Edith's Choice.
From childhood, Edith Esterbrook had known George Cadman. The fact
that he was ten years older than herself, rather strengthened their
friendship than otherwise.
As years brought her development into womanhood, Cadman was not slow to
realize and appreciate her attractions. He loved Edith with a strong
devotion, which her young experience did not value. During the last
year several had proposed marriage to her, but for a long time, George
alone was not repulsed. To him she had not yet said a decided "No."
She felt sure that her friendship's love was not the right kind of
love for marriage, but she dreaded to part with him, and so, with an
unconsciously selfish postponement of the final word, she had kept him
by her side.
But the last month had brought a change into her life. She had met one
whom she thought she could be happy in marrying,--one Howard Hester,
who loved her passionately at first sight, and declared his love soon
after. He was immensely rich. Riches alone could not tempt Edith, but
he also seemed to possess a character which could adore her without
the slightest criticism. He gained her confidence quickly. To him she
confided all her noble aspirations, all her plans and projects for
doing charitable work. To all he acquiesced, encouraging anything that
would add to her joy in life, and declaring his fortune at her feet.
All he asked in return was for himself to be her first thought and love.
What an ideal life! Edith could think of nothing nobler. It was a shock
to her parents when she declared her desire to marry Howard. She was
entirely too young, and many other objections were given. But all were
promptly overcome by the tactful Howard, and consent was finally gained.
Edith decided to personally tell George before her engagement was
announced, and to this intent she asked him to call that evening.
As she waited for him in her parlor, she gave herself up to contrasting
him with Howard.
"George is a dear," she thought regretfully, "I hope that he gets over
his fondness for me soon. Strange that he seldom agreed with me in any
opinion. Wonder why he cared for me? Always ready to correct me--so
different from Howard! After marriage, I suppose I would have to submit
every plan to George for approval, and abide by his decision. Howard is
so willing to agree and so much more loving."
But with all her satisfied persuasion, Edith felt a strange pang
with the thought that this evening would be the last alone with her
life-long friend.
When he entered, she arose to meet him with her customary frankness.
"I have been waiting for you to call this past week as usual, but as
you didn't come I felt at liberty to send for you."
"Always, Edith," he said pressing her hand. "At any time or place, I am
at your command. No one knows that better than yourself."
The meaning of his direct gaze was only too positive, and Edith felt
suddenly overcome with pity and constraint. How could she tell him of
her engagement, when he did not even suspect it? She colored hotly and
dropped her gaze.
"My absence this week has been unavoidable," George continued, as they
both sat down opposite to one another. "You have heard of my cousin,
Will Lambert, and I believe you have met his wife occasionally?"
"O, yes, only a week ago I attended an afternoon affair at her home.
What a pretty, attractive woman she is!"
Walter's face became grave, and his eyes looked unutterable sadness.
"O, Edith, if you could only see her now! Poor little wreck of
womanhood! She is undergoing unbearable sorrow!"
Edith's eyes shot instant interest.
"O, tell me her trouble," she exclaimed quickly, forgetting the object
of her bidding him to call.
"Her husband got into pretty deep trouble, and to avoid her going
through the long trial and imprisonment, he committed suicide by
drowning."
"Yes," George continued, "he has left it to me to try to hush it
up so that his wrong-doing wouldn't become public gossip. For a
week Eve tried every sort of pleading and bribery, but all of no
avail,--to-morrow's newspapers will print the whole story, with as much
exaggeration as they can possibly invent. Poor little Alma will be more
distracted than ever!"
"O, how cruel it all seems!" exclaimed Edith, entering into his mood of
passionate pity. "How I wish I could go to her!"
George's eyes flashed understanding. "And why not? A woman needs a
woman's sympathy. She has no woman relative and her mother died five
years ago."
"I will go to her," said Edith with calm resolve. "I'm not really a
friend, but we can always come very near to a heart that is wrecked by
despair."
"You could, Edith, but not everyone," he said with warm tenderness.
"I have been with her every evening since it happened,--that accounts
for my absence here. She clings to me in the most childishly helpless
manner. I promised to go to-night, too. I would not disappoint her even
at the sacrifice of an evening with you. You realize that sacrifice,
Edith? I missed you, to go to one in sorrow. When may I call again?"
His tone was so tender and expectant, that Edith stood completely
abashed, trying to find words to tell him her secret which would
separate them forever.
"Why, George, I want always to see you," she stammered. Her eyes
drooped, not daring to meet his searching gaze, "But before you go, I
ought to tell you something that may change your desire to come."
"Nothing could do that," he said fervently.
She felt his tone and it spurred her to frankness.
"George," she said gently, "I hope it will not hurt you to know that I
am engaged."
Great as had been the shock of Will's death, it was slight compared to
the awfulness of her revelation. Of late he had felt himself on surer
grounds. He hoped to win Edith. Now by one fell stroke, when his keen
fine nature was vibrating with tragic sympathy, his own hopes were
dashed to the ground.
And Edith herself had struck the blow!
Pale and drawn he looked at her with acute misery depicted in every
strong feature.
"Edith! it's all over then--gone forever!" he exclaimed tensely.
Edith's violet eyes suffused with ready tears.
"O, George, don't! don't! I never dreamed that you would take it so to
heart! We shall always, _always_ be the same old friends."
"Friends!" he returned bitterly. "What a mockery! But you are right--we
will always be the same--_you_ a friend, and I"--he paused and swept
her with a glance of passionate admiration--"and I, your abject lover!"
"But, George," she began pleadingly.
"Let us not discuss it, Edith," he interrupted in his old dictative
way, "It is a fierce fate that struck me two fearful blows at once.
But don't worry about me, little one," he added gently, "I'm a man and
can bear it. Now I will go to a little woman who has less strength to
overcome."
As he held out his hand, his face became calm and set, and no one could
have guessed the strength summoned to meet the inevitable.
"Good-bye, Edith," he said, quietly. "God bless you and give you all
the happiness you deserve. If you ever need a heart to share a trouble,
mine is always open to you. Good-bye, little one, Good-bye."
And Edith, more overcome than George, could only murmur, "Good-bye,"
and let him go.
Tired, she dropped into a chair. Vaguely she wondered why he did not
even ask who her future husband was to be. Suddenly came the echo of
his "Good-bye, little one, good-bye," and the pathos of it filled her
with a melancholy longing.
She bowed her head in her hands, and wept.