A CHANGE OFOPINION
A CHANGE OF OPINION
Ofcourse it happened at the club. Things of this kind always happen at a club, either because the members feel freer to discuss the weaker sex when they are not around, or because some men think a club the only place for such speeches.
John Harris made the remark, and Walter Andrews, the pet of half the ladies in the town, was its bitterest opposer.
“I do not believe it,” he said vehemently. “You can not make me believe it.”
“Nevertheless, my boy, I repeat; no one ever saw or heard of a really beautiful woman who was good. Mark you, I’m not saying anything against the merely ‘very pretty girl.’ I’ll admit that there are some very pretty women who, in addition to their loveliness, are really good. But these are merely pretty, not beautiful,” Harris replied.
“What is your standard of ‘goodness’ in a woman, anyway?”
“Well, I’ll admit that my ideal woman would be hard to find. Even the ‘goodness’ part would be largely above par in a plain, ugly woman, let alone in a beautiful one. So I’ll take off a few requirements, and if you can find me a woman who is not a flirt even in the strictest sense of the word, and who never has been accused of trying to make a man love her, and, when she has him in that fix, declare that she only ‘likes him,’ and ‘hopes that they’ll always be friends’; if you can find such a woman, I’ll—but you can’t.”
The subject was dropped, and shortly after Andrews left the club. He went home early and to bed, but sleep did not come as it was wont to. All night long he tossed thinking of what Harris had said, and wondering where he could find a woman who could come up to the requirements.
It was a very preoccupied Andrews which entered the office of “Roberts and Andrews” the next morning, and more than once his partner asked, “What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing much,” was the invariable response.
Toward afternoon, Mr. Roberts came to him and said, “Andrews, my niece is coming hereto visit us for a while. Can you suggest anything which would be nice for a young lady of twenty or twenty-one to do?”
“How’s yachting?”
“The very thing. Funny that we did not think about that. Diana is very fond of it, she writes. You have a yacht, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What do you call her?”
“The yacht’s name isDiana,” said Andrews, digging his paper-cutter into the blotter on his desk.
“Queer name that, for a yacht. If I wasn’t positive that I had not mentioned my niece’s name to you, I would swear that you christened your boat since I began talking to you. However, I will have to go back to the house for a while, as I left Diana’s picture at home and Jones wants to make a cut of it for tomorrow’sLeader. I’ll be back soon and will show it to you before I take it down.”
The senior partner left the office and Andrews laughed loud and long. “Positive that he hadn’t mentioned the young lady’s name to me, was he? Oh, that reminds me that I’ll have to get the name on the yacht changed.” He reached for the ’phone and after getting into communication with the man that took care of the boat for him, he said, “Say, strike off the name and put onDiana.”
Andrews had barely resumed work when Harris came in. “Hello, old man,” he said in response to Andrews’ greeting, “I dreamed about you last night.”
“The dickens you did,” replied Andrews, “I dreamed aboutyou.”
“This is getting interesting. What did you dream?”
“I dreamed that I saw the most beautiful woman imaginable coming toward me with outstretched arms. Just as I was about to touch her she disappeared, and in her stead, I saw you. You had a hard, cynical sneer upon your face and you said to me, ‘She is beautiful, but is she good?’ Yes, she is beautiful, but she is not good.”
“By Jove, Andrews, my dream was almost exactly like yours. What can it mean?”
Walter shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said; “but I wish you hadn’t made such a fool statement.”
Roberts came in just then, and excusing himself, Harris left the office.
Walter went over to the old man’s desk and watched him as he slowly took out a large photograph from a mailing envelope. Andrews gave one glance at it, then with a shriek he flung the picture to the floor and sank into a chair pale as a sheet. Mr. Roberts looked at him in blank amazement.
“I am not feeling well,” he explained as he picked up his hat to go home.
The picture which his partner had shown him was a duplicate of the face he had seen in his dreams, and which, without doubt, was the same which his friend had seen.
The train to Mulford slowed down at the station of the little seaport town and from one of the parlor cars a young woman stepped out to the platform.
“She was beautiful.” There was no denying the fact. Even the most unemotional man would have stared long and hard at the retreating figure once he caught sight of her face.
Anthony Roberts stepped out from the interior of the station and kissed his niece impulsively.
“Now then, Harris,” said a voice at his ear, “dare you say that that beautiful woman is not good?”
Harris turned and saw a young member of the club who had been present when his challenge had been made. “Hello, George, what woman do you mean?”
“The one walking with old man Roberts.”
Harris looked in the direction which hisfriend pointed, then gripped his arm convulsively.
“What the mischief are you gripping me that way for? If all women affect you this way no wonder you say that no beautiful woman is good. But, man, you are pale as a ghost. Are you ill?”
“I am not well. Let’s go to the club.”
When they reached their destination, Harris sought a secluded corner. “Has she come to follow me up and torment me again?” he thought. “Poor Walter, if he sees her he’ll try to prove that although she is beautiful, this—” he swallowed hard—“is a good woman. By God! I’ll let him alone, let him get severely punished and see if he won’t change his mind a bit. They said that I was to marry her.” Silently one by one there came to him scenes of what had seemed like a year in heaven, and following them, came what he had thought a miniature Hell on earth.
As if from the throat of some unseen person there came the word, “I can’t marry you John, let us just be friends.”
“I hate you,” he shouted at the top of his voice.
A waiter ran up to the room. “Did you call, sir?”
“Yes, bring me a whiskey.”
Tossing the glass off at one gulp, Harris left the room.
As Walter was about to open the door to his private office the sound of girlish laughter floated over the open transom.
“It must be Diana,” he said. Opening the door he stepped into his office.
“Good morning, Andrews,” said his partner, “allow me.” He took Andrews’ arm and led him up to the sofa where the young lady of his dreams was seated.
Andrews bowed his acknowledgment of the introduction. He could not trust himself to speak. The room was swimming about him and he seemed to be enveloped in a hazy mist, out of which a woman’s voice was saying, “I made bold, Mr. Andrews, to come in and arrange your office; freshen it up a bit, you understand.”
Andrews pulled himself together and looked about him. The usual staid office was transformed into a flower garden. Flowers were banked upon each other in a way which bespoke a practised hand.
Roberts and his niece left Andrews’ office and went to the firm’s waiting rooms.
“What is the matter with your partner?” Diana asked, “he has such a far away look inhis eyes and he seems to be miles away from the office.”
“Only lately, my dear, only lately. I believe you have had some thing to do with it.”
“I, Uncle?” Diana gasped in astonishment, “what do you mean? I never saw him before.”
“Until I showed him your photograph, Andrews was all that one could ask, but when he saw your picture, he dropped it as suddenly as if he were holding a hot coal, gave a shriek, and skipped out of the office. I had intended to ask him what made him act the way he did, but it passed my mind.”
“I am going to ask him myself.” And Diana started for Andrew’s office.
“Diana,” called her uncle. But that young lady kept on until she had reached Andrews’ room. She knocked twice and receiving no answer, opened the door and walked in. She found Andrews with his head down upon his arms on his desk. Gently touching him on the shoulder she said, “Mr. Andrews!”
Walter started up suddenly. “I beg pardon,” he stammered, “but I did not sleep at all well last night and now I was almost gone. Can I, and may I, be of any assistance to you?” His old manner had returned and he was now the Walter Andrews which his partner had known all his life.
Diana was astonished at the sudden transition which had taken place and it was her turn to be at a loss for something to say.
“Uncle said you had a yacht,” she finally began.
“Yes,” he replied, “will you be ready to go out with me this afternoon?”
“I should be delighted to go.”
They were silent for a moment, then Diana said, “Mr. Andrews, I heard that when you saw my picture you dropped it and gave a scream of terror. May I ask why?”
Andrews dropped back into the manner which Diana had first seen him. In a strained tone of voice he said, “Miss Langdon, someday, but not now, I hope to be able to tell you the reason for my astonishing behavior.”
“‘Some day, but not now,’” she quoted; “When will that be?”
“When I have known you better,” he said bluntly. “When may I call for you?”
“I have changed my mind; I am not going.”
“But you promised,” reminded Andrews.
“I do not care if I did,” she returned with some heat as she rose and left the room.
“‘She is beautiful, but is she good?’” Andrews unconsciously murmured. “Oh, confound it, will I never forget that dream?”
Towards afternoon Andrews heard a gentle knock on his door.
“Come in,” he said.
Miss Langdon entered dressed in a sailor suit. “You see,” she explained, “I just realized that a promise is a promise and so I’ve come to go yachting with you. Can you go now?”
“Can I go?” asked Andrews. “Just watch me.” And giving his desk cover a pull, he reached for his hat and said, “I’m ready now.”
“It took you less time to get ready than it took me,” she smiled.
Andrews looked admiringly at her costume but said nothing. The distance to the pier was not long, and today Andrews found it much shorter than usual. Given, a bright vivacious girl and a man who appreciates that kind, and it needs no mathematician to prove that they will make a congenial couple.
The day was delightful. Just the right amount of wind was blowing for a sail. They talked pleasantly for some time as the big yacht skimmed over the water like a great white bird. Then Andrews said, “Miss Langdon, I have a friend who says that all women are flirts. Is he right?”
“Really Mr. Andrews, you take me at a disadvantage.”
“How so?”
“Why, you ask me either to laud or condemn myself, and you know that no man can, on trial, be compelled to give testimony against himself.”
Andrews laughed. “Let’s change the subject. See that school of red fish?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if we were in Hawaii and these fish came into the harbor we might expect to hear of the death of a member of the royal family. The Hawaiians have a superstition that these fish come to announce the death of a chief. Are you at all superstitious?”
“Well, I believe that thirteen is an unlucky number.”
“Yes?”
“There were thirteen of us in our club and all but five got married before the club was a year old.”
“What kind of a club; Browning or Shakespeare?”
“Neither. We had vowed solemn vows that we would not marry until—” she stopped short.
“Why do you stop?” Andrews asked.
“You men say that women can not keep a secret. I guess that you are right. I came near giving our club secret away.”
They soon landed, and giving Diana in charge of her uncle, who was at the dock waiting for them, Andrews went to the club.
“Diana,” said her uncle, “what made you go with Andrews after you said that you would not?”
“Because,” said that young lady, “because I love—sailing.”
Andrews met Diana quite frequently during the following days. Their meeting always awoke in Andrews the question, “Will she stand the test?”
“I can stand this no longer,” he said one day; “I shall have to settle the matter at once.” He turned to his telephone and calling up Miss Langdon, asked her if she cared for a sail.
“I’ll be down directly,” she replied, and she soon appeared. They boarded the yacht in silence. Neither spoke for a while, then Andrews broke the silence saying, bluntly, “Diana, I love you; I have always loved you. Will you be my wife?”
Miss Langdon was silent for a moment, then she asked, “Why did you act the way you did when you saw my picture?”
“Your answer first,” groaned Andrews.
“I cannot give you my answer today. Come to my uncle’s tomorrow and I will answer then and there. Let’s go back.”
Knowing that it would be useless to argue with her and make her give him her answer immediately, Andrews turned the yacht and started for home.
After landing, he took her to her uncle’s and left her at the gate. She had not asked him to come in, but he had not noticed the omission.
“One who has never been accused of trying to make a man love her, and when she has him in that fix, declare that she only likes him and hopes that they will always be friends,” kept ringing in his ears. Certain it was that since she had met him Diana had tried to make him love her. Would she stand the test?
Andrews did not come to work the day after. “He ’phoned me that he would not be down until afternoon,” said Roberts, when Harris called to see his friend. “He is not feeling well. But, Harris, you have not met my niece. Come this way.” An urgent message intercepted him as they went to Andrews’ room, and hearing that his niece and Harris were old acquaintances, Harris was left to renew his friendship.
Somehow, Harris had not met the young lady since her arrival at Mulford. He avoided all parties and gatherings which he knew she was to attend and once he had gone away just as he reached the door of a friend’s house, because he caught a glimpse of her as she talked to Walter Andrews.
Harris stopped at the door. Should he go in or should he meet her and denounce her and her works? He decided on the latter and knocked at the office. A low voice bade him enter. Closing the door he turned and saw the beautiful woman reading a book. Looking her full in the face he said, “Diana.”
“John!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, it is John. Diana, have you changed your mind?” Somehow the dreadful words which he had planned to utter failed to come and instead he realized that he loved her, and loved with his whole heart.
Diana was silent. “Then you still do not love me?” he asked.
“I really do not know,” she replied softly.
Harris started for the door.
“John,” she called.
He left the door and flung himself beside her chair.
“I love you,” she said; “I love, love you.”
It was the same old story, the telling of whichhas never made it grow out of fashion. He caught her up and kissed her again and again.
“Won’t Andrews be glad that I am at last to settle down and marry the most beautiful woman on earth?” he asked playfully.
“I think not,” she answered.
“You think not? Why?”
“Because yesterday he asked me to marry him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“To call this afternoon.”
“Send for him now; don’t keep the poor fellow in suspense.”
A messager was dispatched and Andrews came looking haggard and wan.
“Your answer?” he asked.
“Mr. Andrews, I sent for you to tell you that I can not marry you. I love another man. Can’t we just be friends?”
Andrews sank into a chair. “He was right,” Andrews muttered, “Harris was right. No beautiful woman is good.” Then springing up he shouted, “‘Let’s be friends,’ did you say? Never! Henceforth my greatest enemy shall be a beautiful woman.”