I had quarrelled with Lisbeth; had quarrelled beyond all hope of
redemption and forgiveness, desperately, irrevocably, and it had all
come about through a handkerchief--Mr. Selwyn's handkerchief.
At a casual glance this may appear all very absurd, not to say petty;
but then I have frequently noticed that insignificant things very often
serve for the foundation of great; and incidentally quite a surprising
number of lives have been ruined by a handkerchief.
The circumstances were briefly these: In the first place, I had
received the following letter from the Duchess, which had perturbed me
not a little:
MY DEAR DICK: I hear that that Agatha Warburton creature has written
threatening to cut off our dear Lisbeth with the proverbial shilling
unless she complies with her wish and marries Mr. Selwyn within the
year. Did you ever know of anything so disgusting?
If I were Lisbeth, and possessed such a "creature" for an aunt, I'd see
her in Timbuctoo first--I would! But then I forget the poor child has
nothing in the world, and you little more, and "love in a cottage" is
all very well, Dick, up to a certain time. Of course, it is all right
in novels but you are neither of you in a novel, and that is the worst
of it. If Providence had seen fit to make me Lisbeth's aunt, now,
things might have been very different; but alas! it was not to be.
Under the circumstances, the best thing you can do, for her sake and
your own, is to turn your back upon Arcadia and try to forget it all as
soon as possible in the swirl of London and everyday life.
Yours,
CHARLOTTE C.
P.S. Of course, Romance is dead ages and ages ago; still, it really
would be nice if you could manage to run off with her some fine night!
Thus the fiat had gone forth, the time of waiting was accomplished;
to-day Lisbeth must choose between Selwyn and myself.
This thought was in my mind as I strode along the river path, filling
me with that strange exhilaration which comes, I suppose, to most of us
when we face some climax in our lives.
But now the great question, How would she decide? leaped up and began
to haunt me. Because a woman smiles upon a man, he is surely a most
prodigious fool to flatter himself that she loves him, therefore. How
would she decide? Nay, indeed; what choice had she between affluence
and penury? Selwyn was wealthy and favoured by her aunt, Lady
Warburton, while as for me, my case was altogether the reverse. And
now I called to mind how Lisbeth had always avoided coming to any
understanding with me, putting me off on one pretence or another, but
always with infinite tact. So Fear came to me, and Doubt began to rear
its head; my step grew slower and slower, till, reaching the Shrubbery
gate, I leaned there in doubt whether to proceed or not. Summoning up
my resolution, however, I went on, turning in the direction of the
orchard, where I knew she often sat of a morning to read or make a
pretence of sewing.
I had gone but a little way when I caught sight of two distant figures
walking slowly across the lawn, and recognised Lisbeth and Mr. Selwyn.
The sight of him here and at such a time was decidedly unpleasant, and
I hurried on, wondering what could have brought him so early.
Beneath Lisbeth's favourite tree, an ancient apple-tree so gnarled and
rugged that it seemed to have spent all its days tying itself into all
manner of impossible knots--in the shade of this tree, I say, there was
a rustic seat and table, upon which was a work-basket, a book, and a
handkerchief. It was a large, decidedly masculine handkerchief, and as
my eyes encountered it, by some unfortunate chance I noticed a monogram
embroidered in one corner--an extremely neat, precise monogram, with
the letters F. S. I recognised it at once as the property of Mr.
Selwyn.
Ordinarily I should have thought nothing of it, but to-day it was
different; for there are times in one's life when the most foolish
things become pregnant of infinite possibilities; when the veriest
trifles assume overwhelming proportions, filling and blotting out the
universe.
So it was now, and as I stared down at the handkerchief, the Doubt
within me grow suddenly into Certainty. I was pacing restlessly up and
down when I saw Lisbeth approaching; her cheeks seemed more flushed
than usual, and her hand trembled as she gave it to me.
"Why, whatever is the matter with you?" she said; "you look so--so
strange, Dick."
"I received a letter from the Duchess this morning."
"Did you?"
"Yes; in which she tells me your aunt has threatened to--"
"Cut me off with a shilling," nodded Lisbeth, crossing over to the
table.
"Yes," I said again.
"Well?"
"Well?"
"Oh, for goodness' sake, Dick, stop tramping up and down like a--a
caged bear, and sit down--do!"
I obeyed; yet as I did so I saw her with the tail of my eye whip up the
handkerchief and tuck it beneath the laces at her bosom.
"Lisbeth," said I, without turning my head, "why hide it--there?"
Her face flushed painfully, her lips quivered, and for a moment she
could find no answer; then she tried to laugh it off.
"Because I--I wanted to, I suppose!"
"Obviously!" I retorted; and rising, bowed and turned to go.
"Stay a moment, Dick. I have something to tell you."
"Thank you, but I think I can guess."
"Can you?"
"Oh, yes."
"Aren't you just a little bit theatrical, Dick?" Now, as she spoke she
drew out Selwyn's handkerchief and began to tie and untie knots in it.
"Dick," she went on--and now she was tracing out Selwyn's monogram with
her finger--"you tell me you know that Aunt Agatha has threatened to
disinherit me; can you realise what that would mean to me, I wonder?"
"Only in some small part," I answered bitterly; "but it would be awful
for you, of course--good-bye to society and all the rest of it--no more
ball gowns or hats and things from Paris, and--"
"And bearing all this in mind," she put in, "and knowing me as you do,
perhaps you can make another guess and tell me what I am likely to do
under these circumstances?"
Now, had I been anything but a preposterous ass, my answer would have
been different; but then I was not myself, and I could not help
noticing how tenderly her finger traced out those two letters F. S., so
I laughed rather brutally and answered:
"Follow the instinct of your sex and stick to the Paris hats and
things."
I heard her breath catch, and turning away, she began to flutter the
pages of the book upon the table.
"And you were always so clever at guessing, weren't you?" she said
after a moment, keeping her face averted.
"At least it has saved your explaining the situation, and you should be
thankful for that."
The book slipped suddenly to the ground and lay, all unheeded, and she
began to laugh in a strange, high key. Wondering, I took a step toward
her; but as I did so she fled from me, running toward the house, never
stopping or slackening speed, until I had lost sight of her altogether.
Thus the whole miserable business had befallen, dazing me by its very
suddenness like a "bolt from the blue." I had returned to the 'Three
Jolly Anglers,' determined to follow the advice of the Duchess and
return to London by the next train. Yet, after passing a sleepless
night, here I was sitting in my old place beneath the alders pretending
to fish.
The river was laughing among the reeds just as merrily as ever, bees
hummed and butterflies wheeled and hovered--life and the world were
very fair. Yet for once I was blind to it all; moreover, my pipe
refused to "draw"--pieces of grass, twigs, and my penknife were alike
unavailing.
So I sat there, brooding upon the fickleness of womankind, as many
another has done before me, and many will doubtless do after, alack!
And the sum of my thoughts was this: Lisbeth had deceived me; the hour
of trial had found her weak; my idol was only common clay, after all.
And yet she had but preferred wealth to comparative poverty, which
surely, according to all the rules of common sense, had shown her
possessed of a wisdom beyond her years. And who was I to sit and
grieve over it? Under the same circumstances ninety-nine women out of
a hundred would have chosen precisely the same course; but then to me
Lisbeth had always seemed the one exempt--the hundredth woman;
moreover, there be times when love, unreasoning and illogical, is
infinitely more beautiful than this much-vaunted common sense.
This and much more was in my mind as I sat fumbling with my useless
pipe and staring with unseeing eyes at the flow of the river. My
thoughts, however, were presently interrupted by something soft rubbing
against me, and looking down, I beheld Dorothy's fluffy kitten Louise.
Upon my attempting to pick her up, she bounded from me in that
remarkable sideways fashion peculiar to her kind, and stood regarding
me from a distance, her tail straight up in the air and her mouth
opening and shutting without a sound. At length having given vent to
a very feeble attempt at a mew, she zig-zagged to me, and climbing upon
my knee, immediately fell into a purring slumber.
"Hallo, Uncle Dick!--I mean, what ho, Little John!" cried a voice, and
looking over my shoulder, carefully so as nor to disturb the balance of
"Louise," I beheld the Imp. It needed but a glance at the bow in his
hand, the three arrows in his belt, and the feather in his cap to tell
me who he was for the time being.
"How now, Robin?" I inquired.
"I'm a bitter, disappointed man, Uncle Dick!" he answered, putting up a
hand to feel if his feather was in place.
"Are you?"
"Yes the book says that Robin Hood was 'bitter an' disappointed' an' so
am I."
"Why, how's that?"
The Imp folded his arms and regarded me with a terrific frown. "It's
all the fault of my Auntie Lisbeth'!" he said in a tragic voice.
"Sit down, my Imp, and tell me all about it."
"Well," he began laying aside his 'trusty sword,' and seating himself
at my elbow, "she got awfull' angry with me yesterday, awfull' angry,
indeed, an' she wouldn't play with me or anything; an' when I tried to
be friends with her an' asked her to pretend she was a hippopotamus,
'cause I was a mighty hunter, you know, she just said, 'Reginald, go
away an' don't bother me!'
"You surprise me, Imp!"
"But that's not the worst of it," he continued, shaking his head
gloomily; "she didn't come to 'tuck me up' an' kiss me good-night like
she always does. I lay awake hours an' hours waiting for her, you
know; but she never came, an' so I've left her!"
"Left her!" I repeated.
"For ever an' ever!" he said, nodding a stern brow. "I 'specks she'll
be awfull' sorry some day!"
"But where shall you go to?"
"I'm thinking of Persia!" he said darkly.
"Oh!"
"It's nice an' far, you know, an' I might meet Aladdin with the
wonderful lamp."
"Alas, Imp, I fear not," I answered, shaking my head; "and besides, it
will take a long, long time to get there, and where shall you sleep at
night?"
The Imp frowned harder than ever, staring straight before him as one
who wrestles with some mighty problem, then his brow cleared and he
spoke in this wise:
"Henceforth, Uncle Dick, my roof shall be the broad expanse of heaven,
an--an--wait a minute!" he broke off, and lugging something from his
pocket, disclosed a tattered, paper-covered volume (the Imp's books are
always tattered), and hastily turning the pages, paused at a certain
paragraph and read as follows:
"'Henceforth my roof shall be the broad expanse of heaven, an' all
tyrants shall learn to tremble at my name!' Doesn't that sound fine,
Uncle Dick? I tried to get Ben, you know, the gardener's boy--to come
an' live in the 'greenwood' with me a bit an' help to make 'tyrants'
tremble, but he said he was 'fraid his mother might find him some day,
an' he wouldn't, so I'm going to make them tremble all by myself,
unless you will come an' be Little John, like you were once before--oh,
do!"
Before I could answer, hearing footsteps, I looked round, and my heart
leaped, for there was Lisbeth coming down the path.
Her head was drooping and she walked with a listless air. Now, as I
watched I forgot everything but that she looked sad, and troubled, and
more beautiful than ever, and that I loved her. Instinctively I rose,
lifting my cap. She started, and for the fraction of a second her eyes
looked into mine, then she passed serenely on her way. I might have
been a stick or stone for all the further notice she bestowed.
Side by side, the Imp and I watched her go, until the last gleam of her
white skirt had vanished amid the green. Then he folded his arms and
turned to me.
"So be it!" he said, with an air of stern finality; "an' now, what is a
'blasted oak,' please?"
"A blasted oak!" I repeated.
"If you please, Uncle Dick."
"'Well, it's an oak-tree that has been struck by lightning."
"Like the one with the 'stickie-out' branches, where I once hid Auntie
Lis--Her stockings?"