The Woman with One Hand, and Mr. Ely's Engagement

The young lady seemed a little excited, but the elder one was still quite calm.

"You have forgotten the postscript, my dear."

"Forgotten the postscript! Oh, aunty, don't I wish I could!' By the way, a friend of yours, Mr. Frederic Ely, will be with you to-morrow morning, perhaps almost as soon as you get this.' Perhaps the wretch is actually on the doorstep now!"

"Lily, Lily! How can you talk like that!"

"So he is a wretch! But never mind, it's all the same to me. 'He is a gentleman for whose character I have the greatest respect. He will ask my dear Lily a question in which both he and I are deeply interested. I earnestly trust that my dear Lily's heart will answer Yes.' Talk about a woman's postscript! Mr. Ash puts nothing in his letter, and the whole library of the British Museum in his P.S.! Well, aunty, what do you think of that?"

"I congratulate you, my dear, on the near approach of your settlement in life."

Miss Truscott gave a little shriek, and then was dumb. She glared at her aunt as though she could believe neither her eyes or ears. Mrs. Clive went placidly on.

"It is indeed gratifying to learn that Mr. Ash has made his choice."

"Who has made his choice?" asked Miss Truscott between her little teeth.

"One for whose character he has the greatest respect. Such words coming from Mr. Ash are satisfactory in the extreme. You are indeed fortunate in possessing a guardian who has your interests so entirely at heart."

"What are you talking about?" asked Miss Truscott. "Do you think I shall marry this man?"

"Lily!" exclaimed Mrs. Give. "You have such a singular way of expressing yourself. But perhaps" – the old lady smoothed her gown-"perhaps you are a little surprised."

Miss Truscott gave a sort of gasp.

"I am," she said. "I am a little surprised!"

"I suppose we are all when our turns come. I remember in my young days when my dear mother told me that I was to marry Mr. Clive."

"Told you you were to marry Mr. Clive?"

"Yes, my dear. And I remember quite well how bewildered I was at first."

"Didn't you love him, then?"

"My dear, how can you ask me such a question! We were comparative strangers. I had only been acquainted with him about three months."

"Three months! Good gracious! Why, I thought three minutes was long enough to fall in love!"

"Lily, I am amazed to hear you talk so flippantly! It is plain that it is quite time that you had more settled views of life. Among the new responsibilities on which you are now about to enter I trust that you will learn the solemnity of woman's position in the world, and the deference which she owes to the married state."

Miss Truscott laughed. Her laughter was of rather an hysterical kind, as though it were near akin to tears. But Mrs. Clive was shocked. She regarded Miss Truscott with what she intended to be considered as severe disapprobation. Then, with her most stately air, she rose and left the room. Pausing at the door, however, she delivered herself of a final expression of her opinion.

"Lily, I am disappointed in you. I can only hope that Mr. Ely will not have cause to be disappointed too."

When Miss Truscott was left alone she sat quite still, looking into vacancy. The smile about the corners of her mouth was hardly up to its usual character for sweetness. There was a glitter in her eyes which gave them quite a new expression. Suddenly she leaned her face upon her hands and shivered. It could hardly have been with cold, for the sun was shining and the day was warm. Then she got up, and began pacing restlessly about the room.

"Is it a dream? Is it a dream?" Her hands were clasped with a sort of hysteric energy.

"What does it matter! He has forgotten me! What fools we women are!" She took out a locket which was hidden in the bosom of her dress, and gazed upon the face which it contained.

"Willy!" – how softly she breathed the name-"twelve months since you told me that story with your eyes-twelve months ago! Where have you been this weary time! I suppose it was an incident with you. I have heard those sort of things are incidents with men. What a fool I was to take it seriously! What fools we women are! I ought to have known that it was the fashion with Mr. Summers to love and ride away."

She stood gazing at the portrait. All at once something angered her-some recollection, perhaps, of long ago. She snapped the slender chain to which it was attached, and flung the locket on the floor. As if not content with this degradation of her treasure, she placed her little foot upon it and crushed it beneath her heel.

"What fools we women are!"

For a moment she looked upon the ruins she had wrought. The pretty little locket was crushed all out of shape. Then came penitence, and stooping down with streaming eyes she picked the broken locket up and pressed it to her lips; and, still upon her knees, flinging herself face downwards on to the seat of a great arm-chair, she cried as though her heart would break.

"I didn't mean to do it, Willy, I didn't mean to do it; but it's all the same, it doesn't matter whom I marry now!"

She was only a girl: and it is a charming characteristic of the better sort of girls that they will do foolish things at times.

But there was very little of the girl about her when Mr. Ely came; she was the stateliest of young ladies then. The air of having just come out of a bandbox was more apparent about Mr. Ely in the country even than in town. He was one of those very few men who are never seen out of a frock-coat. Throgmorton Street or a Devonshire lane it was the same to him. Wherever he was his attire remained unaltered. But it must be allowed that he was conscious that things were not compatible-patent shoes, top-hat, frock-coat, and a Devonshire lane. So from the Devonshire lane he religiously stayed away. He did his ruralising in centres of fashion where his frock-coat was in place, and not in the equivalents of the Devonshire lane. He was not affected by the modern craze for the country side. He objected to it strongly: a fact which he made plain as soon as he appeared on the scene.

Mrs. Clive received him. She began the conversation on what she fondly conceived were the usual lines.

"How glad you must be to get into the country. It must be such a change from town."

"Change! I should think it is a change! Beastly change, by George!"

Mrs. Clive was a little shocked. The adverb did not fall sweetly on her ear. But Mr. Ely went glibly on. He had a grievance which he wished to air.

"Why they don't have decent cabs at the station I don't know. If there was a live man in the place he'd put some hansoms on the road. Fly, they called the thing I came up in! Fly! I should like to know what's the aboriginal definition of 'to crawl'! And dusty! I left my mark upon that seat, and that seat left its mark on me. I feel like a regular dustman-upon my word I do."

Miss Truscott made her first appearance at the luncheon-table. The meal was not an entire success. This was partly owing to the fact that Miss Trustcott seemed to have gone back into the glacial or prehistoric period, and partly because Mr. Ely still had his grievance on his mind. Mrs. Clive did her best to entertain the company, but in spite of her meritorious efforts the conversation languished.

"And how are things in the City?" She felt that this was the sort of question she ought to ask.

"All over the shop!"

Mrs. Clive started. She felt that the answer was not so explanatory as it might have been. Still she bravely persevered.

"Dear me! I suppose that commercial matters are affected by the seasons." She thought that this sort of remark would go home to the commercial mind.

"Eh? Oh, yes; rather! I should think they were! In fine weather traffics go up all round. Noras have gone up one, Doras one seven-eighths, Trunks are flat: there's a rig-out there and rates are pooled, but this side bulls are in the right hole pretty near all along the line. Bertha's about the only one got stuck."

Mrs. Clive was speechless. She looked at Miss Truscott with imploring eyes. But that young lady was tranquilly engaged with the contents of her plate.

"Poor girl!"

It was a study to see Mr. Ely's face when the old lady made this innocent remark.

"I beg your pardon! What did you say?"

"I said, poor girl! I hope she has done nothing wrong."

"Who's done nothing wrong?"