It fell to Cousin Eunice's lot to go shopping with Mrs. Chalmers and Evelyn; and to the hair-dressers, and to the thousand and one other places that out-of-town women always feel that they must visit when they are in a city for a little while. I usually fight shy of this phase of getting acquainted, not because, as you may think, that Richard was never along, for he was frequently; but simply because Ihateshopping.
One morning, only a little while before they were to go back to Charlotteville, they asked Cousin Eunice to meet them in the city as they had some rather important purchases to make and desired her judgment on the matter. Cousin Eunice has known Richard's family ever since he shot up so suddenly on the political firmament, and she had shopped with them before, so she fortified herself for this occasion by putting on her most comfortable shoes and arranging her hair to stand the strain of a day's long crusade away from a mirror.
I had been invited to lunch with Ann Lisbeth that day, for there had been killed a fatted calf to glorify Alfred's birthday, and I pleaded this engagementwhen I was politely urged to join, at least for a while, the shopping expedition.
"I wish you would come on in and see that coat I'm worried over," Evelyn rather insisted, as I was about to make my adieus at the entrance of one of the big shops, without even glancing at the bewildering array of new fall goods displayed in the windows.
Clearly Evelyn considered my seeming indifference to fashionable apparel a pose, for she continued, looking at me slightly aggrieved: "You evidently must be interested in your own clothes. Richard said last night that you were a feast for an artist."
My face turned a little red, but I meekly followed them on into the place. I might have told her that, while toherclothes were an end, to me they were a means—and no one is ever deeply interested in a mere means. Yet when the end is such a speech asthatfrom such a man as that, it stands one in hand to take a little interest in the means. This brought about the frenzied overhauling of raiment which I instituted this morning.
Although it was still warm weather, the autumn stock of furs was already on exhibition, and Evelyn's attention had been particularly attracted by acoat of short, glossy, and very expensive fur. One more sight of the attractive garment decided her.
"Well, I'm certainly glad you've made up your mind," Mrs. Chalmers said, as she opened her shopping-bag and drew out her check-book. She was busily filling out the blank after "Pay to the order of" when she suddenly stopped and looked up at Evelyn.
"I wish I could get this cashed somewhere else," she said in a low voice, "for Richard will criticize our taste unmercifully when he learns that this amount of money has been paid for that coat. He always looks over my returned checks."
"Oh, we'll just tell him that this was the entire amount of our shopping bill at this store," Evelyn answered easily, as if such a deception might be an every-day affair with them. "If he asks me I'll tell him that the coat cost only half of what it did."
"That's true, we can do that," Mrs. Chalmers said, looking relieved and going on with her writing. "But don't you forget to back me up in whatever I tell him."
After she had handed the check to the gratified saleswoman and again given directions about a slight alteration in the set of the collar she turnedto Cousin Eunice and said a word or two in explanation.
"Richard is such a critic," she stated rather absently, her eyes fixed on a handsome evening wrap hanging in a case close by; "when he knows we have paid a good deal for our clothes it seems to give him real pleasure to criticize them. He says Evelyn and I will buy anything a shop-girl shows us if she will only flatter us enough. So I am in for doing anything that will keep the peace. I consider it one of the first duties of a Christian."
Her mouth closed primly for a moment after her last sentence, but opened again almost immediately, for her eyes were still fascinated by the beauty of the delicate-colored wrap.
"Mrs. Clayborne,doyou think I am too stout for one of those loose cloaks?"
I stood for a moment looking at the group and fingering the handle of my shopping-bag nervously. I was glad that my opinion of the evening wrap was not asked, for I should have given a random answer. I was wondering so many things in so short a space of time that my brain could not find room for words just then. Of all the different kinds of lies that one meets up with in life it has always seemed to me thatthe lies women tell about the cost of clothes are the lowest class. What a deplorable lack of understanding must exist between members of a family when such lying is deemed necessary! I imagined mother or me trying to lie to father—about the cost of clothes!
The bewitching evening wrap was brought forth from its case and Mrs. Chalmers and Evelyn trailed away after the shop-woman to the dressing-room. Cousin Eunice and I sat down to wait for them. She looked at her watch, stifled a yawn, and then turned to me rather hesitatingly.
"I wonder if our friend, Mr. Chalmers, is a domestic tyrant?" she said.
I started, for this phase of the matter had not presented itself to my mind.
"He doesn't seem to be," I answered, with as much nonchalance as I could muster. "Of course every one can see that they both stand in awe of him; but I thought that must be because he is so extraordinarily—clever."
She laughed, then she looked at me more seriously.
"If it were only his cleverness they would not be hypocritical with him. And tyrantsdobreed hypocrites."
"Not unless there is hypocritical material—to start out with."
"I—don't know! If you loved a tyrant, and desired above everything else to please him, it might mean the ultimate ruin of evenyourfrank character."
"I couldn't love a tyrant," I argued.
"You might not recognize the tyrant in him—until after you had married him," she said.
The same uneasy feeling that again came over me when I discussed his political prospects took possession of me then, and I started to ask her frankly what she had in mind, when Evelyn came up and said that her mother wanted Cousin Eunice to come and see her with the wrap on. So she passed on back to the dressing-room to help decide the momentous question, while Evelyn and I sat there and discussed the good points of the coat she had just bought.
Ann Lisbeth was sweet and wholesome when I met her an hour or two later—an admirable antidote to the disagreeable feeling I had brought away from the shops.
"Alfred doesn't know you're coming," she said with a bright smile, "he'll be so pleased!"
As is usual when the fatted calf is killed for a medicine man he takes that occasion to be an hour late—an emergency case at the last minute, or some one at the office that it took an unreasonable time to get through with. I hardly heard the excuse which Alfred made when he came in, but I knew it was true, whatever it was, and, as Doctor Gordon was not going to be able to come at all, we three went in and gave ourselves up to the joy of the occasion.
I was absently eating everything that was brought to me, and was thinking all the while how perfectly preposterous it was that Richard Chalmers—a man like Richard Chalmers—should have such weak-minded females attached to him; and I had just reached the conclusion that there could never,neverbe anything like friendship between us, no matter what there might be as an occasion for friendship, when the dessert was brought in, and with it a great, beautiful cake, iced in forget-me-nots.
"Now, don't you think I'm sentimental?" Ann Lisbeth asked with a smile, after we had used up all the adjectives that we had at our command."You see, I thought maybe Alfred's next birthday might be spent in London, or Vienna, or somewhere far away—and I knew that I was going to have you here to-day, Ann—so I told the woman who made the cake to be sure and use forget-me-nots. So when he thinks of us on his next birthday he will have to remember how much we all love him!"
All of a sudden I had that uncomfortable feeling that comes in my throat sometimes when I don't want it to, and I realized that if something did not happen to divert my mind I should certainly cry. Ever since his graduation Alfred had been trying to devise means for this course of study abroad, and I had known how much better his practice had been lately, but somehow, I had not thought of his going so far away sosoon. Suppose Mammy Lou should have gall-stones again!
I wrestled for a moment with that awful lump in my throat; then I spoke, and my voice was natural again.
"Is this sudden 'wanderlust' the outcome of collecting all those nickels?" I asked with a laugh.
After we left the table Alfred and I went into the library for a while, and Ann Lisbeth stayed in the dining-room to keep her husband company while heate, for he had come in just as we were finishing, and declared that he was starved.
"Ann, I have a surprise for you," Alfred said, springing up from the big leather chair into whose depths he had lazily thrown himself a moment before. He sometimes took a short nap after luncheon, when he had been out all the night before, and I had picked up a magazine to amuse myself with in case he deserted me in favor of his siesta.
"A surprise?" He had given me a surprise the last time I spent the day at the Gordons'.
"A bully one. I found it down home the other day—last week when I was out there—while I was rummaging in a box of ancient books and papers. Wait, I'll run up-stairs and get it."
He returned almost immediately with a book in his hand, a ponderous old tome it was, with yellowed edges and time-stained leather covers, but I saw a name on the back which sent my pulses throbbing with pleasure.
"Moore'sLife of Byron," I said, reaching out for it eagerly. Alfred had known that I wanted the book for years, and whenever he had been in a big city for any length of time he had always searched about for it, but had never come across a copy.
"It isn't Moore'sLife," he said, sitting down beside me on the couch, "but from what I have been able to gather, by glancing through it, it seems to be a rather more intimate affair than even that. Besides the poems, there are a lot of letters and extracts from his journal; the entire correspondence for several years between him and a fellow whom he calls his 'dear Murray.' Guess you know who his dear Murray is—I'm sure I don't. Then there are some letters to the Countess G-u-i-c—"
"Oh, Alfred! Guiccioli! I'm so glad to get my hands on this book. You are a darling to think about bringing it up for me to read!"
"Oh, I brought it up for you to keep. It belonged to my grandfather, and I can give it to any one I want to."
I laughed a little at his simplicity.
"But surely you would not be such a barbarian as to let a book like this go to any one outside of your family. Boy, this is an heirloom! I never heard of just this edition before. The engravings in it are wonderful. It is a very valuable book. I couldn't think of letting you give it to me!"
Ann Lisbeth had come into the room for a moment, but as she saw us sitting together on theleather couch and absorbed in the book, she had hastily left the room, closing the door behind her.
As I finished speaking Alfred glanced at the closed door then deliberately reached over and caught both my hands as they fluttered about over the leaves of the book. In my surprise they struggled a moment, but he held them—he has such big, warm,capablehands; no wonder people are trusting as to their ability—and thus it was, with our heads bent close together and our hands pressing down upon the passionate poems of the greatest passion poet, that I received my first declaration of love.
"Don't you know that there is nothing in the world I own or could get too valuable for me to give to you, Ann?" he said, in low, tense tones that I had never heard from him before. "Surely you know what you are to me! The greatest privilege I could ask is to give you everything I have or shall have—a life of devotion—a heart, darling, that has always been yours! A world oflove!—"
He came closer still, and in another moment he would have had his arms around me, carried away as he was by the force of his own feelings, but I drew back and he was arrested by the look on my face. His own went white with sudden misery.
"Ann! Surely you don't mean to tell me that I am already too late?"
"Too late?"
"That you love some one else!"
His face, pale and drawn, looked strangely unlike my genial, even-tempered Alfred. He was capable of great depth of feeling, then—besides being so strong, so fine! I had always had an infinite respect for him, and admiration, and affection! I had known that the strength of his nature had been tested and foundthere; and it was like the strength of oak, sturdy, deep-rooted, indomitable.
"Iso nearlyloveyou, Alfred," I cried, struggling between the pain I felt at his hurt and the bewilderment of my own confused feelings.
For the face of Richard Chalmers was between us, and his face, too, spoke strength. Strength of steel, cold, inflexible, even cruel, perhaps—yet holding such a potent attraction.
"—But youquitelove some one else?" His voice was calm, although his face was even whiter than a moment before.
"I don't know—I only know that I am oh, so sorry for you—and for myself, too!"
He was still holding my hands in his strong clasp,and they felt so wonderfully at home there that I never thought to move them—if I had never known that other man I should have lovedhimso!
"Ann, is it Chalmers?"
The question was frankly put, and as frankly answered.
"Yes.—But there is nothing yet—nothing has beensaid—still, I know—"
"Ah, I was afraid of that! That was what overpowered my determination not to speak of my love until I came back from Europe! I noticed something that first time I met him—then the Gordons told me of his attentions to you."
"Yes," I said. "But he has never told me that he cares."
"He will. And I congratulate him."
Alfred arose, as he spoke, and I laid my hand on his arm.
"This is not going to make any difference between us?" I asked appealingly. I felt that I could not lose my friend.
"Not in my feeling for you," he answered, looking down at me with a look that I hated to see in his brown eyes—they usually met the world with such a level, untroubled glance. "If you should everchange, or ever need me—you know that I will be there. But, dear, it will be painful to go on meeting you. I'm going away in a few weeks, perhaps, but until then—"
"I know. I'll stay out of your way," I promised humbly.
He leaned over suddenly and caught my face between his hands. He brushed his lips lightly against the coils of my hair.
"Good-by,darling," he said. Then he went out softly and closed the door.
ANN RECEIVES A CALLER
"Whoopee, what a pretty pitcher!" Waterloo cried admiringly, as he came down to breakfast this morning with the belt of his rompers still unfastened and a look of sleepiness in his brown eyes.
He followed his mother into the kitchen, as did we all, for the cook was late, and Rufe was anxious to get off early.
"Let me play with it. I won't hurt it."
I do not know whether it was the appeal in his voice or the wish to avoid a conflict, which always made her so nervous that she let the toast burn, which made Cousin Eunice pick the object under discussion up in her hand and silently debate a minute.
"Isn't it a sign of the times when a child of his age doesn't know a coffee-pot when he sees one?" Rufe asked, as he stood in the doorway and absorbed lots of space. When Galileo, or whoever it was, madehis famous remark about nobody being able to occupy more than one space at a time he had never seen a man in the kitchen before breakfast.
"I think it speaks well for his up-bringing," he continued (Rufe's I mean, not Galileo). "It shows how entirely we are on the water wagon here at this house."
"Lemme play with the coffee-pot," Rufus, junior, was insisting, dangerous signs appearing around the corner of his mouth. Cousin Eunice, who is observant, noticed these signs. It always gives her a spell of indigestion for him to have a crying spell before breakfast.
"Now listen, son," she said, handing the vessel over to him with a dubious look, "you must be very careful with the coffee-pot. Father went up himself yesterday and bought it for mother, because we are going to have so much company this afternoon that the other pot won't hold enough. So you just sit down on a pile of sofa pillows to play with it, then you can't drop it and make ugly dents in the pretty, shiny thing."
This arrangement proved so satisfactory that breakfast was finished and eaten before Waterloo could be prevailed upon to break his fast. A pocketfull of marbles poured headlong into the new-fangled coffee-pot had added very materially to its success as a plaything, and the music of this kept him engaged for at least half an hour after the cook finally showed up and took the reins of the kitchen work out of our relieved hands.
Cousin Eunice then went into the dining-room to give another look at the piles of silver, china and napery that are considered necessary accompaniments to civilized eating in public.
"Almonds, olives, mints," she said, touching the glass and silver dishes which were placed in a row on the sideboard. "Oh, isn't there always a gala feeling about eating out of wedding presents? And I'm going to use every pretty dish I have this afternoon."
"Is Mrs. Barnette such a big personage, then?" I inquired. The "Scribblers' Club" was going to meet with Mrs. Clayborne, and I had heard much of the visiting lioness just mentioned. Cousin Eunice is the kind of woman who takes her parties hard, and before the actual date of one, everything in the house, from Waterloo's scalp to the back kitchen shelves, is put in apple-pie order—as if a visit from the health officer were impending.
"Big?" Cousin Eunice was going over the row of dishes again, to make sure that she was going to be able to use them all. "Why, she speaks seven different languages, and has all her underclothes suspended from her shoulders."
"Mercy! Then it will take every piece of silver and fine glass you can muster to offset that, I'm sure."
"Naturally I must make an impression some way. If my book had been published and talked about all I should do would be to offer them a cup of tea and a wafer—and they would fall all over themselves for the honor of coming."
"Meanwhile, being humble and obscure, you have to serve flesh and fowl and coffee—say, don't you reckon I'd better be scrubbing out the coffee-pot?"
"Please do," she nodded, as she went on with her work while I bearded Waterloo and demanded the glittering object of his admiration. Manlike, he had already tired of the plaything, and was ready to scamper away with Grapefruit, for she had found a dead frog out in the yard, she said, and they would have a grand funeral if he would come on.
"Take him for a little walk now and save the funeral ceremonies until afternoon," I suggested,"so he'll stay out of his mother's way during the party."
Then I poured the marbles out of the coffee-pot into his grimy little hands, the life-lines and head-lines of which constituted little streaks of whiteness, thereby proving them to be the hands of a Caucasian.
"There's one that won't come out," he informed me, as he pocketed the others and departed with Grapefruit.
I investigated and found a marble lodged firmly in the neck of the spout, a most tantalizing position it occupied, resisting coyly my efforts to remove it, yet protruding almost halfway into the body of the pot. I stood there fingering it until Cousin Eunice came to see what was the matter. I explained, and when she insisted upon trying her own hand at the marble's removal I reluctantly gave it over to her.
"Now isn't thattoobad?" she finally exclaimed with a nervous impatience after she saw that it was useless to try any further. "It serves me right for giving it to him to play with—but Idohate to get him started before breakfast."
Each member of the family and the servants took turns at trying to get the marble out of the fine new coffee-pot, spending, all told, several hours of thebusy morning, and when Rufe came in to luncheon the story was poured into his somewhat unsympathetic ears.
"I knew he would do the thing some damage when I saw you hand it over to him to play with this morning," he said with a fatherly air. "Doesn't he tear, or break, orchew, or sprinkle over with talcum powder everything he can get his hands on?"
"Maybe you can get the marble out," I said, bringing the coffee-pot to Rufe, and he worked over it for a full half-hour.
"Oh, it's ruined," he said disgustedly, when he saw that it wasn't coming out. "Of course the coffee won'tpour! It will just drop, as reluctantly as tears at a rich uncle's funeral."
"Why, we hadn't thought to try," Cousin Eunice said, and I took the thing from Rufe's hand and sped with it to the kitchen sink.
"It pours," I announced triumphantly.
"Then your glory as a hostess is saved," Rufe comforted her.
"But who wants to go through life with a marble up the coffee-pot spout?" she persisted, with little worried lines between her eyes.
"Besides it will be sure to taste like marbles," I added.
The little worried lines between Cousin Eunice's blue eyes grew deeper in the early afternoon as the ices and cakes were delayed an hour in coming, and we found that Waterloo had sprinkled frazzled wheat biscuit all over the chairs and floor of the reception-room, just as the door-bell was ringing to announce the first Scribbler. Then she grew cheerful again when some of her best friends among the club members arrived, and only slightly flurried at the advent of Mrs. Barnette.
I stayed in the presence of the learned body long enough to hear with my own ears that they were not discussing anything too deep for me to understand, everything being spoken in plain English; but this happened to be a business meeting as well as an occasion for social enjoyment, so when the time for election of officers drew near I fled, fearing at least Esperanto—if not actual blows.
I was present once at a meeting of mother's missionary society when this ordeal had to be gone through with, and I shall never forget the injured expression and cutting accents of the secretaryprotem.when she found that the office was not permanently hers.
The only untoward event that happened this afternoon (and that wasn't untoward through any fault of ours) was when Mrs. Howard, an immensely tall, raw-boned Scribbler, happened to speak in complimentary terms of dear Mrs. Clayborne's lovely sylvan room.
"I amsosensitive to rooms," she said, fluttering her rich lace scarf toward one corner of the apartment which she particularly liked, "and the least false note gets so on my nerves!" She was sitting alone upon a small sofa—alone, yet not alone, for Waterloo's little, butloud, mechanical bug was also sitting on the sofa, although his presence was unsuspected by Mrs. Howard.
This amazing insect is like love in the springtime, it only takes a touch to set it a-fluttering, for it seems always to be wound up. The heavy lace scarf hanging from Mrs. Howard's long arms and creeping over its back and sprawling legs was quite enough. It caught in the silken fabric with its sudden zizzing, clicking noise; and it climbed steadily upward, toward the lady's stalwart, but nervous, shoulders.
The meshes of the lace concealed the true identity of the intruder, and Mrs. Howard no doubt considered herself to be in the clutches of some poisonous and persistent spider. She shook her scarf; she tried to slay the monster with her book of minutes; she screamed. Finally, jerking the scarf from her shoulders and flinging it into the middle of the floor, she bravely trampled the "thing" underfoot, and thus she silenced it. Then she subsided upon the sofa, pale and exhausted.
"Let's have the sandwiches—quick," Cousin Eunice whispered to me, and I fled to the dining-room to see that everything was in readiness.
Under the genial influence of the buffet luncheon I found that they all unbent somewhat—enough to get down to commonplaces, even discussing such things as husbands, wall-paper and jap-a-lac.
I vibrated between the scene of gaiety in the house and the more enjoyable frog funeral, which was in full blast in the back yard.
Grapefruit had taken down one of the kitchen window shades to make a tent, under which there was an attractive tub of water, with several members of the bereaved frog family sporting heartlessly around in its muddy depths.
I had not thought of danger, although I had seen Waterloo dabbling in this tub pretty constantly during the last sad rites; but after the final Scribbler had departed and his weary mother came upon the scene, little Waterloo was ordered peremptorily in the house, and dire predictions were made.
"Oh, you'll be sure to have croup to-night," Cousin Eunice said dejectedly, as she followed Waterloo up the stairs and rubbed down his dripping little hands and arms with a Turkish towel. This task being finished to her maternal satisfaction, she turned to me with a look of unutterable weariness.
"Unhook me, Ann; my head is bursting. I'm going to bed."
So this is how it came about that when the door-bell rang at eight o'clock to-night there was nobody but me in fit condition to receive callers. Rufe was alternately filling the hot-water bottle for Cousin Eunice's aching head and racking his own brain trying to remember where he had put the wine of ipecac after Waterloo's last spell of croup. And the poor little darling was coughing in a manner that to me was frightfully alarming. With no thought in my mind save to help Rufe in his nursing feats, I had taken off my party frock and had slipped on a low-neckPeter Pan blouse, with a fresh linen skirt. My hair was about ready to tumble and my face flushed with worry over Waterloo.
"Oh, the devil!" Rufe pronounced, when the penetrating sound of the door-bell reached us. But it was not the devil.
"It is Mr. Chalmers," I said, with a little catch in my breath as I heard his voice down in the hall.
"Well, you run down and get him settled," Rufe said, holding up a little bottle of dark-colored liquid to the light to read the label, "—then come on back for a few minutes and help me give the rooster a dose of this—will you? It always requires an assistant."
"Let's give the medicine now—then I'll dress before I go down."
"Nonsense! You look a thousand times prettier flushed and careless—as you are now—than you do all fixed up with your hair smooth. I don't like to keep him waiting long, for he might have come to see me about something important. You sound him, like a good girl, and if he doesn't want to see me particularly tell him that my family is ill and that you will entertain him."
I did take time to glance into the mirror to satisfymyself that Rufe was not entirely wrong—then I ran down-stairs.
Mr. Chalmers was standing on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire (which Cousin Eunice had ordered kindled up all over the house when she realized that there was danger of Waterloo having croup), as I came down the steps, and when he saw, through the big doorway, that I was alone, he came to the foot of the stairs to meet me. The front part of the house was still open, and there was a beautiful moonlight. After I had greeted him I stood in the dimly lighted hall a moment, looking out into the night; then I went on into the long, beautiful room, which was filled with the scent of roses to-night, and, as we drew up before the fire, I shivered a little. There was just enough crispness in the chilly air to cause a deliciously shivery sensation.
"Well, you have no engagement for this evening, I hope," he began, as I moved closer to the hearth and stirred the fire into a brighter blaze. "I should have telephoned, I know, but I was detained at the office until quite late."
"No, there are no engagements to-night. Cousin Eunice has gone to bed with a headache and Rufe is nursing Waterloo through a spell of croup. By theway, you'll excuse me while I run back a few minutes and help give the little fellow a dose of medicine?"
"Certainly—if you'll promise not to be long," he said with a smile.
"Oh, it will take only a little while. Then, when the invalids both get settled Rufe can come down—unless you are in a special hurry to see him about some mighty political secret. In that case I can send him right now, and play the part of nurse myself."
"Please donot," he answered, speaking much more earnestly than the occasion warranted. "I came solely to see you. Tell Clayborne he is not to disturb himself on my account."
Waterloo was breathing better and had gone to sleep by the time I reached his bedside again.
"I don't believe he's going to need the stuff, after all," Rufe said, unbuttoning his collar and beginning to make preparations to be comfortable. "Eunice says her head is a little easier, so I'm going to lie down here and read the paper until I'm sleepy. Chalmers didn't want anything special with me, did he?"
"No. He said you were not to disturb yourself at all," I answered, and he looked up quickly as he deposited his collar on the dressing-table.
"So? He came to see you?"
"That's what he says. He may later swear it by the inconstant moon. She is so beautiful to-night, that you can forgive her for being inconstant." I rattled away to hide my trembling joy, brought on by the anticipation of two hours alone withhim.
But Rufe's eyes were grave.
"Ann, don't lose your head over Chalmers," he said soberly, with that queer density with which a married man usually regards a love affair. (Oh, stupid Rufe! My head has been lost so long that I have grown delightfully accustomed to doing without it!) "He is a good fellow, and all that, but I don't know that he's good enough for you."
"Ann!" It was Cousin Eunice's voice calling weakly from the darkened room beyond. I went to her bed.
"Ann, is that Richard Chalmers down-stairs?"
"Yes."
"And Rufe isn't going down?"
"No."
"Well, listen, dear: he may propose to you to-night—I have seen that he was only waiting to get a good chance—butdon'tpromise him anything! Until we know him better, dear!"
I patted her hand softly, then ran into my own room to get a fan that I might have something to toy with. There was a bottle of rich perfume on my table, my favorite lily-of-the-valley, and I drew the long glass stopper across my lips. Then I went to the window and looked out at the white light of the moon.
"Not promise him anything!" I said half aloud, the beauty of the night drawing a sigh of longing that was almost a sob. "Oh, don't theyknowthat I would promise him my very soul if he should ask it?"
Richard was restlessly walking up and down the length of the long room when I came down again. He crossed to meet me and held out his hand, catching mine in his strong grip, just as if we had not shaken hands only a short time before. "So I am going to have you all to myself to-night?"
"Rufe said he would stay with his ailing family, if you would put up with my society."
"Ah! Don't you believe that I came just to see you? I was afraid that I should not be able to get a moment alone, so I was going to ask Mrs. Clayborne, as a great favor, to let me take you to the theater—or anywhere else that you preferred. Ihave tickets here to the Lyceum, and there is a taxi-cab at the door. Shall we go?"
"Let's stay here," I begged. "It has been an awfully tiresome day. Go and dismiss the cab."
He looked gratified at my decision, then went out to send the cab away. I glanced at the bower of a room and felt a thrill of satisfaction. It was all so beautiful, and I love beauty.
"Shall I close these doors?" he asked carelessly, as he came in again and I heard the chug-chug of the cab as it sped away. "Shall I close these doors? It is really chilly to-night."
"Yes, I noticed," I said in some confusion, for I remembered that the closing of a door had meant a great deal to Alfred a few days ago. Ann Lisbeth had closed it, because she knew that he wanted her to; and he had looked to see before he had said a word. Evidently it is a way with lovers!
"I noticed that it is cold," I repeated, as he came over and stood near me without speaking. "My hands are quite cold."
I recognized the absurdity of this as soon as the silly words were out of my mouth, and I tried to think of something else to say quickly enough to cover my shamefaced silence, but nothing wouldcome to my aid, and I had finally to meet his compelling eyes with a frankly embarrassed little laugh.
"Let me draw your chair back from the fire," he said, after we looked straight into each other's eyes for a moment, "or, better still, throw something around you and let's go out on the little side balcony where Clayborne and I always go to smoke. It is a glorious night."
I went out into the hall and got a long, loose wrap. As he held it for me to slip my arms into the sleeves his eyes traveled slowly over the crisp freshness of the linen gown I wore. My back was to him, but I was watching him in the mirror.
"I have a worshipful reverence for virginity," he said at length, "even if it be only of a white linen suit. I have always wanted the first and best of everything. It is this entirely fresh and unspoiled quality of your beauty that has so attracted me."
We were walking out through the long French window which opens on to the balcony, and as we gained the shadow of a thick growth of vines at one side he stopped, putting up his arm to stop me.
"Ann," he said, with the same sudden directness that had startled me that day in the orchard when he had asked me about our first meeting, "Ann, youhave seen that—I am attracted? Dear, I don't want to frighten you, you beautiful littleyoungthing," here he lost his self-possession, "but I love you, sweetheart—love only you—love you—you!"
His arms slipped about me, and tightening their clasp after a moment, he drew me very close, so close that his perfect face closed everything else on earth from my view. And his keen gray eyes became two points of steel that pierced through, straight to my soul, and carried with them a sweet potion that inoculated my being with adoration for him.
I felt his cheek brush close to mine, his thin, cold face transfigured; and, as if to prolong the exquisite torture of suspense, we both held apart a moment before our lips met full. Then—
I was so swept by the storm of strange and wonderful emotion that my senses failed to take it in at first—that Richard Chalmers was mine! He loved me; he was feeling the same joy and the same torture that were running like fire and wine to my brain. Even in the dim light my eyes must have betrayed some of this bewilderment to him, if his own thoughts had not been equally in a tumult.
"You aresure?" he questioned, after his passionatebreath had slackened a little so that he could speak. "Ann, this means everything to me. Don't let me kiss you like that again unless you are very sure of your own mind."
—But he kissed me again, and kissed—and kissed until his lips grew cold, and I felt suddenly so tired that I could stand up no longer.
Oh, divine rapture of senses and soul! Could I forget that kiss in the hour of death? I wished that death might come then, as we stood together in that first passionate embrace, our lips meeting in kisses of fire, our hearts throbbing in physical pain. Oh, to die thus—together! So perfect was the moment—so supreme the joy!
My head fell over, with a little droop of utter weariness upon his shoulder, and his arms loosened.
"You are tired," he said, in quick contrition, turning my face up to the moonlight. "Shall we go back into the house? I'm a brute to treat you this way!"
We passed in through the long window and walked over to the far corner, where the big leather chair is. I sat down, lost in its ample depths. Then he stood up in front of me and looked down with the calmly contented expression of one who is greatly pleased over a new possession.
"You beautiful littleyoungthing," he said again.
"Young?" I felt so secure, so happy, when discussing the question of age with him now.
"That is all I'm afraid of! You may grow tired of me."
"You are afraid of nothing, Cœur de Lion," I answered with an adoring look that brought on another avalanche of caresses. "I have always called you that."
"Always? Since when?"
"Since that day at the gates of the cemetery."
"Ah! And I have never ceased for an hour to think of you since that day—and to wonder how I could make you love me."
"When all the time you were the man of my dreams. Your face told me that when I first saw you—cold as steel to all the world, yet strong as steel for me."
"You have never imagined yourself in love before, Ann?" he asked, after a little silence which he beguiled by raising each finger-tip of my left hand to his lips.
"No."
"I thought not. A woman doesn't kiss like that but once."
"—And a man?"
"I've told you that I have never cared for any other woman. That's what makes me feel such an utter fool now! To think that, at my age, I should have let a passion take such possession of me—before I knew whether or not there was the slightest chance of its being returned!"
"Oh, love, how humble the little god makes us! When all along you have beenKingRichard to me."
"Well, there was never a king who found so worthy a queen-consort. When are you going to marry me, Ann?"
We had strayed off the heights a little and I was taking a much-needed breathing spell in the less rarified air, when he sent my senses reeling again at the question. Married! To this regal creature, who is so splendid in mind, body and spirit! And he was asking me to marry him, me—simple Ann Fielding, a dreamer of dreams, who had never dreamed one half so radiant as this blessed reality! To live with him always! "The desire of the moth for the star," oh, joy, the moth was going to reach the star this time! Greater joy! the star was reaching out just as longingly for the moth, and calling the tiny creature another, an infinitely brighter star!
"I hardly expected you to be in such a hurry about marrying," I finally answered, after he had repeated the question. "I have heard you say such cynical things about the holy estate—when you thought I wasn't listening. One time you said you thought passion consisted largely of not knowing what a woman looks like before breakfast."
"Sweetheart," and his eyes were very serious, "I am sorry for every light word I have ever spoken about marriage—since you have honored me so." Then teasingly he continued after a moment, "The thing I desire most on earth just now is to know whatyoulook like before breakfast, sweet Mistress Ann."
"Do you desire that most? Then what next?"
"You know, love. My ambition is next—and all I have in the world besides you."
"You want to marry me and be governor of this state—now, on your honor, which do you desire the more—Richard?"
He threw his arms around me again, as I called his name, and stopped my mouth with kisses.
"Don't jest," he begged. "It is sacrilege to-night."
Then we strayed from the heights again, and fell to talking about his ambition, and from that to morecommonplace affairs still—how we were going to spend the next few days, and how we might arrange that to-morrow, Sunday, could be passed together.Together, that was all that either of us desired.
"I'll come early enough in the morning to go to church with you," he suggested, "then we'll have luncheon at Beauregard's, if we can get Mrs. Clayborne to go with us, and—"
"Mrs. Clayborne?" I asked in surprise. "What for?"
"Ann," and he took my hand gently, as if he might be admonishing a child, "I consider it entirely out of place for a woman to go out alone with a man, even if the two are engaged. Evidently your mother has never given the matter as much consideration as I have always insisted should be used in the case of my sister—for I have seen you alone with this friend, Doctor Morgan, several times. When I happened to meet you in Beauregard's the night of thecircus," there was a struggle here between amusement and sarcasm, "I thought, of course, he was some very close relative. But I find that he is only a dear friend, with whom you take long country drives—and who gives you heirloom volumes of Byronic poetry."
"We have known each other since he first started to college," I stated, by way of defense, but I own with less assurance than I should have used if there had not been before me the picture of the scene in Ann Lisbeth's library.
"I think it would be well to return the book with a note saying that you had found it too valuable a gift for you to feel justified in accepting. And, of course, you understand that from now onIfurnish you with every pleasure that it is in the power of a man to provide for the woman he loves. If you want books, you have only to let me know; if you wish to take a long country drive, you have but to call me. I'll even take you to the circus," we both laughed, "if your inclination is in that direction; but, little love, no other man must come near you!"
"You are inclined to be jealous?"
"Not at all! I am simply trying to avoid all cause for jealousy."
"There isn't any other man who wants to come near me," I answered truthfully, as I recalled Alfred's beseeching look when he had virtually asked me to avoid meeting him.
"Nonsense," he declared, so suddenly and so decidedly that I smiled with the pure joy of havinghim jealous. Richard Chalmers jealous! Afraid that I might fall in love with some other man! "Nobody could look at you without being attracted. I am far from being a ladies' man, but I acted a fool for weeks last winter—because I had happened to pass you on a country road. When you were driving with another man, too!"
"That was because we had found each other," I said, running my hand through his soft, light hair, and dwelling on the proud privilege that was mine.
"—Well, you will be guided by my advice in this matter, I feel sure," he said finally, "and you are too clever a little woman not to manage to keep all other men at arm's length without betraying the secret of our engagement."
"Secret?"
"Yes, please, dearest! Let us keep it secret from every one save our families until this deuced nomination business is over. There would be a lot of talk, you understand, because I happen to be a little in the limelight now. They would be wanting to put your picture in the papers for all the other men to gaze at. I can't bear to see a woman's picture in the paper."
I laughed a little and agreed with him. This wasonly another phase of his kingly character. Whatever is his must behis, with a fanatical exclusion of every one else.
"I called you Richard, Cœur de Lion, but it was a mistake. You are a sultan."
"With only one love, my Nourjehan."
A DRAWN BATTLE
"And all the time the marblebelongedin the coffee-pot spout!"
"How do you know? Who told you?"
Rufe and Cousin Eunice looked up from the grape-fruit which had been absorbing their attention. They always sleep late on Sunday morning, and, on account of the headache and croup of the night before, they had slept later than usual this morning. I had been up for hours and had already had a walk out in the brilliant October sunshine.
"Your Cousin Richard told me!"
My words were quietly spoken, with only a tiny smile that insisted upon creeping around the corners of my mouth, out of sheer happiness from speaking his name. But, quiet as they were, they electrified the two at the table.
"Ann!What?"
"'Tis true. The marble is placed in there, when the pot is being made—to keep in the heat, you understand.Richard always makes the coffee himself on hunting-trips, and—"
"Ann!Willyou hush talking about coffee-pots? Tell us what you mean! Are you already engaged to Richard Chalmers?"
"Yes.Engaged!"
"Well, upon my word! And this is how the shy young creatures feel about the matter when the man's back is turned," Rufe said, starting up and pulling out my chair for me. "You ought to have your eyes cast down, and whisper the news with blushes and tears, you horribly modern young woman!"
But he patted my shoulder affectionately and said Chalmers always had been a lucky devil. Cousin Eunice stared at me a moment in silence.
"And you are very happy?" she asked.
"Yes.Veryhappy."
"Then I congratulate you both." But she did not come and kiss me, for which I was very thankful. I have a masculine dislike for scenes. It was for this reason that I sprung the news of the marble in the spout first.
She asked a few questions as to how it had come about, but, while she manifested no great enthusiasm,she was too humane to make any kill-joy reference to her request of me last night.
We finished breakfast and I pushed back my chair.
"Well, I must hurry and dress for church," I said, looking nonchalantly out the window, for I knew that this would be another bomb. I have always been a notorious heathen in my family circles. I usually spend Sunday morning in the woods with a book of poetry or philosophy—sometimes with two or three children from the village—but Inevergo to church.
The bomb exploded.
"Rufe, listen! Did you hear that? Going to church with her young man!"
"Well, it was his first request of me. I couldn't refuse it, could I?"
"Chalmers always has had a way of making people do exactly what he wishes," Rufe said, coming up to Cousin Eunice to kiss her good-by.
"I shall do as he wishes when I think it is right," I answered with some spirit, for it aroused me to think they should consider me an incipient "doormat wife." "But of course he will soon learn that I am not like his mother and Evelyn."
"God forbid that he should ever make you likethem!" Cousin Eunice said, with so much fervor that I looked at her in surprise.
"You don't think that he made them—what they are?" I asked.
"I—don't know," she said, looking at me gravely. "He is masterful; but that is far from being a bad trait. I imagine that his attitude toward you will be just what you make it. Be frank and sincere with him always—just as you are with the rest of the world. And never let him make you do anything that will lower your self-respect. Many wives do not know the meaning of that word."
"But Richard will always exalt his wife."
"Yes. He will exalt everything that ishis—simply because he possesses self-respect himself, raised to the n-th power. You will be the best-dressed, the best-housed, the best-established woman in your set. And that set will be wherever he chooses to place you. If he rises politically you will have a brilliant course marked out before you; if he does not you will still have a life of luxury, leading the smart set in Charlotteville."
"Don't," I begged, for she had spoken half in earnest about the life in Charlotteville. "You know how I hate just plain society—the kind that Mrs.Chalmers and Evelyn love. It would be the extinction of me. Above everything else on earth I love freedom. But I also love the 'paths of glory.'"
"And, don't you see, dear child, that if you tread these paths with a man as much older than yourself as Richard Chalmers is, and especially a man whose disposition tends toward tyranny, that you will march to the music thathedirects?"
"Well, if it's the music of his voice I shall bow my head and face the east whenever I hear it."
"Don't think that I am a croaker, but I am a married woman and older than you," she kept on, ignoring the extravagance of my last sentence, "and I may be able to give you some advice that will help you. You are a girl of anintensenature, very candid, very kind-hearted, but alas, very impractical. Having been reared as you were you are naturally self-centered and visionary, with a capacity for development, but as yet you have not reached any very high degree of serenity orstrength, in spite of all the pencil-marks you put in your little volume ofMarcus Aurelius. You have never had to practise sacrifice, patience, endurance—any of the virtues which make awoman, and without which life is a vain thing."
"All those things will come with—marriage," I said.
"With marriage where the man recognizes an equal partnership," she amended.
"Cousin Eunice, you have no idea of what Richard thinks of me," I explained, feeling very grave myself by this time, but wishing to set her right in regard to my standing with my lover. "Of course all of you still think of me as being ridiculouslyyoungand irresponsible, somehow, just because I have never, as you say, been put to any test. But Richard knows that I am a woman, capable of knowing my own mind—and he adores me—just as I do him."
"Dear," our voices had sunk low, and she came over and laid her hand upon my arm, "an adoring husband is a delightful thing—between the pages of a book. But you will need a man who loves andtrustsyou."
"I am sure Richard does that."
"I hope so. It may be that you can be a power for good in his life, taking a sincere interest in his work, and letting your own honesty be a kind of bulwark to him in the corruption which will be sure to assail him in his career. Neverhedgewith him, Ann, inthe little things; then he will have an ideal of his wife which will keephimfrom ever being tempted to hedge in the big things."
"You know it is not my nature to hedge," I replied, rather emphatically.
"You have never been tempted to," she answered. "I know that you would never come down to lying about the price of a fur coat, but luxuries happen not to be your weak point."
"Fortunately not," I said, with a little laugh, for the discussion seemed a waste of time to me. Still I know that newly engaged girls and brides have to listen to a lot of admonishing from their female relatives. I wished, upon this occasion, that I could take mine as indifferently as I once saw a bride take hers. I was a child at the time, but even then I was impressed by the absurdity of a conventional aunt giving, in a well-modulated voice, the usual advice about "bear and forbear," as the pretty little bride-niece sat by and allowed big, conventional tears to roll down her cheeks, while she kept on industriously cleaning her diamond rings!
"What is my weak point?"
I asked the question, half hoping that the talk would be steered away from the radiant subject, butto my surprise I found that I was moving around in a circle.
"Your weak point is Richard Chalmers—now and for the rest of your life!"
"You mean?"
"I mean that you idealize him and worship him."
"I do," I answered proudly.
"And he thinks you are the prettiest little creature he ever saw, so he wants you for his," she kept on, analyzing my feelings and his with such a persistent accuracy that I found myself hoping my bridal advice would be given me by some one with less power of character delineation than is possessed by a lady novelist.
"Ann, when a middle-aged man marries a young woman, especially if the man has money, he is likely to treat his wife less like a wife than a—mistress. He showers her with violets, kisses, diamonds; but he neither burdens her with his troubles nor calls upon her for help. Now, this may be pleasant for the woman, if she be a certain type of woman, who marries a man to be 'taken care' of, but it is not conducive to character development. If the man is poor and the woman has tocookshe has a better chance to enter the kingdom of heaven; but this is a rareopportunity, for a young woman seldom marries a middle-agedpoorman."
"But surely you don't think that I am marrying Richard for his money?"
There was no reproach in my tone; I was simply astounded that any one could take such a view of the matter.
"Certainly not in cold-blood," she answered. "I think you are bewildered—hypnotized by the halo which you have placed upon his head; and the glitter of the man's amazing good looks."
"The halo was already there," I corrected, but not so staunchly as my conscience made me feel that I should have done. Cousin Eunice has a disagreeably convincing tone in argument.
"His good looks, while undeniablythere, are enhanced by the luxury with which he surrounds himself—his handsome clothes are a distinct asset. Can you deny it?"
"Certainly not! And his cigars are a joy. When I shook out my hair last night it was fragrant with the odor. He smoked, you know, out on the balcony."
"Ah, and then you thought that your hair was a halo—because it had the odor of his cigars in it!"
"Well, let's not get away from the subject ofhishalo. I believe you said that I placed it around his head?"
"You have done so, Ann! That halo has lain all the years of your life in your imaginative mind. You have kept it in a sacred chamber of your thoughts, while every tale of chivalry and every record of noble deeds has sent you to that chamber with more golden virtues to weave into the beautiful crown. Then one day you suddenly storm that room and snatch up the halo to place it triumphantly upon the head of the first startlingly handsome man you meet!"
"If I have had a halo I have placed it upon the head of Richard Chalmers, who wears it so gracefully," I defended.
"I admit the grace," she said, still speaking gravely. "But—does it fit?"
"Well, he will be here in less than an hour," I replied, looking up at the clock in some alarm, for I felt that I must be very beautifully and carefully dressed upon this occasion. "I want you to come in and talk with him every time he comes, and maybe you will tell me if you think I need to take any tucks in the halo!"
At half-past ten he came. I was still up-stairs when I heard the gate click, but I ran to the window and gazed down upon him in silent satisfaction. He threw away his cigar and swung briskly up the walk, the morning sun shining down upon his glossy hat, and changing it into an absurd kind of halo.
"How is my little girl?" he asked in a low tone as I met him in the hall. "Has it seemed a long time since last night?"
We passed into the drawing-room and found chairs that would not be directly in the line of vision of any one who might be crossing the hall in front of the door. He caught my hand and pressed it, but there was no sudden attempt at a stolen kiss. This was exactly to my liking, for, above all things, I amartistic, and I should not care for a lover who came in and kissed me before there had been time for any display of feeling to warrant it. Yet I am saying nothing against this habit inhusbands.
"Have you been waiting long?" he asked, his eyes wandering approvingly over my dressed-up, Sunday attire. I wore a pretty pink foulard silk, with a tiny white figure in it, the cream lace yoke and bit of black velvet ribbon at the collar managing some way to bring out the best there is in my eyes and complexion,for when pink and I are left alone we are not congenial. I felt a sudden sense of gratitude toward the woman who had made the dress and put that yoke and collar to it, for I realized that Richard would be quick to detect any incompatibility of colors. His eyes were still approving when they strayed down to my high-heeled black suede shoes! and I felt sinfully proud of my instep.
"I've been dressed half an hour. Do I please you, Cœur de Lion?"
"You are so entirely perfect that I know now I can never find jewels that will be worthy of you."
"Jewels?"
"Guess what I've been doing this morning!" He had leaned over closer to my chair as he spoke, and he again caught my hand and pressed it.
I smiled and shook my head.
"I've been buying my sweetheart an engagement ring."
"Oh!"
"That's what detained me. I couldn't find a stone that I exactly cared for."
He drew a little brown kid box from his pocket and touched the tiny pearl clasp.
"See if you think this will do," he said, handing me the opened box.
On the rich satin lining lay a big blue diamond; it caught the gleams of morning sunlight to its heart, then sent them back, with a dazzling radiance, to my eyes.
I looked up at him and had begun to speak when there was the swish of skirts at the door and Cousin Eunice came into the room. I closed the box in my hand and listened to what she might say to him in greeting.
"I came to warn you two benighted young people that it is high time for you to start to church, if you are still in the notion of going," she said, after she had shaken hands with Richard and remarked upon the beauty of the morning. "You can't rely upon Ann to know anything about church time," she continued, as he wheeled up a chair for her and we all three sat down again. "She hasn't been to church since she was in the infant class at Sunday-school."
"Ah! So I shall have missionary work to do—the first thing," he said, answering her light banter. Then, after a moment he reached over and took my hand, which was lying on the arm of my chair, inhis. The gesture was infinitely chivalrous and caressing.
"Mrs. Clayborne, Ann has told you of our happiness?"
"Yes. And I congratulate you sincerely." Her blue eyes were suddenly grave and tender. She arose and extended her hand to him in frank fellowship. He towered above her a moment as he gratefully pressed the welcoming hand, then she turned and put her arm around my shoulder.
"Ann is my little sister," she said, looking into his eyes with a steady glance. "You must always be very good to her."
"I expect to be," he answered gravely.
We showed her the ring and she admired its brilliant beauty.
"But, you conceited man," she said, with a really cousinly laugh as she turned upon him, "you must have bought this before she accepted you! She told me that the wonderful event happened only last night! This is Sunday."
"Oh, I happen to know Harper pretty well," he explained, mentioning the name of the best-known jeweler in the city. "I called him early this morning and he went down and we took a look throughthe vaults together. This was rather the best stone I could find, so I waited for him to set it for me."
"Well, I must admit that I admire both your taste and your—precipitation," she said, smiling on him in the friendliest fashion.
I had not had time before to give the matter a thought, but it dawned upon me then that nobody save my imperial Richard would have had the temerity to call a rich diamond merchant from his warm bed on a Sunday morning and have him go forth with tools in hand to set a jewel. Surely he could do anything he wished! He possesses an undoubted power over men, and a high-handed, yet charming way of having people do as he desires them to. Cousin Eunice was already showing signs of weakening from her harsh judgment of the earlier morning. I remembered suddenly the slim, satiny horse he was driving the day I first saw him, and how he spoke only a word to her when she became frightened at Alfred's car. She at once obeyed the influence of his voice. Tyrant? He is no tyrant. He manages to get his way always by being so lovable and so charming that it is a pleasure to give in to him.
"Well, shall we be off to church?" he asked asCousin Eunice went out into the hall to meet Waterloo, who was just then returning from Sunday-school.
"If you prefer. I always try to take a long walk on Sunday morning. It makes me feel so good andholysomehow!"
He smiled. "And don't you feel that way in church?" he asked.
"No—except when the big pipe-organ is playing. I love the feeling of cathedrals, without any organ, but I know that this is only a revel to the senses, and it seems wicked to go—just for that."
He laughed outright. "So you think that people ought to get spiritual upliftment from going to church, do you?"
"I do. And if they get no such upliftment I think they ought to have respect enough for their Maker to stay away!"
"Their Maker? Are you so old-fashioned as to think that there is muchworshipin these churches—with their paid singers and their paid preachers and their heedless, gossiping throngs?"
"There issomeworship. For the sake of those few I feel that the reverential spirit ought always to be carried there. But I am like you. I scorn hypocrisy.The sight of a notoriously immoral deacon or steward sickens me with church-going for months. So I get my spiritual upliftment from going near to nature's heart. The birds and the bees are not orthodox—neither are they hypocrites."
"Well, you shall show me some of these temples of yours about the week after next, when I have packed you off down home, and have speedily followed you there."
"There are plenty such temples around here," I answered. "We might go to-day."
"Yes, but we are going to church this morning."
"Why? You have just agreed with me that you gain nothing from listening to a man who is paid so much a year to explain to you something of which he knows nothing."
"Good heavens, child! What a sentence from the mouth of a babe! I go to church because it is good form."
"Then you are the one who needs a missionary."
"Well, I'll promise to quit going altogether after we are married. I shall expect you and mother and Evelyn to keep up the appearance of respectability for the family."
"Listen, Richard," I said, standing close to himand lowering my voice so that I might not be overheard. "I may as well tell you now, in the beginning, that I couldneverbe a 'religious' woman the way your mother is. Our ideas on the subject are wholly different. I have a religion, but your conventional orthodoxy has little to do with it. And I shall not pretend that it has."