The Literary Sense

"Well, I pass the aunts. Anyhow, you met Harry – somehow – "

"It was at the Choral Society. And then they stopped my going – because he walked home with me one wet night."

"And you have never seen each other since?"

"Of course we have."

"And communicated by some means more romantic than the post?"

"It wasn't romantic. It was tennis-balls."

"Tennis-balls?"

"You cut a slit and squeeze it and put a note in, and it shuts up and no one notices it. It wasn't romantic at all. And I don't know why I should tell you anything about it."

"And then, I suppose, there were glances in church, and stolen meetings in the passionate hush of the rose-scented garden."

"There's nothing in the garden but geraniums," she said, "and we always talked over the wall – he used to stand on their chicken house, and I used to turn our dog kennel up on end and stand on that. You have no right to know anything about it, but it was not in the least romantic."

"No – that sees itself! May I ask whether it was you or he who proposed this elopement?"

"Oh, how dare you!" she said, jumping up; "you have no right to insult me like this."

He caught her wrist. "Sit down, you little firebrand," he said. "I gather that he proposed it. You, at any rate, consented, no doubt after the regulation amount of proper scruples. It's all very charming and idyllic and – what are you crying for? Your lost hopes of a happy life with a boy you know nothing of, a boy you've hardly seen, a boy you've never talked to about anything but love's young dream?"

"I'm not crying," she said passionately, turning her streaming eyes on him, "you know I'm not – or if I am, it's only with rage. You may be a doctor – though I don't believe you are – but you're not a gentleman. Not anything like one!"

"I suppose not," he said; "a gentleman would not make conditions. I'm going to make one. You can't go to Harry, because his Mother would be seriously annoyed if you did; and so, believe me, would he – though you don't think it. You can get up and leave me, and go 'away into the night,' like a heroine of fiction – but you can't keep on going away into the night for ever and ever. You must have food and clothes and lodging. And the sun rises every day. You must just quietly and dully go home again. And you can't do it without me. And I'll help you if you'll promise not to see Harry, or write to him for a year."

"He'll see me. He'll write to me," she said with proud triumph.

"I think not. I exacted the promise from him as a condition of my coming to meet you."

"And he promised?"

"Evidently."

There was a long silence. She broke it with a voice of concentrated fury.

"If he doesn't mind, I don't," she said. "I'll promise. Now let me go back. I wish you hadn't come – I wish I was dead."

"Come," he said, "don't be so angry with me. I've done what I could for you both."

"On conditions!"

"You must see that they are good, or you wouldn't have accepted them so soon. I thought it would have taken me at least an hour to get you to consent. But no – ten minutes of earnest reflection are enough to settle the luckless Harry's little hash. You're quite right – he doesn't deserve more! I am pleased with myself, I own. I must have a very convincing manner."

"Oh," she cried passionately, "I daresay you think you've been very clever. But I wish you knew what I think of you. And I'd tell you for twopence."

"I'm a poor man, gentle lady – won't you tell me for love?" His voice was soft and pleading beneath the laugh that stung her.

"Yes, I will tell you – for nothing," she cried. "You're a brute, and a hateful, interfering, disagreeable, impertinent old thing, and I only hope you'll have someone be as horrid to you as you've been to me, that's all!"

"I think I've had that already – quite as horrid," he said grimly. "This is not the moment for compliments – but you have great powers. You are brave, and I never met anyone who could be more 'horrid,' as you call it, in smaller compass, all with one little tiny adjective. My felicitations. You are clever. Come – don't be angry any more – I had to do it – you'll understand some day."

"You wouldn't like it yourself," she said, softening to something in his voice.

"I shouldn't have liked it at your age," he said; "sixteen – fifteen – what is it?"

"I'm nineteen next birthday," she said with dignity.

"And the date?"

"The fifteenth of June – I don't know what you mean by asking me."

"And to-day's the first of July," he said, and sighed. "Well, well! – if your Highness will allow me, I'll go and see whether your aunt's light is out, and if it is, we'll attempt the re-entrance."

He went. She shivered, waiting for what felt like hours. And the resentment against her aunts grew faint in the light of her resentment against her lover's messenger, and this, in its turn, was outshone by her anger against her lover. He had played cricket. He had risked his life – on the very day whose evening should have crowned that life by giving her to his arms. She set her teeth. Then she yawned and shivered again. It was an English July, and very cold. And the slow minutes crept past. What a fool she had been! Why had she not made a fight for her liberty – for her right to see Harry if she chose to see him? The aunts would never have stood up against a well-planned, determined, disagreeable resistance. In the light of this doctor's talk the whole thing did seem cowardly, romantic, and, worst of all, insufferably young. Well – to-morrow everything should change; she would fight for her Love, not merely run away to him. But the promise? Well, Harry was Harry, and a promise was only a promise!

There were footsteps in the lane. The man was coming back to her. She rose.

"It's all right," he said. "Come."

In silence they walked down the lane. Suddenly he stopped.

"You'll thank me some day," he said. "Why should you throw yourself away on Harry? You're worth fifty of him. And I only wish I had time to explain this to you thoroughly, but I haven't!"

She, too, had stopped. Now she stamped her foot.

"Look here," she said, "I'm not going to promise anything at all. You needn't help me if you don't want to – but I take back that promise. Go! – do what you like! I mean to stick to Harry – and I'll write and tell him so to-night. So there!"

He clapped his hands very softly. "Bravo!" he said; "that's the right spirit. Plucky child! Any other girl would have broken the promise without a word to me. Harry's luckier even than I thought. I'll help you, little champion! Come on."

He helped her over the wall; carried the ladder to her window, and steadied it while she mounted it. When she had climbed over the window-ledge she turned and leaned out of the window, to see him slowly mounting the ladder. He threw his head back with a quick gesture that meant "I have something more to say – lean out!"

She leaned out. His face was on a level with hers.

"You've slept soundly all night – don't forget that – it's important," he whispered, "and – you needn't tell Harry – one-sided things are so trivial, but I can't help it. I have the passion for romance too!"

With that he caught her neck in the curve of his arm, and kissed her lightly but fervently.

"Good-bye!" he said; "thank you so much for a very pleasant evening!" He dropped from the ladder and was gone. She drew her curtain with angry suddenness. Then she lighted candles and looked at herself in the looking-glass. She thought she had never looked so pretty. And she was right. Then she went to bed, and slept like a tired baby.

Next morning the suburb was electrified by the discovery, made by the nursing aunt, that all the silver and jewels and valuables from the safe at the top of the stairs had vanished.

"The villains must have come through your room, child," she said to Harry's sweetheart; "the ladder proves that. Slept sound all night, did you? Well, that was a mercy! They might have murdered you in your bed if you'd happened to be awake. You ought to be humbly thankful when you think of what might have happened."

The girl did not think very much of what might have happened. What had happened gave her quite food enough for reflection. Especially when to her side of the night's adventures was added the tale of Harry's.