A STARTLING PROPOSAL.
Mollie grew first red, then white, at this unexpected renewal of
Philip's suit. At the same time, she was conscious that it did not ring
quite true, in spite of his passionate avowal of love and eagerness of
manner; there was an indefinable undercurrent of reservation--a lack of
sincerity in it that impressed her unpleasantly.
For one thing, she felt that if he had been a true lover, he never would
have allowed their correspondence to cease, simply because a single
letter had gone astray; he would never have been content to let a year
and a half pass without making an attempt to see her and learn how she
was living and how her father was prospering, after having been robbed
of his last dollar by the treachery of his pretended friend.
She began to recover from her confusion almost immediately, however, and
lifting her eyes, earnestly searched her companion's face. Somehow, it
had never appeared so unattractive to her before; it was weak and showed
in the lowering brow, in the habitual expression of discontent, in the
sensuous mouth and irresolute chin, a lack of that true nobility and
strength of character which she knew she must find in the man whom she
married, and even while she looked his eyes wavered and fell before
her, while he shifted uneasily upon his chair.
"Mollie, why do you not answer me?" he demanded, to cover his
embarrassment, and bending toward her tried to capture one of the small,
perfect hands which lay on her lap. "It cannot be possible that you have
forgotten the past or lost all the old love for me. Ah! come to me,
dearest, let me take care of you, and you never need toil another day;
you shall have every luxury which money can buy."
"Phil," Mollie began gently, for she did not wish to wound him, even
though not one chord of her heart thrilled responsive to his ardent
appeal, while at the same time she quietly, but resolutely, released her
hand from his grasp, "I certainly have not forgotten the old days nor
the many good times which we enjoyed during our childhood. But when you
speak of 'the old love,' that is another thing, and I know now that I
never loved you; that is, in the way which you speak of now. When you
asked me before, I told you I was not prepared to say just what my
feelings toward you were, as you will remember. I felt very friendly, as
I said then, 'I liked you right well,' and, as you seemed to be so fond
of me and so anxious that our boy-and-girl play should become a reality,
I thought I would wait a little, and, perchance, as I came to like you
better, the 'like' might grow into love. I could have told you this some
time ago if you had renewed the subject, but you never did; your letters
ceased coming and I supposed you had thought better of the matter and
changed your mind. No, Phil, I do not love you as a woman should love
the man she expects to marry; so let us drop the subject here and now
and agree to be simply good friends for the future."
But her refusal aroused all Philip's antagonism. He was one who could
never bear to be balked in anything, and her statement that she knew
'now' that she did not love him stirred him to fiercest jealousy. What
had led her to such a conclusion? he asked himself. Perhaps she had met
some one else who had awakened the affection which he so coveted, and
this possible solution of the problem made him furious.
For the moment he forgot her poverty; forgot that he had vowed he would
never marry any girl who did not possess an ample fortune. He only
remembered that he loved her--had always loved her, and rich or poor he
was determined to carry his point, if by any possible means he could
achieve it, even though he should rudely trample upon her heart after he
had won it.
"Mollie!" he cried appealingly, "you do not mean it--you cannot be so
cruel as to blight all my hopes, after so many years of devotion to you.
You know that I have loved you ever since we were children; you know
that I have always expected that you would give yourself to me, and do
you think that I can easily surrender you now?"
Mollie wondered what made her shrink involuntarily every time he
mentioned his love for her. There was something that grated harshly upon
her in his every tone, and she experienced a singular distrust of him.
"I am truly sorry, Phil, if you have really been cherishing this hope
for so long," she returned after a moment of thoughtful silence, "for,
to be perfectly frank with you, I have believed everything to be at an
end between us ever since I left Boston. I am very quick to feel any
change in my friends, and I was sure, when the financial crash came to
my father, that a union between you and me would be regarded as a great
misfortune for you. I inferred this both from your own manner and your
mother's when you made your farewell call upon me at the Adams House. I
also observed it in the tone of your letters afterward, and when they
finally ceased altogether, as I have already said, I regarded the matter
as finally settled, as far as you were concerned, and, as I had arrived
at a knowledge of my own attitude toward you, I was perfectly content.
You perceive that I am very plain with you, and now let me add, Phil,
that you will yet make the discovery that some other woman will make you
happier than I ever could have done."
"I shall not!" Philip retorted vehemently. "I love you, and you alone.
Mollie, you shall not send me away like this--I cannot bear it. Give me
at least a little more time in which to try to make you love me; do not
throw me over utterly, for you will ruin my life if you do."
And he began to believe what he was saying. The more he realized that
she was dropping out of his life altogether, the more he coveted her
love. In the rashness of the moment, in the heat of his anger at being
opposed in his purpose, he might even have gone to the length of
marrying her on the spot, if the conditions had been propitious.
"No, I can give you no more 'time,' Phil, for the matter is irrevocably
settled, as far as I am concerned," Mollie responded kindly, but firmly,
"and I should only be doing you a great wrong if I should encourage you
to believe otherwise. Now, please let us dismiss the subject, once for
all, and agree to be only the best of friends in the future."
"Mollie, I won't!" Philip exclaimed with mingled anger and wounded
pride. "There must be some reason for this unaccountable change in
you--more than appears on the surface. Perhaps you have met some one
else whom you have learned to love--tell me, is it so?"
Two scarlet spots leaped into Mollie's cheeks at this excited and
imperative demand. They were called there by a shock of mingled
indignation and conscious guilt. She felt that, even though Phil had
been a lifelong friend, he had no right to try to extort the secrets of
her heart in any such high-handed manner.
Yet, at the same instant, when he had accused her of loving another,
Clifford Faxon's face, with its expression of high resolve and noble
purposes, its clear, honest eyes, its frank and genial smile, arose
before her, causing a sudden, conscious heart-thrill, which also brought
with it a sense of dismay.
Could it be possible, came the simultaneous thought, that she had
bestowed her affections upon a man whom she did not know--with whom she
had never exchanged half a dozen sentences--who had flashed like a
meteor, once or twice, across her path and was gone, perhaps never to
appear again?
Ah! but it was true, nevertheless. Soul meets soul in the flash of an
eye, through the tones of the voice, and the touch of a hand, and, like
a revelation, there came to her the consciousness of the fact that when
she had stood before Clifford Faxon, more than six years previous, she
had recognized in him--even though he had spoken no word in response to
her impulsive outburst of gratitude--a nature the counterpart and,
therefore, the companion of her own, and with this unveiling of the holy
of holies within her soul came the realization that no other would
satisfy the cravings of her heart.
At the same time, she was under no obligation to make Philip Wentworth
her father confessor, and she resented his imperative demand that she do
so. She drew herself up with quiet dignity as she coldly replied:
"Excuse me, Phil, but I think you are overstepping the bounds of both
courtesy and friendship in asking me such questions."
Philip sprang to his feet, his face a sheet of flame.
"You do not deny it," he cried angrily.
"I neither admit nor deny," said Mollie, as she also arose and stood
before him with a regal air. "I simply say that you have--as indeed no
one else has--the right to question me in the way you have done.
Whatever concerns you personally, you, of course, have a right to know
about. I have answered you frankly and as kindly as I knew how, and that
must settle it. Now"--her manner suddenly changing to her old-time
graciousness, and holding out her hand, with a charming smile--"shall we
drop it and still be the best of friends?"
He regarded her in silence for a moment. She was inexpressibly lovely,
and would have disarmed a savage; but his pride was wounded, and his
heart was filled with rage at the thought of being balked in his
determination to subjugate her to his will.
"No!" he said shortly, "there is no meaning for me in the word 'friend'
where you are concerned."
He turned abruptly from her as he ceased and walked from the room and
the house, taking no pains to close the door after him.
Mollie stood where he had left her for a full minute, a grave expression
on her fair face. Then she drew a long, deep breath, and her lips curled
with contempt:
"He could not stand the test--he is not worthy to be my friend, even,"
she murmured; "he is selfish to the core, for, since he cannot have just
what he wants, he repudiates all, turns and cruelly wounds the one he
has pretended to love. It is himself he loves--not me; and I am glad
that everything is finally settled between us. Still, I am sadly
disappointed in my old-time friend."
She sighed regretfully as she thought of the failure he was making of
life, for he had had every advantage, and had he appreciated and
improved his opportunities a brilliant career might have been his, while
now he was only an idle seeker after pleasure.
Then, in striking contrast to this pampered young man of fortune, there
arose before her the sunburned, bareheaded, coarsely clad lad to whom
she owed her life, and who, by his own efforts, had overcome every
obstacle and distanced Philip Wentworth at college.
Clifford Faxon might never rise socially to the position that was
accorded Philip in the fashionable world--he might never acquire great
wealth, but she felt that he had already attained that which was far
more grand and desirable than fame or fortune--a noble manhood and the
pursuit of some worthy object in life. In the midst of these reflections
Mollie blushed rosy red.
"Why do I allow my thoughts to dwell upon him?" she exclaimed, with a
shrug of her shoulders and a pretty assumption of impatience; "he is the
same as a stranger to me, and I may never see him again. How foolish I
am!"
Nevertheless, Clifford Faxon's strong, handsome face haunted her
continually, and even in her dreams that night she saw a shapely hand
outstretched to her; in its palm there lay a heart pierced with an
arrow, its feather the shade of her own bright hair, and on the hand
there gleamed a well-remembered cameo ring.
The following morning brought another trial to Mollie, and one which she
had never dreamed of being subjected to. When she entered Monsieur
Lamonti's office at the usual hour, she found him already there, but
looking unusually grave and preoccupied. She bade him a cheerful "bon
jour," to which he courteously but, to her sensitive ear, rather coldly
responded.
"Yes," he briefly replied, "Lucille is well."
Mollie began to wonder if anything had gone wrong in connection with his
business; or if, by any possibility she had made a mistake that required
a reproof, which he might be very loath to administer; or perhaps he
might not be feeling well, and did not realize how constrained his
manner was.
However, she slipped quietly into the chair before her desk and began
her work, but with a strange feeling of sadness and embarrassment
oppressing her. She wrote steadily for more than an hour, during which
time not a word was spoken by either occupant of the room.
Then, all at once, Monsieur Lamonti laid down his pen and, wheeling
around in his chair, faced her.
"Will mademoiselle be kind enough to give me her attention for a few
moments?" he gravely questioned. "I have something of importance to
communicate to her."
Mollie grew suddenly pale with apprehension. Oh! could it be possible
that Monsieur Lamonti was contemplating some change that would deprive
her of her position? Maybe he was on the point of returning to France,
or had been assigned to some other station in the United States to
continue his public duties. What could she do--where turn for employment
in such an emergency?
"Certainly, monsieur," she managed to falter, as she mechanically placed
a paper-weight upon the sheet before her; then tried to smile bravely as
she turned her colorless face to him to await her sentence, whatever it
might be.
The man started violently as he bent his searching glance upon her.
"Ah mademoiselle, you are surely ill!" he exclaimed in a voice of alarm.
"Pardon me that I have not before observed the fact. Why--why have you
come to work if you are not well?"
Something in his look and tone brought the truant color back to her face
in a crimson flood.
"Thank you, monsieur, but I am perfectly well."
Then, with a smile and her habitual frankness, she explained:
"I am only in suspense since, from monsieur's manner, I have inferred
that something is wrong; that perhaps you may have disagreeable tidings
for me."
It was now the gentleman's turn to change color and to look disturbed.
Then he broke forth with characteristic impetuosity:
"Pardon--a thousand pardons, mademoiselle, if I have caused you one
moment of anxiety or suffering! Yes, I have been thoughtless--I have
been distrait, but not because I have any ill news to impart; but
because I had decided to ask mademoiselle an important question this
morning. Mademoiselle Heatherford, will you do me the honor--the supreme
happiness--to become my wife?"