THE GIRL WHO WOULDN'T PROPOSE
It took a long time for Carol to recover from the effect of Lark's
disloyalty, as she persisted in calling it. For several weeks she didn't
twinkle at all. But when at last the smiles came easy again, she wrote
to Mr. Duke, her p'fessor no longer, but now a full-fledged young
minister. She apologized sweetly for her long delay.
"But you will forgive me when you have read this,"
she wrote. "Cupid is working havoc in our family.
Of course, no one outside the home circle knows
yet, but I insisted on telling you because you
have been such a grand good friend to us for so
long. We may seem young to you, because you can't
forget when we were freshmen, but we are really
very grown up. We act quite mature now, and never
think of playing jokes. But I didn't finish my
news, did I?
"It is Jim Forrest--he was in high school when we
were. Remember him? Larkie and I were out to spend
a week, and--but I needn't go into particulars. I
knew you would be interested. The whole family is
very happy about it, he is a great favorite with
every one. But how our family is going to pieces!
Still, since it is Jim--! He _is_ nice, isn't he?
But you wouldn't dare say no."
Carol's eyes glittered wickedly as she sealed this letter, which she had
penned with greatest care. And a few days later, when the answer came,
she danced gleefully up the stairs,--not at all "mature" in manner, and
locked the door behind her while she read:
"Dear Carol:
"Indeed I am very interested, and I wish you all
the joy in the world. Tell Jim for me how very
much I think he is to be congratulated. He seems a
fine fellow, and I know you will be happy. It was
a surprise, I admit--I knew he was doing the very
devoted--but you have seemed so young to me,
always. I can't imagine you too grown up for
jokes, though you do sound more 'mature' in this
letter than you have before. Lark will be lonely,
I am afraid.
"I am very busy with my work, so you will
understand if my letters come less frequently,
won't you? And you will be too busy with your own
happiness to bother with an old professor any more
anyhow. I have enjoyed our friendship very
much,--more than you will ever know,--and I want
once more to hope you may be the happiest woman in
the world. You deserve to be.
"Very sincerely your friend,
"DAVID A. DUKE."
Carol lay down on the bed and crushed the letter ecstatically between
her hands. Then she burst out laughing. Then she cried a little,
nervously, and laughed again. Then she smoothed the letter
affectionately, and curled up on the bed with a pad of paper and her
father's fountain-pen to answer the letter.
"My dear Mr. Duke: However in the world could you
make such a mistake. I've been laughing ever
since I got your letter, but I'm vexed too. He's
nice, all right; he's just fine, but I don't want
him! And think how annoyed Lark would be if she
could see it. I am not engaged to Jim
Forrest,--nor to any one. It's Lark. I certainly
didn't say it was I, did I? We're all so fond of
Jim that it really is a pleasure to the whole
family to count him one of us, and Lark grows more
deliriously joyful all the time. But I! I know
you're awfully busy, of course, and I hate to
intrude, but you must write one little postal card
to apologize for your error, and I'll understand
how hard you are working when you do not write
again.
"Hastily, but always sincerely,
"CAROL."
Carol jumped up and caught up her hat and rushed all the way down-town
to the post-office to get that letter started for Danville, Illinois,
where the Reverend Mr. Duke was located. Her face was so radiant, and
her eyes were so heavenly blue, and so sparkling bright, that people on
the street turned to look after her admiringly.
She was feverishly impatient until the answer arrived, and was not at
all surprised that it came under special delivery stamp, though Lark
lifted her eyebrows quizzically, and Aunt Grace smiled suggestively, and
her father looked up with sudden questioning in his face. Carol made no
comment, only ran up to her room and locked the door once more.
"Carol, you awful little scamp, you did that on
purpose, and you know it. You never mentioned
Lark's name. Well, if you wanted to give me the
scare of my life, you certainly succeeded. I
didn't want to lose my little chum, and I knew
very well that no man in his proper senses would
allow his sweetheart to be as good a comrade to
another man as I want you to be to me. Of course I
was disappointed. Of course I expected to be busy
for a while. Of course I failed to see the
sterling worth of Jim Forrest. I see it now,
though. I think he's a prince, and as near worth
being in your family as anybody could be. I'm sure
we'll be great friends, and tell Lark for me that
I am waxing enthusiastic over his good qualities
even to the point of being inarticulate. Tell her
how happy I am over it, a good deal happier than
I've been for the past several days, and I am
wishing them both a world of joy. I'm having one
myself, and I find it well worth having. I could
shake you, Carol, for playing such a trick on me.
I can just see you crouch down and giggle when you
read this. You wait, my lady. My turn is coming. I
think I'll run down to Mount Mark next week to see
my uncle--he's not very well. Don't have any
dates.
"Sincerely, D. D."
And Carol laughed again, and wiped her eyes.
The Reverend Mr. Duke's devotion to his elderly uncle in Mount Mark was
a most beautiful thing to see. Every few weeks he "ran down for a few
days," and if he spent most of his time recounting his uncle's symptoms
before the sympathetic Starrs, no one could be surprised at that. He and
Mr. Starr naturally had much in common, both ministers, and both--at any
rate, he was very devoted to his uncle, and Carol grew up very, very
fast, and smiled a great deal, but laughed much less frequently than in
other days. There was a shy sweetness about her that made her father
watch her anxiously.
"Is Carol sick, Grace?" he asked one day, turning suddenly to his
sister-in-law.
She smiled curiously. "N-no, I think not. Why?"
"She seems very--sweet."
"Yes. She feels very--sweet," was the enigmatical response. And Mr.
Starr muttered something about women and geometry and went away, shaking
his head. And Aunt Grace smiled again.
But the months passed away. Lark, not too absorbed in her own happiness
to find room for her twin's affairs, at last grew troubled. She and Aunt
Grace often held little conferences together when Carol was safely out
of the way.
"Whatever do you suppose is the matter?" Lark would wonder anxiously. To
which her aunt always answered patiently, "Oh, just wait. He isn't sure
she's grown-up enough yet."
Then there came a quiet night when Carol and Mr. Duke sat in the
living-room, idly discussing the weather, and looking at Connie who was
deeply immersed in a book on the other side of the big reading lamp.
Conversation between them lagged so noticeably that they sighed with
relief when she finally laid down her book, and twisted around in her
chair until she had them both in full view.
"Books are funny," she began brightly. "I don't believe half the written
stuff ever did happen--I don't believe it could. Do girls ever propose,
Mr. Duke?"
"No one ever proposed to me," he answered, laughing.
"No?" she queried politely. "Maybe no one wanted you badly enough. But I
wonder if they ever do? Writers say so. I can't believe it somehow. It
seems so--well--unnecessary, someway. Carol and I were talking about it
this afternoon."
Carol looked up startled.
"What does Carol think about it?" he queried.
"Well, she said she thought in ordinary cases girls were clever enough
to get what they wanted without asking for it."
Carol moved restlessly in her chair, her face drooping a little, and Mr.
Duke laughed.
"Of course, I know none of our girls would do such a thing," said
Connie, serene in her family pride. "But Carol says she must admit she'd
like to find some way to make a man say what anybody could see with half
an eye he wanted to say anyhow, only--"
Connie stopped abruptly. Mr. Duke had turned to Carol, his keen eyes
searching her face, but Carol sank in the big chair and turned her face
away from him against the leather cushion.
"Connie," she said, "of course no girl would propose, no girl would want
to--I was only joking--"
Mr. Duke laughed openly then. "Let's go and take a walk, shan't we,
Carol? It's a grand night."
"You needn't go to get rid of me," said Connie, rising. "I was just
going anyhow."
"Oh, don't go," said Mr. Duke politely.
"Don't go," echoed Carol pleadingly.
Connie stepped to the doorway, then paused and looked back at them.
Sudden illumination came to her as she scanned their faces, the man's
clear-cut, determined, eager--Carol's shy, and scared, and--hopeful. She
turned quickly back toward her sister, pain darkening her eyes. Carol
was the last of all the girls,--it would leave her alone,--and he was
too old for her. Her lips quivered a little, and her face shadowed more
darkly. But they did not see it. The man's eyes were intent on Carol's
lovely features, and Carol was studying her slender fingers. Connie drew
a long breath, and looked down upon her sister with a great protecting
tenderness in her heart. She wanted to catch her up in her strong young
arms and carry her wildly out of the room--away from the man who sat
there--waiting for her.
Carol lifted her face at that moment, and turned slowly toward Mr. Duke.
Connie saw her eyes. They were luminous.
Connie's tense figure relaxed then, and she turned at once toward the
door. "I am going," she said in a low voice. But she looked back again
before she closed the door after her. "Carol," she said in a whisper,
"you--you're a darling. I--I've always thought so."
Carol did not hear her,--she did not hear the door closing behind
her--she had forgotten Connie was there.
Mr. Duke stood up and walked quickly across the room and Carol rose to
meet him. He put his arms about her, strongly, without hesitating.
"Carol," he said, "my little song-bird,"--and he laughed, but very
tenderly, "would you like to know how to make me say what you know I
want to say?"
"I--I--" she began tremulously, clasping her hands against his breast,
and looking intently, as if fascinated, at his square firm chin so very
near her eyes. She had never observed it so near at hand before. She
thought it was a lovely chin,--in another man she would have called it
distinctly "bossy."
"You _would_ try to make me, when you know I've been gritting my teeth
for years, waiting for you to get grown up. You've been awfully slow
about it, Carol, and I've been in such a hurry for you."
She rested limply in his arms now, breathing in little broken sighs, not
trying to speak.
"You have known it a long time, haven't you? And I thought I was hiding
it so cleverly." He drew her closer in his arms. "You are too young for
me, Carol," he said regretfully. "I am very old."
"I--I like 'em old," she whispered shyly.
With one hand he drew her head to his shoulder, where he could feel the
warm fragrant breath against the "lovely chin."
"You like 'them' old," he repeated, smiling. "You are very generous. One
old one is all I want you to like." But when he leaned toward her lips,
Carol drew away swiftly. "Don't be afraid of me, Carol. You didn't mind
once when I kissed you." He laid his hand softly on her round cheek. "I
am too old, dearest, but I've been loving you for years I guess. I've
been waiting for you since you were a little freshman, only I didn't
know it for a while. Say something, Carol--I don't want you to feel
timid with me. You love me, don't you? Tell me, if you do."
"I--I." She looked up at him desperately. "I--well, I made you say it,
didn't I?"
"Did you want me to say it, dearest? Have you been waiting, too? How
long have you--"
"Oh, a long time; since that night among the rose bushes at the
parsonage."
"Since then?"
"Yes; that was why it didn't break my pledge when you kissed me. Because
I--was waiting then."
"Do you love me?"
"Oh, P'fessor, don't make me say it right out in plain English--not
to-night. I'm pretty nearly going to cry now, and--" she twinkled a
little then, like herself, "you know what crying does to my complexion."
But he did not smile. "Don't cry," he said. "We want to be happy
to-night. You will tell me to-morrow. To-night--"
"To-night," she said sweetly, turning in his arms so that her face was
toward him again, "to-night--" She lifted her arms, and put them softly
about his neck, the laces falling back and showing her pink dimpled
elbows. "To-night, my dearest,--" She lifted her lips to him, smiling.
THE END
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors correcteded.
Page 17, "make" changed to "made". (made a mistake)
Page 61, "Fairly" changed to "Fairy". (declared Fairy earnestly)
Page 72, "envoleped" changed to "enveloped". (enveloped in a)
Page 112, word "a" added to text. (playing a game)
Page 135, "ordinariy" changed to "ordinary". (ordinary style of)
Page 142, "though" changed to "thought". (thought about it)
Page 150, "Daly" changed to "Raider". (office. Mr. Raider)
Page 166, "ny" changed to "any". (any business to)
Page 193, "noisiness" changed to "nosiness". (downright nosiness)
Page 212, "stanchly" changed to "staunchly". (Carol staunchly
disclaimed)
Page 224, "of" changed to "or". (or Mediapolis)
Page 247, "dissappointment" changed to "disappointment". (shadow of
disappointment)
Page 250, "mustn't" changed to "mustn't". (you mustn't. We)
Page 266, "brough" changed to "brought". (search brought to)
Page 274, "whisperingly" changed to "whispering". (whispering softly)
Page 295, "A" changed to "At". (At any rate)
One instance each of "twinship" and "twin-ship" was retained.