I’d known where to find you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Espy said, his countenance clearing. “Everything
seems to be coming round right at last. I hope that in another year I
shall be in circumstances to marry.”
“He evidently hasn’t seen Floy yet,” thought Mr. Alden to himself.
“Wonder if he even knows where she is? You do, eh?” he said aloud,
rubbing his hands again. “If it was my case--I shouldn’t wait half that
time.”
Espy’s countenance expressed surprise and inquiry.
“I did not expect such counsel from you, sir,” he remarked, “and I
cannot think it would be prudent in me, or kind to Floy, to rush into
matrimony before I have proved my ability to support a wife.”
“Very wise and sensible if you were marrying a poor girl,” returned
his father, with an unpleasant laugh; “but the income from a hundred
thousand might suffice, I should think, to begin upon in a modest way.”
“What--what can you mean, sir?” exclaimed Espy, springing to his feet,
his face flushing and paling by turns.
“That’s the exact sum, as I’ve been credibly informed, that Floy’s
aunt has already settled upon her, and she’s altogether likely to
prove the only heir to the half million the old lady still has in
her possession.” And Mr. Alden laughed gleefully, rubbing his hands
rapidly over each other; then stroking his beard and glancing at his
son, he perceived with astonishment that his countenance was pale and
distressed--that he looked stunned as if by a heavy blow.
“Why, Espy, what’s the matter?” he exclaimed in extreme surprise;
“thought you’d be delighted with such good news. But perhaps you’ve
lost sight of the girl? Well, never mind; I can give you her address
and--”
“Father, what do you take me for?” asked the young man hoarsely, rising
to his feet as he spoke. “A fortune-hunter? I hope I may never deserve
the name! I do not call this good news. It seems to put Floy farther
away from a poor fellow like me, and it has been the sweetest dream of
my life that my toil should supply her wants.”
“Crack-brained fool!” muttered his father angrily.
But Espy did not seem to hear.
“I see now,” he went on in a tone of bitter sarcasm, “just why you have
ceased to oppose my wishes and become anxious to receive Floy into the
family. She will understand it too, and I am bitterly ashamed. Thanks
for your offer to furnish me with her address, but I do not care to
avail myself of it.”
“Humph! I perceive that it is not without reason that poets and
painters are popularly supposed to lack common-sense in regard to the
affairs of every-day life,” sneered the older gentleman. “But come,
come, I don’t want to renew the old quarrel. Sit down and let me tell
you about your brothers and sisters. They’ll be glad to hear that you
have turned up once more.”
Upon that the young man resumed his seat, and for the next hour the
talk was all of relatives and friends in and about Cranley.
“Well, father,” Espy said at length, taking out his watch, “I have an
engagement, and you look as though you needed rest; I’d better bid you
good-night. Will see you again in the morning. You’ll be staying some
time in the city, I suppose?”
“Yes--no; that is, I’m going for a trip into New York and Canada; leave
by the early train to-morrow morning, expect to be gone two or three
weeks, maybe more, and then return here to do the Exposition. It’s the
first real vacation I’ve given myself since--well, before you were
born, my boy, and I mean to do the thing up brown while I’m about it.”
“I hope you will, sir. I hope you won’t go back to work till thoroughly
tired of play,” Espy said laughingly. “I may not wake in time to see
you off in the morning, but you’ll find me here, I think, on your
return to Philadelphia.”
“Yes, I trust so; but if I shouldn’t--”
“You shall hear from me; probably see me in Cranley in the fall.
Good-night, father.”
“Good-night, my son. Don’t fail to keep your promises.” And shaking
hands cordially, they separated.
It was late for a call at Madame Le Conte’s. Espy said so to himself as
he left the hotel, yet set off upon that very errand, and not at all as
if in haste to accomplish it. Truth to tell, he was half reluctant to
meet Ethel, yet at the same time irresistibly drawn toward her.
“And she’s rich!” he mused, sauntering slowly along; “rich, and a great
heiress, while I--ah me!--am poor as a church-mouse. How can I urge her
to marry me? Wouldn’t it be like saying, ‘Be my provider,’ instead of,
‘Let me provide for you’? I am too proud for that. But why has she left
me in ignorance of her circumstances? Did she fear that I would want to
marry her for her money? She might have known me better. Did _I_ find
fault with her for resigning Mr. Kemper’s property? Did _I_ want to
give her up when she was poor and friendless?”
He grew angry and indignant as he put these queries to himself.
“Yes; she might have known me better,” he repeated. “How could she
suspect me of motives so base and sordid? But no, no, it could not be
that! She _does_ know me better, is too noble herself to think that I
could be capable of such meanness. No, she saw that it was a delight
to me to feel that my work was to provide a home for her some day,
and would not deprive me sooner than necessary of that pleasure. And
yet why not tell me all? She ought to have no secrets from me, her
affianced husband. And why let our marriage be delayed when there is
no need? If I had sufficient means, would I not tell her of it at
once, and beg that there might not be another week of delay? But she,
I suppose, likes to be her own mistress, and keep her newly-acquired
property in her own hands. I, perhaps, am not deemed fit to be trusted
with the care of it.”
And losing sight of the fact that womanly delicacy would forbid the
course he was prescribing as proper for Ethel, he grew angry again.
And so alternating between admiration and disgust at her reticence, he
arrived at Madame Le Conte’s door and rang the bell.
No one answered it. He stood waiting for several minutes, so busy
with his own thoughts that this did not strike him as strange. Then,
suddenly growing impatient, he was about to repeat his ring, when,
glancing up, he perceived that the windows were all dark except those
of the Madame’s bedroom, where a faint light seemed to be burning.
“Gone to bed without waiting to see if I were coming as usual,” he
muttered, descending the steps.
Then he noticed that very few lights were visible in the neighboring
houses, and consulting his watch by the light of a street-lamp, found
to his surprise that it was near midnight.
He recollected, too, that Floy (she was still Floy to him) had looked
very weary when they left the Centennial grounds together some hours
before.
“Poor darling!” he said, “I’m a brute to blame her!” and went on his
way, impatient for the morrow that he might seek the desired interview.
Ethel had sat up expecting him, till the lateness of the hour
convinced her that he was not coming; then she had retired, weary in
body and a little heavy at heart lest some evil had befallen him, yet
ridiculing and scolding herself for the folly of such fears.
“Oh, love! how hard a fate is thine!
Obtained with trouble, and with pain preserv’d,
Never at rest.”
When they met the next day, something seemed to have come between them.
“What was it?” Ethel vainly asked herself. Something light as air;
something so intangible that she could not give it a name.
A change had come upon Espy, but when questioned he insisted that
nothing was wrong, sometimes asking, almost testily, why she should
think there was; then, in sudden penitence for his ill-humor, he would
be more devoted than ever for a time, but presently fall back into
moody silence.
He was still dwelling upon the information his father had given him,
still querying as to his affianced’s motives in concealing the facts
from him, and alternating between anger and admiration as the one or
the other seemed to him the more likely to have influenced her.
“Why will she not be open with me?” he asked himself a hundred times;
“then there would be no trouble.”
And she was thinking the same in regard to him.
I am inclined to think that they were both in the right there and that
perfect openness between married people and lovers would save a great
deal of trouble, heartache, and estrangement.
As it was, these two began to reap a bountiful harvest of each.
Espy slackened his attentions, absented himself frequently, and when he
returned to her side, Ethel’s manner was constrained and cold.
The girl poured her griefs, anxieties, and perplexities into no mortal
ear. She would as soon have thought of telling them to a child as to
Madame Le Conte; and so, feeling the need of a sympathizing friend
and counsellor, she took to longing and looking for her mother more
earnestly and constantly than she had since the return of her betrothed.
“Other girls have their mothers to go to,” she would sigh to herself.
“Ah, that I had mine!”
Espy was not now always by her side, and on those days when she found
herself alone at the Exposition she would go to Memorial Hall, and if
able to make her way through the crowd to the place where his paintings
hung, would stand and gaze, through gathering tears, upon Mrs. Kemper’s
portrait.
Espy came upon her there one day, approaching her unperceived, and as
he noted the sadness of her countenance, the pallor of her cheek, and
saw her hastily brush away a tear, his heart smote him.
He pushed his way to her side, and putting his lips to her ear,
“Floy, darling!” he whispered, “come with me; take my arm, and let me
help you out of this suffocating atmosphere.”
She made no reply, but suffered him to draw her hand within his arm and
lead her away.
Neither spoke until they were clear of the crowd and had reached a
shaded walk, where they might converse without fear of being overheard.
Then turning resolutely to him,
“Espy,” she said, “I cannot bear this any longer. What is wrong? what
is it that has come between us?”
“Why,” he said, coloring and looking down with a mortified air, “what
have I done that you should ask me that, Floy? I have found no fault
with you, as indeed,” he added quickly, “I have had no reason to do.”
“No, you have not found fault, but a change has come over you,” she
answered sadly, “and it would be kinder, far kinder to be frank with
me. Why should you not be?”
“Because you have not been so with me,” he retorted half angrily.
“I have not? Espy, you must explain; I insist upon it.” And she looked
so pained that his heart smote him.
“Forgive me, Floy, darling!” he exclaimed. “I am a brute to hurt you
so! But why did you leave me to learn of your changed circumstances
from others? Did you fear that I would covet your wealth? that I would
love it instead of you?”
“Oh, Espy! as if I could have so base a thought in connection with
you!” she cried reproachfully.
“But why not tell me?” he said, coloring deeply.
“Because I saw what delight you took in the thought that you were
winning the means to make a home for me, and I would not deprive you of
that till I must; and because I was determined that no one should say
you sought me for my money.”
He was deeply ashamed of his suspicions, and said so frankly, begging
her pardon.
“We will exchange forgiveness,” she whispered, flashing a look upon him
that thrilled him to his heart’s core. “I was wrong too. Henceforth let
us have not the slightest concealment from each other.”
“Agreed!” he said, tenderly pressing the hand he held, and gazing with
all a lover’s ardent admiration into the dear face at his side, while
his heart bounded with hope and happiness.
And she?--ah, in the fulness of her content and joy even her long-lost,
long-sought mother was for the moment forgotten.