“Dear Avis!” said I; “now heaven bless your common sense! and I don’t especially mind if heaven blesses your horrific painted hag of a mother, also, if they’ve a divine favor or two to spare.”
And I saw there was a letter from Peter Blagden, too. It said, in part:
I am everything that you think me, Bob. My one defence is that I could not help it. I loved her from the moment I saw her … You did not appreciate her, you know. You take, if you will forgive my saying it, too light a view of life to value the love of a good woman properly, and Avis noticed it of course. Now I do understand what the unselfish love of woman means, because my first wife was an angel, as you know … It is a comfort to think that my dear saint in heaven knows I am not quite so lonely now, and is gladdened by that knowledge. I know she would have wished it—
I read no further. “Oh, Stella! they have all forgotten. They all insist today that you were an angel, and they have come almost to believe that you habitually flew about the world in a nightgown, with an Easter lily in your hand—But I remember, dear. I know you’d scratch her eyes out. I know you’d do it now, if only you were able, because you loved this Peter Blagden.”
Thereafter I must have wasted a full quarter of an hour in recalling all sorts of bygone unimportant happenings, and I was not bothering one way or the other about Avis …
III
In the moonlighted garden I found Bettie. But with her was Josiah Clarriker, Fairhaven’s leading businessman. He shook hands, and whatever delight he may have felt at seeing me was admirably controlled.
“Now don’t let me interfere with your eloquence,” I urged, “but go right on with the declamation.”
“I make no pretension to eloquence, Mr. Townsend. I was merely recalling to Miss Hamlyn’s attention the beautiful lines of our immortal poet, Owen Meredith, which run, as I remember them:
“ ‘I thought of the dress she wore that time
That we stood under the cypress-tree together,
In that land, in that clime,
And I turned and looked, and she was sitting there
In the box next to the stage, and dressed
In that muslin dress, with that full soft hair
And that jessamine blossom at her breast.’ ”
“But I am not permitted to wear flowers when Mr. Townsend is about,” said Bettie. “Did you know, Jo, that he is crazy about that too?”
“Well—! Anyhow, Meredith is full of very beautiful sentiments,” said Mr. Clarriker, “and I have always been particularly fond of that piece. It is called ‘Ox Italians.’ ”
“Yes, I have been previously affected by it,” said I, “and very deeply moved.”
“And so—as I was about to observe, Miss Hamlyn—you will notice that the poet Meredith gowned one of the most beautiful characters he ever created in white, and laid great stress upon the fact that her beauty was immeasurably enhanced by the dainty simplicity of her muslin dress. This fabric, indeed, suits all types of faces and figures, and is Economical too, especially the present popular mercerised waistings and vestings that are fast invading the realm of silks. We show at our Emporium an immense quantity of these beautiful goods, in more than a hundred styles, elaborate enough for the most formal occasions, at fifty and seventy-five cents a yard; and—as I was about to observe, Miss Hamlyn—I would indeed esteem it a favour should you permit me to send up a few samples tomorrow, from which to make a selection at, I need not add, my personal expense.
“You see, Mr. Townsend,” he continued, more inclusively, “we have no florists in Fairhaven, and I have heard that candy—” He talked on, hygienically now. …
IV
“And that,” said I, when Mr. Clarriker had gone, “is what you are actually considering! I have always believed Dickens invented that man to go into one of the latter chapters of Edwin Drood. It is the solitary way of explaining certain people—that they were invented by some fagged novelist who unfortunately died before he finished the book they were to be locked up in. As it was, they got loose, to annoy you by their incredibility. No actual human being, you know, would suggest a white shirtwaist as a substitute for a box of candy.”
“Oh, I have seen worse,” said Bettie, as in meditation. “It’s just Jo’s way of expressing the fact that I am stupendously beautiful in white. Poor dear, my loveliness went to his head, I suppose, and got tangled with next week’s advertisement for the Gazette. Anyhow, he is a deal more considerate than you. For instance, I was crazy to go to the show on Tuesday night, and Josiah Clarriker was the only person who thought to ask me, even though he is one of those little fireside companions who always get so syrupy whenever they take you anywhere that you simply can’t stand it. The combination both prevented my acceptance and accentuated his devotion; and quite frankly, Robin, I am thinking of him, for at bottom Jo is a dear.”
I laid one hand on each of Bettie’s shoulders; and it was in my mind at the time that this was the gesture of a comrade, and had not any sexual tinge at all. I wished that Bettie had better teeth, of course, but that could not be helped.
“You are to marry me as soon as may be possible,” said I, “and preferably tomorrow afternoon. Avis has thrown me over, God bless her, and I am free—until of course you take charge of me. There was a clever woman once who told me I was not fit to be the captain of my soul, though I would make an admirable lieutenant. She was right. It is understood you are to henpeck me to your heart’s content and
