“No,” Nattie replied, “Cyn is out.”
“I—I beg pardon. Is it you?” the shadow asked with accents of delight.
Nattie acknowledged the “you.”
“And you—you are alone?”
Nattie glanced around the room hoping the Duchess had strayed in, so she might truthfully say no. But she was compelled to reply in the affirmative.
“Glorious opportunity—I—it must not be wasted! I—I will explain, you know!” he exclaimed, excitedly and incoherently. But to Nattie’s surprise, instead of entering, he darted away in such a tremendous hurry that he stumbled and fell, and she distinctly heard his skull bang against his own door.
But his last words were too ominous, and she was too well acquainted with his peculiarities to flatter herself she was permanently relieved of his company. He had perhaps gone to brush his hair, or take some quieting drops, but she knew he had certainly not gone to stay, and not being exactly in the humor for his company, Nattie resolved to fly ignominiously. Afraid of returning to her own room, lest she might meet him and be taken captive, she quietly retired into Cyn’s bedroom. In a few moments she heard him stumbling over a stool in the parlor, and was just thinking that if he should take it into his head to remain any length of time, she would be in rather a predicament, when to her surprise she heard him say,
“I—I must speak! I—I hope this time I shall remember what I have so often—so often said in the privacy of my own apartment, to—if I may confess it—to a pillow—a pair of pants and a coat—placed in a chair as a poor effigy of—of you, you know. Will you—will you—don’t speak, but let me alone, hear me and let the—the flow of language come!”
He paused, and in the greatest bewilderment, Nattie stared at the opposite wall. Did he by some powerful intuition discern she was within hearing distance, or was he in his disappointment rehearsing to her empty chair? Before Nattie could decide between these two solutions of his conduct, another voice, the voice of Celeste, said faintly and affectedly,
“Oh, Quimby!”
And then Nattie comprehended the situation. After her own retreat, Celeste had entered and taken the just vacated chair. It was twilight. Celeste wore a black dress like hers, her hair was dressed in the same style, and was the same color, and Quimby had mistaken her for Nattie! And in his excitement and struggle with that “flow of language,” he did not notice even that it was not Nattie’s voice saying “Oh, Quimby!” for he continued,
“I—I—you may reject me—I am afraid you will, but I must say it, you know. I must, or I shall—I shall explode and fly into atoms!”
Here Celeste gave a little scream, but he went on determinedly, making the most of his “glorious opportunity.”
“I—I am not like other fellows, you know! that is, I mean I have not the—the brass, if I may so express myself, and I am always doing something wrong—but I am used to it, you know—the question is, could you get used to it? for I have a heart that is—that is honest, and that beats all full of love—of—love for—you know who I mean!”
There was a murmured “oh!” from Celeste, as Quimby paused to wipe from his brow the perspiration called forth by his arduous undertaking.
“What shall I do!” frantically thought the perplexed listener, divided between the ludicrous part of the affair, and her desire to save him from the dilemma into which he was rushing; “what can I do? oh! if Cyn would only come!”
But Cyn came not, and while Nattie paused, irresolute, and not knowing what course to take, Quimby went on to his fate.
“I have thought, sometimes, that you liked some other fellow—Clem, I mean—” Nattie felt herself blush in the darkness—“but I do hope not! the thought has made me boil in secret often, and he loves Cyn, you know—” Nattie’s color left her face as quickly as it had come—“but oh!” and he went down on to his knees with a whack that made the vases on the mantel jingle. “Let me tell you what I tried twice before to say, what is always in my thoughts! I—I adore you! the ground you walk on! and have, ever since I first saw your nose! I—I beg pardon, but I fell in love with your nose! and will you—can you tell me that you don’t love any other fellow—Clem, I mean—and share my little property, and be—be Mrs. Quimby, you know!”
“Ah! really I—such a trying moment!—but dear, dear Quimby, I never cared for Clem, never only for you—and I am yours!”
With these words, Celeste precipitated herself into his arms, and the next moment Nattie heard a crash as they both fell on the floor. The sudden shock of recognition that then burst upon him, weakened him to such an extent that he could not support himself, much less her, so down they went!
“He must know who it is now!” thought Nattie, with a sigh of relief.
And meanwhile Celeste had picked herself up, but Quimby still remained flat on the floor, bracing himself up by his hands on either side, and staring at her, motionless. Fortunately it was too dark for her to see the expression of his face.
“Did you hurt yourself?” asked Celeste at length. “Let me help you up! We are to help each other now, you know.”
Quimby groaned.
“Oh, misery!” he gasped. “This—my destiny is too much for me! Oh! the evil deeds of darkness! Listen to me, I implore you! It is all a mistake! I thought—”
“Of course it was a mistake! You did not suppose I thought you fell purposely, did you, dear?” quickly interrupted Celeste, blindly or willfully misunderstanding—who shall say which? “But please get up, Cyn may come.”
At this Quimby scrambled to his feet with startling suddenness, and exclaiming hastily,
“I will—I will write and tell you all—all! I have an engagement now with
