"Not that your chemistry isn't good, as far as your temperament will
allow it to be, but there's just the trouble. It ties you to a business
routine in which you'll be mediocre. I don't want a mediocre husband,
Ted."
"What has all this to do with South Kensington?" I queried, feeling
quite uncomfortable. There was a determination and conviction in Helen's
tone much at variance with the masculine theory of the clinging vine.
"While we earn our living at chemistry, Ted dear, we must get ready for
our real work. That's why I'm going to study at South Kensington."
A light dawned on me. Helen was going to help--to work with me! I was so
happy my throat hurt.
"Some day, Ted, you'll write, and we'll make the toy theatre you've told
me about real. I shall be able to help you, for I'll learn all I can
about costumes and furniture and scenery. And I'm going to read every
play ever written!"
For a mile we rhapsodized in wild enthusiasm, building one of the most
astonishingly well-equipped castles-in-Spain imaginable. Apart from
containing the neatest little country-house and garden, it had also a
laboratory and a theatre which was to be the world's center of all
important things dramatic. We didn't forget a kennel for Sir Leonidas de
la Patte Jaune. Curiously enough, neither of us thought of a nursery. No
shadow of doubt crossed our minds that everything we planned would be
realized. We had such faith in each other we were certain anything we
wished was attainable. We had only to join forces to make the world bow
to us. It wasn't conscious conceit; we were humble in our happiness.
There were many things in the world which needed doing and doing well;
we were merely planning to do our share. We thought of it all as our
duty toward life; there was no wish for vainglory--no longing for
riches. Indeed, we did already know enough to understand that the things
we were going to do were not the things which bring wealth--at least,
that it was not the easiest road to financial success. Nevertheless we
always had in our minds, as a major premise, sufficient funds for our
purposes. This latter assumption it did not occur to us to analyse. We
could live by chemistry as we went along.
We returned home to find Miss Hershey and Mr. Claybourne awaiting us
with another practical discussion. It was necessary formally to announce
our engagement; the question of marriage was to be a subject for later
negotiations. My illness and Helen's care of me had, however, rather
forced the issue, so that Mr. Claybourne thought it wise to recognize
the engagement. Mrs. Claybourne was returning from Asheville specially
on this account. So much Mr. Claybourne contributed. Miss Hershey took
up the running at this point: she had decided, upon consultation with
Mr. Claybourne, to have the engagement announced at a dinner party, to
be followed by a dance, on Christmas eve at the country club. What did
we think of this arrangement? To tell the honest truth, we neither of
us, as we confessed when alone, cared to be the centre of such an
elaborate show. To protest was ungracious when intentions were so
excellent; with much forcing of our dispositions we appeared delighted.
Miss Hershey carried off Helen to make a list of guests; Mr. Claybourne
took me into the library. We sat down, I in my usual trepidation when
confronted with practical details.
"I have had a letter from your father, Edward," he began, taking out a
familiar envelope. I was surprised, for as yet I had received only a
cable of good wishes. "He appears pleased with the step you have taken."
I bent my face into a smile. "I have been just a trifle uneasy for fear
that his disapproval might affect your future. He is, on the contrary,
ready to do what he can to assist."
This time I really smiled--not that I had had any doubt, but it was
pleasant to learn of my father's absolute trust in me.
"He is not too encouraging over finances, but seems to think he can give
you employment that will enable you to take care of Helen--and of any
addition."
"Addition?" I asked, puzzled. Mr. Claybourne looked at me over the rims
of his glasses, and tapped his letter on the corner of the table.
"I assume that young married people usually have additions to their
family," he said. I blushed furiously.
"Ye-yes," I murmured feebly. "I hadn't thought of that."
"I sometimes wonder, Edward, if you and Helen think of any one but
yourselves," he said, gazing out the window. I was stung by this rebuke,
perhaps because its truth struck me forcibly. "But I am not surprised;
it is entirely natural for young people to be selfish--" I made a
gesture of protest, which he ignored. "They think they can make the
world over in their own image. Sometimes they forget the world has been
in business longer than they have. The point is, however, that in being
selfish together you mustn't be selfish to each other. I am glad neither
of you have much money, but I also want Helen to be comfortable. That, I
conclude from your father's letter, will be the case. The less you have,
down to a certain point, the harder you will work for each other. Have
you anything to say, Edward?"
I thought, but no ideas occurred to me. I looked around uneasily,
wishing Helen were there to back me up.
"I notice, Edward, that you have already formed the habit of leaning on
Helen's decisions. I admit that she is a young woman with force of
character beyond her years." He smiled slightly, with a reminiscent air.
"I'm not always immune myself; your engagement is proof of that," he
laughed. "But I am telling you this for your good, Ted. Be your own
boss; Helen will respect you all the more, and so will I. Besides,
Edward, it's a pretty important element in success in life."
Again no suitable reply from me was forthcoming. This rather plain hint
about "success in life" fitted with the weakness-of-character theory
that had come to me upon the Ridge Road earlier in the afternoon. I
wondered how true it was. If true, was it curable? Mr. Claybourne seemed
to be waiting, for I heard him cough. Helen saved the situation by
coming in and sitting on the arm of my chair.
"What have you been saying to Ted, dad?"
"One or two things he ought to know, my daughter," Mr. Claybourne
replied gravely.
"That's an awfully unfair advantage to take of any one, dad. Of course
Ted didn't know what to say back to you?" she teased, rumpling my hair.
"You are both two ignorant young fools," Mr. Claybourne exploded
ungrammatically.
"What else do you expect us to be, dad? Besides, according to Mr. Pope's
famous line, it would be silly of us to be anything else. Look it up,
dad, in your Bartlett's _Familiar Quotations_."
Mr. Claybourne chewed the end off a fresh cigar, obviously in a bad
humour.
"Well, Helen, all I can say is that I hope the world won't give you too
hard a knock, when it decides to take the conceit out of you. Other
people have been in love before," he added with what I thought was
irrelevance.
"Of course they have, dad dear. But not just like Ted and me."
Mr. Claybourne uttered a pardonable snort.
"As long as we have each other, nothing can happen to either of us,"
Helen said simply, in a tone that made me grip her arm tightly.
"As long as--" Mr. Claybourne said slowly to himself without finishing
the sentence. A boy stopped outside the window and lit the street lamp.
The room was growing dark, and a new moon was just visible above the
opposite roof. There was a long silence, during which Mr. Claybourne
puffed at his cigar.
"Why, what a gloom you are, dad, trying to frighten us out of our
happiness with all your pessimistic grown-up ideas," Helen cried,
flinging her arms impulsively about him, knocking the ash off his cigar,
and seriously deranging his dignity. Nevertheless he patted his daughter
on the back and was secretly much pleased.
"Well, little girl," he smiled, "getting 'round your old dad just as you
always do," and he kissed her.
"Of course!" she laughed. "That's what dads are for."
Even Miss Hershey's meticulously exact explanation, at dinner, of how
the lists of guests for the engagement dinner and dance had been
selected, together with much family history of the individuals, could
not drive away the fit of depression the afternoon had brought me. I had
really never thought of the future as something to be approached with
dread and suspicion; it had always seemed sufficient to blunder into it
gaily and unquestioningly. I had never doubted it could be other than
pleasant. Forethought could always prevent tragedies.... Could it? If
one knew what tragedy to expect--yes; how if there were tragedies that
crept upon one unawares? What was it the Bible said about "a thief in
the night"? It was the old peril of too much happiness. The whole world
was enthralled to this superstition and called its childish fears
"commonsense precaution." With this fairly satisfactory and optimistic
solution I finally went to bed.
* * * * *
A week before the dinner dance Mrs. Claybourne returned, quite limp from
her journey in a Pullman and the onward rush of events at home. She felt
utterly discouraged, she said, at the hopelessness of it all, and the
general lack of consideration. Helen and I were made to feel like
criminals detected in the midst of some clandestine crime. Helen had to
have a new evening gown and an afternoon dress; she ought really to have
a new set of furs, but that was out of the question, because of the
terrible expense of the dance. Miss Hershey clicked and oozed sympathy
from the background. Mr. Claybourne put a stop to his wife's beating of
her breast by ordering Helen and her mother to New York to get
everything needed.
"You can send the bills to me, and I'll do the worrying up at the
office," he finished.
"I think I'll go along and do my shopping in New York, too," I put in,
without pausing to think. This produced a renewed outburst. It wasn't
proper, was the sum and substance.
"I've got something important to do in New York," I contended
stubbornly. "Helen has to have an engagement ring."
Helen and her father took my part. It was better, he thought, for some
one to go along who could look after the party and keep Helen amused.
Helen simply remarked that the idea I was not to go was preposterous.
Besides, the change would do me good. I would come back refreshed and
ready to resume work. Mrs. Claybourne yielded, after first fleeing to
her room in tears. It was settled I was to go along.