you?" he inquired, brightening. "You've had lots of other chaps."
"Oh, but that's different. You see I'm a man's woman by instinct and
training. I do my very utmost to please and be nice to every man I meet
except you; and the consequence is that they all like me and the ones
who like me enough to call on me, often, usually end by proposing: not
because I'm so remarkably attractive but for the reason that a man, for
some occult reason, cannot see much of a woman without proposing to
her."
"I say! You're gassing!"
"I'm not. But the queer thing is that you took this fancy to me at the
very start without any help whatever from me."
"What a funny girl you are to give yourself away like that. Girls
generally say that they don't encourage anybody."
"Yes, but, as you remarked, I am a funny girl; I tell the truth,
sometimes. How do you suppose a plain, poor person like me would ever
have had so many men friends if she hadn't done something? It's
wonderful," said Lynn, meditatively, "wonderful! how easy it is to
fascinate men. Just look at each man and talk to him as if you thought
he was the most handsome, brilliant and fascinating creature extant--and
the thing is done! The man doesn't live who can resist it."
"Ha, ha! you _are_ funny."
"Yes. I can remember when I was a young girl that I used to be terribly
afraid that no one would ever fall in love with me because I was so
ugly. I used to wish so that I had curling eyelashes and rose-leaf
complexions and things: and, lo and behold! before I was eighteen the
great beautiful truth dawned upon me. Just let a man talk about himself
until he is black in the face and he will never tire of your society, no
matter what you look like. Nothing else is necessary. A man thinks any
eyes gazing admiringly into his are beautiful eyes: he considers any
voice that murmurs timely flatteries in his good right ear a sweet
voice: and any woman with intelligence enough to laugh heartily at his
stale jokes and listen respectfully to his dull anecdotes, has all the
intelligence that any female needs, in his opinion. So there you are.
Having this knowledge, what else did I lack? I promptly became a belle
of the first water and have remained so for ten years. Pretty girls
have lost their beauty, rich girls have lost their money, lively girls
have lost their vivacity; but I remain perennially attractive because I
have grasped the great truth that every man prefers himself to anything
else on earth and, next to himself, admires the woman who acts as though
she agreed with him. I'm in a candid mood to-night, am I not, Mr.
Lighton? What is the matter? you don't look very happy."
"I can't help wondering," confessed Mr. Lighton, rather ruefully, "why,
if you're so fond of having men like you, you've never been nicer to
me."
"Because," she returned, slowly, "I very soon received the impression
that you were more or less in earnest. Now my puppy days have passed
and I take no pleasure in causing pain; and it must be more or less
painful to want some one who doesn't care anything about you. So I
thought it best to be flippant and unpleasant in the hope that you would
get disgusted. Why didn't you?"
"I--I don't know"--
"Yes, I've been most hateful," continued Lynn, thoughtfully. "I wonder
if it would do any good if I were to tell you all the harsh things I've
said about you to Aunt Lucy."
"I don't think," said Mr. Lighton, hastily and firmly, "that it would do
a bit of good."
"Then I won't. But will you tell me just as a matter of curiosity--what
it was that you liked about me?"
"In the first place," her companion said, pondering, "I suppose I liked
you because you didn't chase me and it was such a change. You see when
a fellow has a good position and money coming to him"-- He wiped his
forehead and looked scared and reminiscent.
"I see," exclaimed Lynn. "I must make a note of that. There are men
who tire of being 'chased.' Then there must be men who tire of tobacco,
I suppose."
"I don't know about that," said Mr. Lighton, dubiously. "You see, when
one has smoked long enough, one can always throw one's cigar out of the
window. So one doesn't get as sick of it as one does of women."
"No, I suppose not. I never thought of that," said Lynn, gravely.
"Well, let me see! you liked me in the first place because I didn't
'chase' you: and why did you like me, in the second?"
"You're a fine sport," said Mr. Lighton, pondering, "you're always ready
for any thing, and you dance like a streak, and you're never tired, and
you do make a fellow roar so. I suppose that's why."
"So these are my assets. Dancing like a 'streak'--whatever that may be:
always being ready to skate and toboggan: and 'making a fellow roar so.'
It doesn't sound attractive: however I never pretended to understand
men. What a funny thing it is! No money, no beauty, no particular
brains and one of the most eligible young men in the city begging me to
marry him!"
"Your aunt likes me," said Mr. Lighton.
"She likes you very much; but she always confuses you with the new
plumbing and the electric lights in your house. She can't conceive how
I can withstand such fascinations. Poor Aunt Lucy! I wish I were a
little more satisfactory: but I really cannot fall in love to order even
to please her--not with a whole galaxy of electric lights."
"I don't know exactly what you're driving at," said Mr. Lighton, looking
sullen, "but I think your aunt's a very sensible woman."
"So do I. I only wish I were half as sensible. I'm a great grief to
her. You see, she feels rightly that a single woman with no independent
income should struggle valiantly to avert the awful doom of old maid.
Now, the deeper I sink in the mire of old-maiden-hood, the less I
struggle."
"Is your aunt very fond of you?" asked Mr. Lighton curiously.
"No. She is much pleased at my popularity, which she doesn't understand
in the least, and she regards it in the light of a personal reward for
her goodness in adopting me. That is all."
"And your uncle? You don't mind my asking, do you?"
"Not a bit. My uncle hates me, but he thinks I'm a good girl and tries
not to show it more than he can help. You see he can't endure children
and he is prejudiced against me because I was a child when he first knew
me and he has never forgotten it."
"Then I suppose you're not awfully fond of them?"
"I am--most grateful to them, both: but I do not love them. I have
never really loved but one person in my life--no, two. The first love is
much stronger than the second: but the second is--profound and lasting.
I am not an affectionate person: I do not suppose that there will ever
be more than just those two."
"Neither of them's me," interposed Mr. Lighton, gloomily and
ungrammatically.
"Neither of them's you, no," returned Lynn, firmly.
"Oh, look here, Miss Thayer, can't you reconsider it? I'm--I'm most
awfully in love with you, upon my word I am: and--and, after all,--I
don't like to say this exactly--but you know I can give you everything
you want and--don't you like the idea of having a little money?"
"Immensely."
"Then"----
"But, unfortunately I do _not_ like the idea of having you. There is
the plain English of it. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but there
doesn't seem to be any way of making you understand."
"Oh, I understand, all right!" muttered Mr. Lighton, ruefully. "But I
can't say I'm pleased. You might have given me a hint before letting me
make a fool of myself."
"A hint! Man! how many hints have I given you?"
"A dev--I mean a great many," returned the consistent Mr. Lighton. "But
I thought you were trying to draw me on."
"I have no talents for man-hunting," said Lynn, rather crossly. "I
never try to 'draw people on' or anything like that. It does not amuse
me: I'm a man's woman in one sense but I am not a flirt"----
"Flirt! You can't flirt any more tha--than that mantelpiece," said Mr.
Lighton, desperately. "But I like you--I can't help liking you, some
way."
"No--I suppose you can't--not just at present, anyway. But you'll get
over it in time."
Mr. Lighton said nothing, but his face was not cheerful.
"I have a good mind," said Lynn, slowly, "to tell you something about
myself--something that will show you the hopelessness of asking me. It
is this: even if I liked you very much I couldn't marry you."
"But why?"
"Because--because I have a duty to perform; a duty which demands all my
time and strength and--and thought; and which marriage would interfere
with."
"But--but do you mean that you are going to perform this duty--whatever
it may be--all your life?"
"N-n-no. In a few years--perhaps sooner--it will be--finished."
"And then?"
"And then--oh, don't talk about it! I was foolish to speak about it,
anyway--but, do you know, I felt sorry for you. I can't understand why
people like having proposals from people they don't want to marry. It
always seems to me such a pity that anything should be wasted, that any
feeling should burn itself out, without result. That may be a queer way
to look at it--but I suppose I am queer. People seem to think so and,
perhaps, they are right."
"Well, I'd better go, I suppose," said Lighton, gruffly, after a short
pause. "If anything turns up--I mean, if you should change your mind,
you know, or anything like that--why"--
"Thank you; but I never shall. Good-night, Mr. Lighton. I'm sorry,
really I am. It all seems too bad, but you know it's not my fault."
Left to herself, she drew a long sigh; then rose and moved about the
room mechanically straightening the furniture and patting the sofa
cushions. Finally she leaned her elbows on the mantelpiece and gazed
earnestly into the mirror, above. "Curious what he sees in me!" she
said, slowly. "Curious what anyone sees in me! I have nothing to
recommend me in the way of looks; it is hard to understand. In spite of
all that I have done for--for the boy, he--he doesn't really care very
much about me, even now. And yet this man--whom I have done everything
to discourage"--
She stared slowly at herself: then turned away.
"Time to go to bed," she said, reluctantly. "And high time to
stop--thinking.... Oh, Liol, Liol, Liol!"
*CHAPTER XIV*
*A DECISION TO BE REACHED*
"'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls,
And matter enough to save one's own."
--Browning.
Mr. Albert and Miss Bertha Hadwell having arrived at Hadwell Heights
their aunt had promptly issued invitations for the "bridge" of which she
had spoken at her "tea." Hadwell Heights was "en fete." The guests had
arrived and were playing, busily, though not for money. Apart from the
fact that the guests of honour were young, Mrs. Hadwell disapproved of
"bridge-gambling."
"I never win at games," she confided to Lynn. "And I don't enjoy losing
money even if I can afford it. And it's such a nice, cheap way of
getting a reputation for steadiness and sobriety and high morality and
all that. I love to be known for things that I haven't even a bowing
acquaintance with. And it seems so delicious to say with a perfectly
straight face, 'No, I never play for money. I don't approve of it.' It
seems such a rebuke to the worldly-minded and the frivolous and all that
lot."
Mrs. Hadwell, though, might be depended upon to furnish very pretty
prizes. Besides which her house was famed for its delightful
entertainments of all descriptions. For which reasons, and for several
others, her pretty drawing-room was thronged.
Lynn Thayer had refused to play, offering to bear her hostess company,
however, and to help her in any way she could. She sat now in an alcove
of the great old-fashioned bay-window, watching the players absently,
and trying to straighten out several matters which threatened to become
hopelessly entangled in her mind. This was hardly the place to solve
these problems, but, as they became daily and hourly more imminent, she
felt that she might as well face them at one time as at another, so far
as she was able.
Her reflections chimed oddly with the scraps of conversation which were
wafted to her ears from time to time.
"What shall I say if Gerald does ask me to marry him?" she thought, her
face darkening. "How can I accept him? And then again--how can I
refuse him? If he would only wait--but it is not reasonable to suppose
that he would. How can I--how shall I answer him?"
"We-ll," interposed a voice, faintly, "I make it diamonds."
"Oh, why, Mrs. Hall?"
"Oh, did you have a good suit? Oh, dear! well, never mind!--I suppose
we can't take it back, can we?--no? well, I suppose not. That's the
worst of"--
"He must have meant that; he can't have meant anything else. Of course
I have always known, but I thought I could keep it off a little longer.
And I didn't realize till lately how much it would mean to me if--I
can't give him up. No, I can't give him up. Yet how can I do anything
else under the circumstances? Could I explain in any way--give him any
inkling of my position? no, I don't see how"--
"Oh, are we playing 'no trumps'? Why, I didn't know that. Why didn't
you tell me when you saw me playing out my king and ace"--
"He has no idea--naturally it will seem incomprehensible to him if I say
that I do care for him but that I can't marry him for years. If I were
five years younger; but, even so--no, I cannot say that. What can I
say? If I ask him to trust me and to let me tell him when I shall be
free to give him my answer--no, the case is hopeless. I had better tell
him baldly and plainly that it is impossible for me to marry--and
then?"--
"Not at all, Mrs. Willing, not at all. Of course it was my trick already
but I saw that you hadn't noticed that--why, don't think of it for a
moment. Of course, generally speaking, it _isn't_ supposed to be a good
thing to trump your partner's trick, but"--
"He is not the sort of man to let it rest there; he will ask questions,
all sorts of questions, he will insist on knowing what I mean, what I
intend to do. How will it end? The only thing that he can never think
of is the truth. He will think of everything else under the sun. Oh,
the thing is too hopeless! I shall have to let him think that I don't
care for him--oh, but if I do that he will go away, I shall not see him
again; in time he will marry some one else--how could I bear that? He
must not go. I'll say anything, anything, short of giving my secret
away. Ah, that horrible oath! So needless, so useless! and to think
that, on top of all the rest, this should come! and that I may be
compelled to give up my only chance of happiness in the future. I won't
give it up! I won't! Life is too cruel. I'll do anything to prevent
him leaving me. And then there is not only my pain if he did--but he
would suffer, too. No, it is not to be thought of for a moment. He
must stay."
"Well, I suppose I really shouldn't have thrown away my ace when hearts
hadn't been played at all, but then you know I never stick to rules."
"If only he hadn't written that note, asking to see me to-night. If
only I could have put off answering him a little longer. If I refuse to
let him go home with me it will be equivalent to refusing him,
altogether. It is out of the question. I must settle it one way or
another at once. What is it to be?"
"Oh, don't tell me the queen hasn't been played, yet? Why, I thought it
was out ages ago--oh, I really think I ought to have that back"--
"What will he say when I answer him--that is, if I tell him the truth?
How will it sound? 'I do care for you but I can't marry you just now,
perhaps not for several years, I can't say exactly when.' The thing is
incredible. A woman of my age, presumably sane, to answer a proposal of
marriage in that fashion. Ah, if only I were indifferent to him how
easy things would be; and yet what would I have then in life? When
Liol--dies--oh, I can't think of that! Where is he to-night, I wonder?
What is he doing? Liol, Liol! if only you were dead! and yet, oh, I
can't wish that. What will my life be when he is gone? Gone! Think of
it! How can I marry, then? what will my life be worth? how shall I live
and hide my grief? oh, Liol, Liol!"
"Upon my word, Mr. Coote! where were your eyes? Didn't you know that
the nine of clubs wasn't out?"
"One thing is certain; much as I love Gerald, nothing and nobody can
ever be to me what Liol was and is. Is that very strange? am I entirely
different to all other girls. How could any strange man, however dear,
be as much in your life as a person like Liol, with whom your very
heart-strings were entwined; who came when your heart was empty and
filled it? My Lionel! my little brother! my last charge from my dead
mother! Oh, if the years could only be wiped out and if I could see him
again as he once was, the same sweet dear child, how happily I could
die--yes, how happily I could give up everything--Gerald, everything.
But--I must live; and Lionel is--oh, I can't say, I can't think what he
is; and he is dying by inches; and there is only one other person in the
world for whom I care, only one other person for whom I ever shall care
but him; and I may have to give him up. If only Lionel didn't need me
so; if only he didn't need all my money, all my thought, all my
care--imagine my deserting him and starting to choose a trousseau. A
trousseau! when any day he may need a shroud."
"A penny for your thoughts, Lynn."
Mrs. Hadwell had come up, unnoticed and was standing at Lynn's side.
"Did I startle you?" she asked, brightly. "You were looking straight in
front of you like Cassandra or Joan of Arc or some other unpleasant
historical character. What was it? Indigestion?"
"A fit of the blues, perhaps," said Lynn. "Don't mind me, Del. It was
most ungrateful of me to cast a shade over the festivities and, to tell
you the truth, I wasn't aware that I was doing it. Who has the highest
score?"
"Erma Reed, so far. Isn't she a beauty? Lynn, what's the matter with
you?"
"Nothing, silly!--that is, nothing much. You know we all get a little
despondent at times."
"But not you, that is, not until lately. What has come over you?"
"Age, I suppose."
"If you don't want to confide in me, don't--"
"I don't!"
--"But I think it's most unkind, when I always tell you everything."
"There's nothing that I can confide in you, silly-billy!" said Lynn,
rousing herself and speaking with forced cheerfulness. "Nothing in the
world. Now, will that satisfy you? You know practically all my affairs
except those which concern other people and which I have promised not to
tell."
"Is that true?"
"There is just one thing which I might tell you--but, after all, it's
nothing to tell"--
"Oh, what is it?"
"A man--but this is silly for there is really nothing to tell and,
anyway, I don't want to discuss it."
"How logical you are," said Mrs. Hadwell, calmly. "But I know all about
that, so you needn't bother. He is going to propose to-night, he told
me so. And he begged me to make sure that he wasn't deputed to take
anyone else home, as you had not answered his note and so he couldn't be
sure"--
"He told you! How queer! How very unlike him!"
"I skated with him to-day and we had tea together. And you know how I
can always make any man tell me the inmost secret of his heart if I can
once get him alone for five minutes. And you're the inmost core of
his."
"Del!"
"He as good as told me so. And I promised to put in a good word for
him. So this is the good word. If you _will_ be so foolish as to
refuse Lighton--who is, by far, the better match of the two--why, you
might do worse than Amherst."
"Thank you."
"But I can't help hoping, of course, that you will never be so foolish
as to refuse Lighton."
"Mr. Amherst would be delighted if he could only hear your warm advocacy
of his cause."
"Oh, I told him what I was going to say. I was perfectly frank. But I
felt constrained to admit that you were such a hopeless idiot that I was
very much afraid that you were going to refuse Lighton, if you had not
done so, already. However, as I said, you were quite capable of
committing the lesser idiocy of refusing him, afterwards. I don't know
that I was quite so nice a confidante as usual; but then you must
remember that Gerald Amherst absolutely refused to sanction my efforts
at flirtation with him, this fall, and you can't expect me to forgive
that all at once. I told him that, too."
"Del!"
"Oh, he's a good sort. He said that, once you accepted him, his mind
would be free and, if I would then renew my attentions, he would accept
them most gratefully--always provided you didn't kick. Well, he didn't
put it just that way, but that was his meaning. Only he didn't mean a
word of it. Lynn, if ever a man was hopelessly enamoured of a woman,
you are that woman. You're doing pretty well, all things considered.
Two proposals in one winter and one a good catch--a _particularly_ good
catch--don't glare so, Lynn, it's rude! and the other an extremely nice
man and not too poor, either. My goodness! but you ought to be
thankful. Look at the way some people work and work and then don't get
much at the end; and here you just sit with hands folded, so to speak,
and watch the desirables canter in. At your age, too! only you mustn't
dally any longer, you know; it's time to make up your mind."
"Yes, you're right. It's high time I made up my mind."
"Good. Now then, make it up."
"My dear, my mind isn't like a bed that can be made up while you wait.
I must think a bit."
"What do you want to think about, I should like to know? Are you
weakening on the idea of refusing Lighton?"
"No. To tell you the truth--I may just as well tell you, I
suppose--I've refused him, already."
"_What_? When? Where? No, never mind telling me, either. Let's stick
to the point. Now that you have refused him, there is only one thing
left to do--marry Amherst and thank your stars that he proposed just
when he did. Otherwise, everyone would say that Lighton had neglected
to 'come up to scratch.' Gracious! how fortunate that you had two
strings to your bow."
"You know that old proverb about 'falling between two stools,' don't
you?" Lynn asked, smiling faintly.
"Yes, and it's perfect rubbish. The people who talk about 'falling
between two stools' are the people who've never had but one stool in
their lives and who've sat firmly down on that to prevent it getting up
and running away. Two stools, indeed! Twenty, if you can get them! But
two will do very nicely indeed, when they are two like these. One being
gone, you grab the other just as quickly as you know how. Now don't stop
to tell me that I am getting vulgar; practical people always seem vulgar
to visionaries. The question is, what are you going to say to Amherst
to-night?"
"I'm not going to say anything, Del, for I simply can't let him take me
home. I must have a little more time to think. No, don't argue; I am
serious. Tell him that I am frightfully tired--which is literally
true--and that you have asked me to spend the night here; but that, if
he will be so good as to take me home after the hockey match to-morrow
night, I shall be eternally obliged. Or no, don't put it like that; say
that--oh well, say what you think best, Del, you always know how to put
these things. Really I am so tired that I simply can't think to-night.
Will you arrange it for me? and you won't mind putting me up for the
night, will you?"
"No, dear child, I shall be delighted to have you. And I'll give him
the message though I think you are foolish to postpone the thing. But I
won't tease you, for I am sure you are going to be sensible in the end;
and we won't talk any more about it if you don't want to. See here, do
look at that table! and please listen to the conversation between Agatha
and that unfortunate wretch of a Haldern. I know who won't be Agatha's
'latest.' _Do_ listen."
"But--excuse me for asking, Miss Ladilaw--but what did you make it 'no
trumps' on?" inquired a masculine voice.
"Why--why--why, I'll tell you, Mr. Haldern," said Agatha looking up at
him, confidingly. "My own hand was so perfectly awful--so
appalling--that I felt sure Dummy must have a lot of aces and things.
But you see it didn't."
"But, in that case, why didn't you leave it to me?"
"Because I--I was _so_ afraid that you would make it spades. And I had
quite good diamonds."
"But don't you see?"--
"Oh, I _always_ believe in trusting something to Dummy," Agatha
interrupted gently but with an air of finality. "Don't let us discuss
it any further, Mr. Haldern."
"Del," whispered Lynn to her hostess, "I may not be very kind-hearted,
but I would not inflict Agatha on any man."
"Oh, they'll change partners at the next table. And I think it's good
for men to play with Agatha: they appreciate the next partner they get
so much more than they otherwise would. Well, Lynn, how do you like my
twins?"