I have now told you (I presume)
how I became whimsical, and I
fear it would please Mary not
at all. But speaking of her,
and, as the cat's light keeps
me in a ruminating mood, suppose,
instead of returning Mary to
her lover by means of the letter,
I had presented a certain clubman
to her consideration? Certainly
no such whimsical idea crossed
my mind when I dropped the letter,
but between you and me and my
night-socks, which have all this
time been airing by the fire
because I am subject to cold
feet, I have sometimes toyed
with it since.
Why did I not think of this
in time? Was it because I must
ever remain true to the unattainable
she?
I am reminded
of a passage in the life of
a sweet lady,
a friend of mine, whose daughter
was on the eve of marriage, when
suddenly her lover died. It then
became pitiful to watch that
trembling old face trying to
point the way of courage to the
young one. In time, however,
there came another youth, as
true, I dare say, as the first,
but not so well known to me,
and I shrugged my shoulders cynically
to see my old friend once more
a matchmaker. She took him to
her heart and boasted of him;
like one made young herself by
the great event, she joyously
dressed her pale daughter in
her bridal gown, and, with smiles
upon her face, she cast rice
after the departing carriage.
But soon after it had gone, I
chanced upon her in her room,
and she was on her knees in tears
before the spirit of the dead
lover. "Forgive me," she besought
him, "for I am old, and life
is gray to friendless girls." The
pardon she wanted was for pretending
to her daughter that women should
act thus.
I am sure she felt herself
soiled.
But men are of a coarser clay.
At least I am, and nearly twenty
years had elapsed, and here was
I burdened under a load of affection,
like a sack of returned love-letters,
with no lap into which to dump
them.
"They were all written to another
woman, ma'am, and yet I am in
hopes that you will find something
in them about yourself." It would
have sounded oddly to Mary, but
life is gray to friendless girls,
and something might have come
of it.
On the other hand, it would
have brought her for ever out
of the wood of the little hut,
and I had but to drop the letter
to send them both back there.
The easiness of it tempted me.
Besides, she would tire of
me when I was really known to
her. They all do, you see.
And, after all, why should
he lose his laugh because I had
lost my smile?
And then, again, the whole
thing was merely a whimsical
idea.
I dropped the letter, and shouldered
my burden.
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