"A WOMAN I LIKE VERY WELL."
The first thought that struck me when I was ready for breakfast was that
my new secretary ought to terminate her arrangement with that
disagreeably affectionate employer and keep open house during each
entire day and evening for my benefit. The mornings that were to elapse
before the sailing of the "Madiana" would be terribly dull. I had tried
to make it clear to Miss May that her salary had already begun to be
reckoned and I did not see why she should carry on two business
engagements at the same time.
When I rose from the table on which my coffee and eggs had been spread,
it was to receive a letter which had passed through the Lambs Club and
was undoubtedly a reply to the one I had sent Miss Brazier on the
previous day. It would at least entertain me for a few moments to know
what that apparently lively young lady had to say:
Dear Sir:--[it began--coldly enough, I thought] Your communication
has been duly received and its contents noted. Although it is
unlikely, and certainly, on my part, not desired, that we shall ever
meet, I must inform you that my answer to your advertisement was
written purely in fun and without the least idea of accepting your
remarkable proposition. I will add that I am surprised that you
have succeeded in inducing any woman of the least respectability to
undertake such a journey, and I fear that your impression of her
high character will receive some severe wrenches before your return.
It must require unusual "nerve" to start off for several months with
an unmarried man (or a married one, for that matter) putting ones
self at his mercy, for that is what it amounts to. When the
individual is wholly unknown to the woman who is to accompany
him--when he may, for all she knows, be a "Jack, the Ripper"--the
foolhardiness of the idea grows on one. I am sure I do not envy your
companion, though it is by no means certain but you, and not she,
will be the most swindled in the affair.
I conjure you, however, though a total stranger, that if your friend
proves to be merely a misguided girl of good intentions, you will
not soil your soul with the greatest guilt of which a man can be
capable. Remember, if your thoughts are dishonorable, that you have
or have had a Mother, perhaps a Sister, whose memory should make you
pause before you inflict irreparable ruin on one of the same sex.
Yours Sincerely,
A.B.
New York, Dec. 31, 1897.
A strange letter, I thought, take it altogether. I read it over slowly
for the second time. The first few lines indicated disappointment, and a
perusal of the remaining portion did not remove this impression,
entirely. The final sentences sobered me. The reflections they induced
were certainly not exhilarating. Although I have no sister and cannot
remember my mother, I have a great veneration for my lost parents, and
there is no string so susceptible of influence on my actions as the one
this writer touched.
I made a new resolution that I would carry myself like a gentleman in
the truest sense of the word with Miss May. I had been honest in the
expressions I used when talking the matter over with Harvey Hume. The
earnest admonitions of Dr. Chambers had not been without effect. I meant
to prove by this journey that I was capable of being in the close
companionship of a young lady without becoming either a brute or a Don
Juan.
Looking at it even from the standpoint of an enlightened selfishness I
was sure to get more satisfaction in a voyage with a woman whom I could
respect than with one who assumed the role of a cyprienne.
Loose creatures are to be found in plenty in the Caribbee Islands, as
well as in New York. A sweet, true, honest, intelligent bit of
femininity was quite another thing, and infinitely to be preferred, from
any sensible view.
Marjorie! So far as my uncertain mind could do so I pledged to her a
purity of intercourse such as a man might give to his affianced
sweetheart.
I had folded the letter up and put it in my pocket when a visitor was
announced, no less a person than Tom Barton. He came toward me with a
distressed look on his honest countenance and it was plain that he was
far from being at ease.
"Don," he said, paying no attention to my motion toward a chair, "what
is the trouble between you and Statia? I can't believe you have done
anything intentionally to set her so against you, and yet--"
"Sit down and don't get excited," I responded quickly, deciding to
dispose of the matter in the calmest way. "Have you had your coffee? If
not, let me ring for another pot. You don't seem well this morning, old
boy."
"I'm not well," he said, in a dispirited tone, taking the chair at last.
"But you can make me so with one word. Last night Statia came to me with
her eyes full of tears. 'Tom,' she said, 'if you love me I want you to
promise never to see Donald Camran again.' 'Never to see Don!' I
exclaimed, unable to believe my ears. 'Yes,' said she, 'I've told him I
don't wish him to call here and I want you to write him to the same
effect.' You may imagine what a staggerer that was. There's not another
fellow in the world of whom I wouldn't rather she'd have said that. I
tried to get her to give some reason--any reason, or the hint of
one--but it was no use. She only cried the harder, and when at last I
went to bed, I tell you I didn't get much sleep. Tell me, Don, what it
means."
"It seems you didn't make your sister the promise," I replied. "And you
were quite right. The whim of a girl should not come between stanch
friends like us."
That did not satisfy him, however. He murmured that we had been good
friends--that he couldn't bear to think we should ever be otherwise--but
he wanted to understand what his sister meant. As she wouldn't tell him,
he had come to ask that favor of me.
"Supposing I don't care to say anything about it," I replied, quietly.
"If Statia is set on keeping the wonderful secret, how can you expect
me to divulge it?"
He struggled a moment with this idea, for Tom was always slow in
grasping abstruse problems.
"You'll have to help me clear up the mystery," he said, at last. "I've
only got one sister, Don, and she and I are all there are to the family
now. If it comes to losing my sister or my best friend, I must stand by
Statia."
I felt a chill going over my flesh as he spoke. I liked Tom, and I liked
Statia--yes, in spite of the silly meeting of the day before. It was
better to back down a little than to lose such friends.
"What a serious matter you make of it!" I exclaimed. "You ask me what is
the trouble between Statia and me. Well, the fact is, I hardly know. She
met me in Broadway yesterday and wanted to make me promise something
that I could not see--to be candid--was any affair of hers. When I
declined, as courteously as I knew how, she flew at me with the
statement that I need never call at her house again. I had no choice in
the matter, Tom, not the least. I wouldn't do anything to justify her in
talking to me in that way, if I could help it, but one must retain a few
of his personal rights, you know."
"And what was it about?" asked Tom, very earnestly.
"It was about a woman. A woman I like very well, and who happens to be
going on the same steamer I am to the Tropics. There! The terrible
secret is out."
Tom studied the answer a long time, but evidently could make nothing of
it.
"Statia has always liked you immensely, Don," he said. "I've been almost
jealous of you sometimes. She wouldn't go against you all of a sudden
without what seemed to her a strong reason."
"And I like Statia," was my reply. "Yes, in spite of the ugly attitude
she has chosen to take toward me. Why, Tom--I don't know but, under the
circumstances, I ought to tell you--I asked her only a week ago to marry
me."
"Ah!" he exclaimed, in a mixture of happiness and pain, that was very
touching.
"Yes, and she refused positively. I was disappointed, you may believe,
for I had thought she entertained a decided feeling in my favor, and
would have asked long before except for that illness of mine. Her
attitude might have thrown me back into the doctor's hands, for my head
is not yet any too strong, but I managed to crush down my thoughts and
bear up under it. I hope it's not wrong to tell you this, old chap, but
I don't think I ought to let you go off with wrong impressions of me."
He shook his head in mute dismay.
"The other woman--the one you and she were speaking about," he said.
"Who is she? It seems as if the key to the whole trouble was there."
"Now, Tom," I replied, "you have no right to ask me a question like that
and I shall have to decline to bring the name of a third person into
this discussion. I have the greatest regard for you and the highest
respect for Statia. If you decide to throw me over, the responsibility
must rest where it belongs."
"Would you--would you come round to the house and talk it over with
both of us together?" he asked, after a long pause. "It troubles me more
than I can tell you. Would you come over, say Tuesday evening?"
"Yes," I said, smilingly, "if Statia writes me a letter asking me to do
so."
"She must write it," he said, brightening. "I can't have our friendship
broken up like this. Shall you be at home all day?"
I answered that I would be there just before dinner, at least, to
receive any communication that might be sent, and Tom, taking my hand in
his hearty grasp for the first time since he had been in the room, said
'Good-by' and left me, evidently much relieved.
I was by no means as certain as he that Statia would make any such
back-down. I have noticed that women are more apt than men to stick to a
position they have once taken, even after they find that the mistake is
on their side.
But, I really hoped some avenue would be opened for a reconciliation
without my having to go on bended knees to either of them, which I saw
no reason for doing.
I had told Tom all it would be safe to tell. He was so immaculate in all
his thoughts of women that there was no saying how my plan, if fully
presented, would strike his mind. I certainly did not mean to risk it.
It was a day that had begun disagreeably and I was looking forward to at
least a pleasant afternoon, when a note from Miss May came, to dash that
prospect to the ground. Here it is:
My Dear Mr. C.:--I fear you have undertaken a larger contract than
you anticipated when you began. To be plain, the amount you left in
my hands will hardly suffice to provide all the necessaries for a
lady travelling as your relation and equal. If you are satisfied I
will consent, though I am sure I would not have done so at first, to
go as your ward, merely,--as a young woman whom you have promised
some friend to see on her journey to a point where she is to be a
governess or whatever you like to say.
In that case you will not be disgraced if I do not dress very well.
I cannot endure the thought of being suspected; and a lady such as
you wish me to appear would have three or four gowns suitable for
appearing at table, with at least a little jewelry--of which, alas!
I have practically nothing.
I write you this with a heavy heart, for I fear you will begin to
consider me a nuisance, but I hope you will understand. I went out
this morning and priced several gowns, but finding that the money
you left me would be exhausted before the really necessary things
were obtained, I returned to my room without breaking one of the
banknotes.
Please reply by messenger, stating what you think it best to do. If
I am going to cost you more than you wish to expend, tell me so
frankly and I will release you from every obligation. I resigned my
other position last night, but am certain my old employer will
gladly take me back if I have to ask it. Ugh! that is the most
disagreeable thought in connection with this entire matter!
Understand, I am ready to go with you--I want to go--and I leave the
position I am supposed to occupy to your own judgment. If I am to
pass as a governess, in whom you have no special interest, you may
return me half of the money enclosed and I shall find it amply
sufficient. If I am to be your "cousin," I fear it will have to be
doubled.
Please do not decide in a way you will regret. I am obliged to leave
the city on an early train, to remain over New Years with friends,
but shall expect you Tuesday at any hour after ten. That is, if you
wish to see me again.
Yours Faithfully,
M.M.
P.S. The trunks and bag are splendid. Of course, I shall hold them
subject to your orders if you decide to drop our arrangement.
I looked at the six fifty dollar bills lying on the table, where they
had fallen from the envelope. The messenger boy looked at them also, as
if he half wished he had run away with the package instead of delivering
it. His presence disturbed me and I told him to walk around the block,
returning in a quarter of an hour. This he hesitated to do and I shoved
a two dollar bill into his fist, as a guarantee of my good faith.
What a criss-cross of ideas piled upon my brain when I was alone! At one
instant I said to myself that Miss May was a schemer, who had determined
to "play me for a sucker,"--to use a common, though not over delicate
expression. She had been indiscreet in returning my cash; I would put it
in my pocket and forget her. On the other hand, the thought of going
south alone was enough to madden me. I did not care two straws that the
cost of the trip would be doubled, if it possessed the charming features
I had allowed myself to paint.
The woman's going into the country for two whole days when the question
was unsettled was also most exasperating. If I could proceed
immediately to her room and talk with her face to face it would be
easier to decide.
The fifteen minutes passed, the boy returned, and I was still in a
quandary. Finally, when the young imp presented himself in a
business-like attitude, I seized a pen and wrote as follows:
_Destroy the note I sent a moment ago and substitute this one._
Dear Miss May:--["Dear" does not mean anything at the beginning of a
letter]--I am very sorry to learn that you feel it necessary to be
absent over Monday, as I have many things to say to you. Perhaps, as
you can do nothing in the meantime, it is best to let the matter
rest till Tuesday morning, when I will call, promptly at ten, and we
will decide everything.
Yours,
D.C.
The boy took this note, when it was sealed and addressed, and
disappeared like magic. He had hardly gone when I wished I had sent a
letter of different purport. There was an awful possibility that Miss
May would take the chance I had undoubtedly offered, to give up the
whole idea of going. She had certainly not seemed as enthusiastic as I
could wish. I ran to a window, threw it open, and would have whistled to
the boy, but he was nowhere to be seen.
It was like a matter of life and death to me then. Ringing in a call I
took my pen again and indited the following:
Dear Marjorie:--for so you said I might call you:--I return the
money that you sent back to me. Keep it till I meet you Tuesday
morning at ten, when I will come prepared with a sum which will
certainly meet every demand you can put upon it. You are wiser than
I about feminine apparel and could not please me better than by the
forethought you display. It is with great regret that I learn you
are to be absent over Sunday and Monday, when I had hoped to pass
some pleasant hours with you, but I cheerfully yield to your
arrangement. Within a few days there will be no other friends to
distract your attention from one who will prove himself the truest
of them all.
Sincerely Yours,
D.C.
No. -- Thirty-fourth Street.
I procured a large envelope and took it into the bedroom, where I could
re-insert the bank bills without danger of arousing the cupidity of
young Mercury. With a lead pencil I added to the note a request that the
recipient would send just a line by bearer to show that my message had
arrived safely, and saw the boy depart, feeling that I had at last done
the sensible thing.
Whether this proved to be the case I will leave the reader to judge when
he has finished this volume.