PRO AND CON.
On a pleasant May morning, in the spring succeeding the events
narrated in the last chapter, the door of Dr. Clayton's office was
locked against all intruders. The shutters were closed; while
within, with his feet upon a table and his hands clasped over his
head, the doctor himself was revolving the all-important
question--whether it were better to offer himself at once to Dell
Thompson "and have it done with," or to wait a few years for a
_little girl_, who had recently crossed his pathway, leaving on his
memory footprints he could not easily efface. For the benefit of any
young man who may be similarly situated, we give a portion of his
reasoning, as follows:
"Now, I am as positive as a man need be that I can have either of
them for the asking; therefore, in a case which involves the
happiness of one's whole life, it behooves me to consider the matter
well. To be sure, if I follow the bent of my inclination, I am
decided at once; but then, marriages of convenience sometimes prove
just as pleasant as those of pure love; and so I'll go over with the
pros and cons of both, deciding upon the one which has the most of
the former!
"First, then, there's _Rose_, a most beautiful name. Only think how
refreshing it would be after riding ten or twelve miles, visiting
farmer Stubbs or widow Grubbs, to know there was a _Rose_ watching
for your return. Yes, her name is in her favor."
Here the hands came down from the head, and wrote One _pro_ against
the name of Rose, after which they resume their former position, and
the doctor goes on with his soliloquy:
"She is frank, artless, unassuming, means what she says--in short,
she is perfectly natural, and I always feel refreshed after a talk
with her." (Makes _pro_ No. 2.) "Then she is so wholly unselfish in
her affection for me--loves me so devotedly--sees no fault in me
whatever--thinks me handsome, I dare say, and all that."
Here glancing at himself in a little mirror opposite, and smoothing
his shining mustache, the doctor waxes eloquent on said Rose's
supposed admiration for him, writing down, in the heat of his
excitement two _pros_, making in all _four_! Verily, Rosa Lee, your
prospect of becoming Mrs. Dr. Clayton is brightening fast. But to
proceed:
"She is smart, intelligent, talented, writes poetry--and, with proper
training, would perhaps make a distinguished writer. Were I sure on
this point, I should not hesitate; but you can't tell what these
precocious children will make; frequently they come to a standstill."
And here, to make the matter sure, he writes against her name one
_pro_ for what she possibly may be, and one _con_ for what she
probably will not be!
"Then I love her better than anything else in the known world. I do,
that's a fact; but she's young--only fourteen--and before she's old
enough to marry she may change forty times, and that would kill me
dead."
Puts down one _pro_ for his own love, and one _con_ for Rose's
possible inconstancy.
"But she is poor--or, her father, they say, is worth only about
$5,000! He already has nine children, and there's time enough for
three or four more:--_thirteen_ into _five thousand_ makes--_Long
Division_, a rule I never fancied; too poor altogether!"
And against Rose's name there is _con_ No. 3, _long_ and _black_,
with the shadow of her four unborn brothers, who, by the way, never
came in for a share of the $5,000.
"Then her family connections, I do not suppose, are such as would add
anything to my influence. Good, respectable people, no doubt, but
not known in the world like the Hungerfords, Dell Thompson's maternal
relatives. To be sure, I once heard Rose speak of an uncle who
resides in Boston, but I dare say he's some grocer or mechanic,
living on a back street; while Dell's uncle, from the same city, must
be a man of wealth and importance, judging by the figure his wife
cuts when she visits the captain."
Here Dell received a _pro_ for the Hungerford blood flowing in her
veins, while Rose had a _con_ for the want of said Hungerford blood.
"Dell, too, has $10,000 of her own, or rather will have, when her
grandmother dies; and there are not many young men who can jump into
that fortune every day. Yes, $10,000 is a decided temptation."
And lest Rose, who already numbered _six_, should come out in the
majority, three long marks were put down against the $10,000 to be
inherited at the death of a grandmother, whose name Dell bore.
"Then Dell has an _air_, which shows at once what she is, and no man
need be ashamed of her in any place." (Mark No. 5.) "Then, again,
she's handsome--decidedly so--such beautiful eyes! such small feet!
and curls!"
Here a vague remembrance of certain long shoes, with wads of cotton,
_versus_ French slippers and silken hose, arose before the man of the
world, resulting in a _pro_ for the slippers, and a _con_ for the
cotton!
"But Dell is deceitful--high-tempered--artificial--selfish,
superficial--and all that! The other picture suits me best, or
would, were it not for the Hungerford blood, and the $10,000. Let me
see how it foots up:--Six _pros_ for Dell, and the same number for
Rose."
Here was a dilemma; but anon he remembered how awkwardly the last
mentioned young lady looked, when she fell at his feet--and this
decides the matter. He is sensitive to ridicule, very, and he could
not endure the sneering remarks which an avowed attachment to her
might call forth from the world of fashion; so he crosses one of the
_pros_ which he had written against her name, when he thought how
much she admired him--and then it stands, Dell 6; Rose 5!
Thus was the die cast. Alas! for the young girl, who, that same
spring morning, stole away to her accustomed haunt, the old
grape-vine, whose swelling buds were not an unfit symbol of the
bright hopes now springing in her glad heart. As she sits there
alone, with the running brook at her feet, she thinks of him who has
grown so strongly into her love; and though, in words, he has never
said so, by ten thousand little acts he has told her that her
affection was returned, and for his sake she wishes she was older.
He has wished so too, in her presence, many a time; but as that
cannot be, she resolves to spend the season of her childhood in
making herself what she knows he would wish her to be, were she to
share his lot in life; and then, when the lapse of years shall have,
ripened her into womanhood, she thinks how she can, without shame,
put her hand in his, and go forth into the world satisfied, though it
brought her naught but care, if he were only with her.
Alas, for thee, Rosa! A few miles to the southward, and the same sun
which now shines softly down on you, looks in through a richly
curtained window, and its golden rays fall on the queenly form of
your rival; who, with a look of exultation on her finely cast
features, listens to the words she has long waited to hear, and which
have now been spoken; while he, of whom you dream, bends gently over
her, _his own--his betrothed_! And still, in the very moment of his
triumph, there comes up before him a pale, childish face, which, with
its dreamy eyes of blue, looks reproachfully upon him. But pride and
ambition weave together a veil which hides the image from his view,
bidding him forget that any other save the peerless Dell, e'er
stirred the fountain of his love.
* * * * * *
Would it be well for us always to know what is passing in the minds
of our friends, whether present or absent? I think not; and still,
could Rosa Lee have known what had transpired, methinks she would not
have darted away so quickly as she did, when told that Dr. Clayton
was coming through the gate one afternoon, about six weeks after his
engagement with Dell. _Why_ she ran, she could not tell, except it
were, as her brother Charlie said, that "gals always run off and
_spit on their hair_, when they saw their beaux coming."
Homely as this expression is, there was in this case some truth in
it; for, though Rose did not _spit_ upon her hair, she went to her
room and brushed it, winding one or two of the rougher curls about
her finger, then taking from its hiding-place the ring, his gift, she
placed it upon her finger, and with heightened color went down to
greet the doctor, who had come to make his farewell visit--for, four
weeks from that night, Dell Thompson would be his wife. Long had he
debated the propriety of seeing Rose again, conscience bidding him
leave her alone, while inclination clamored loudly for one more quiet
talk with her, one more walk by moonlight, one more look into her
childish face, and then he would leave her forever; never again
suffering a thought of her to come between him and the bride of his
choice.
And for this purpose he had come; but when he saw how joyfully Rose
met him, and how the bloom deepened on her usually pale cheek, his
heart misgave him, and for the first time, he began to realize the
wrong he had done her. But it was now too late to remedy it, he
thought; and as if bent upon making matters still worse, he asked her
to accompany him in a walk down the green lane, to the haunts he knew
she loved the best, and where they had more than once been before.
Oh, that walk!--how long it lingered in the memory of Rose, for never
before had the doctor's manner been so marked, or his words so kind
as when, together they sat upon the moss-grown bank, beneath the
spreading vine, while he talked to her of the past, of the happiness
he had experienced in her society, and which he said would be one of
the few green spots, to which, in the years to come, he should look
back with pleasure. Then drawing her so closely to him that her head
almost rested upon his shoulder, he asked of her the privilege of
"once kissing her before they parted"----he did not say _forever_,
but the rustling leaves and the murmuring brook whispered it in her
ear as she granted his request, shuddering the while, and wondering
at the strangeness of his manner. Possibly he had it in his mind to
tell her, but if so, he found himself unequal to the task, and he
left her without a word of the coming event, of which she had not the
slightest suspicion.