A LOVE STORY REVERSED By Edward Bellamy 1898 I The golden hands of the parlor clock point glimmeringly to an hourafter midnight, and the house is still. The gas is turned almost out, but the flickering of the dying sea-coal fire in the grate fitfullyillumines the forms and faces of two young women, who are seated beforeit, talking earnestly in low tones. It is apparent from their costumesthat they have been spending the evening out. The fair girl in the low chair, gazing pensively into the fire, is MaudElliott, the daughter of the house. Not generally called handsome, herfeatures are good and well balanced, and her face is altogether a sweetand wholesome one. She is rather tall, and the most critical admitthat she has a fine figure. Her eyes are blue, and their clear, candidexpression indicates an unusually sincere and simple character. But, unfortunately, it is only her friends who are fully conversant with theexpression of her eyes, for she is very shy. Shyness in little peopleis frequently piquant, but its effect in girls of the Juno style is toooften that of awkwardness. Her friends call Maud Elliott stately; thosewho do not like her call her stiff; while indifferent persons speak ofher as rather too reserved and dignified in manner to be pleasing. Infact, her excess of dignity is merely the cloak of her shyness, andnobody knows better than she that there is too much of it. Thosewho know her at all well know that she is not dull, but with mereacquaintances she often passes for that. Only her intimate friends areaware what wit and intelligence, what warmth and strength of feeling, her coldness when in company conceals. No one better understands this, because no one knows her better orhas known her longer, than her present companion before the fire, LucyMer-ritt. They were roommates and bosom friends at boarding-school; andLucy, who recently has been married, is now on her first visit to herfriend since that event. She is seated on a hassock, with her handsclasped over her knees, looking up at Maud, --an attitude well suitedto her _petite_ figure. She is going home on the morrow, or rather onthe day already begun; and this fact, together with the absorbing natureof the present conversation, accounts for the lateness of the session. "And so, Maud, " she is saying, while she regards her friend with anexpression at once sympathetic and amused, --"and so that is what hasbeen making your letters so dismal lately. I fancied that nothing lesscould suggest such melancholy views of life. The truth is, I cameon this visit as much as anything to find out about him. He is agood-looking fellow, certainly; and, from what little chance I hadto form an opinion to-night, seems sensible enough to make it quiteincredible that he should not be in love with such a girl in a thousandas you. Are you quite sure he is n't?" "You had a chance to judge to-night, " replied Maud, with a hard littlelaugh. "You overheard our conversation. 'Good-evening, Miss Elliott;jolly party, is n't it?' That was all he had to say to me, and quiteas much as usual. Of course we are old acquaintances, and he 's alwayspleasant and civil: he couldn't be anything else; but he wastes mightylittle time on me. I don't blame him for preferring other girls'society. He would show very little taste if he did not enjoy EllaPerry's company better than that of a tongue-tied thing like me. She isa thousand times prettier and wittier and more graceful than I am. " "Nonsense, " exclaimed Lucy. "She is a flirt and a conceited little minx. She is not to be mentioned the same day with you; and he would think so, if he could only get to know you. But how in the world is he ever goingto? Why, you seem to be shyer than ever, poor dear. You were actuallydistant, almost chilling, in your manner towards him to-night, althoughI know you didn't mean to be. " "I know it. Don't I know it!" groaned Maud. "I always am shyer andstiffer with him than with any one else. O Lucy! you can't guess whata dreadful thing it is to be shy. It is as if you were surrounded by afog, which benumbs you, and chills all who approach you. I dare say hethinks that I actually dislike him. I could not blame him if he did. AndI can't help it. I could never make him understand anything else, unlessI told him in so many words. " The tears filled her eyes as she spoke, and hung heavy on the lashes. Lucy took one of her hands in both of hers, and pressed and stroked itcaressingly. "I know you could n't, poor dear, I know you could n't, " she said; "andyou cannot tell him in so many words because, forsooth, you are a woman. I often think, Maud, what a heap of trouble would be saved if women, when they cannot make themselves understood in other ways, were allowedto speak out as men do, without fear or reproach. Some day they will, when the world gets wiser, --at least I think so. Why should a womanhave to hide her love, as if it were a disgraceful secret? Why is it anymore a disgrace to her than to a man?" "I can't quite see what good it would do me, " said Maud, "even if womencould 'speak out, ' as you say. If a man did n't care for one already, I can't see how it would make him know that one cared for him. I shouldthink she would prefer to keep her secret. " "That is n't what men do, " replied Lucy. "If they have such a secret, they tell it right away, and that is why they succeed. The way half thewomen are induced to fall in love is by being told the men are in lovewith them; you know that. " "But men are different, " suggested Maud. "Not a bit of it: they 're more so, if anything, " was the oracularresponse of the young wife. "Possibly there are men, " she continued, --"the story-tellers say so, anyhow, --who are attracted by repulsion andwarmed by coldness, who like resistance for the pleasure of overcomingit. There must be a spice of the tyrant in such men. I wouldn't want tomarry one of them. Fortunately, they're not common. I've noticed thatlove, like lightning, generally takes the path of least resistance withmen as well as women. Just suppose now, in your case, that Mr. Burtonhad followed us home, and had overheard this conversation from behindthat door. " "No, no, " she added laughing, as Maud looked around apprehensively; "heis n't there. But if he had been there and had overheard you own thatyou were pining for him, what a lucky chance it would have been! If he, or any other man, once knew that a magnificent girl like you had donehim the honor to fall in love with him, half the battle would be won, or I 'm no judge of men. But such lucky eavesdropping only happens instories and plays; and for lack of it this youth is in a fair way tomarry a chit of a girl who does not think half so much of him as you do, and of whom he will never think a quarter what he would of you. He isnot, probably, entirely stupid either. All he wants, very likely, isjust a hint as to where his true happiness lies: but, being a woman, youcan't give it in words; and, being Maud Elliott, you can't give it inany other way, if you died for it. Really, Maud, the canon whichmakes it a woman's duty to be purely passive in love is exasperating, especially as it does not represent what anybody really believes, butonly what they pretend to believe. Everybody knows that unrequited lovecomes as often to women as to men. Why, then, should n't they have anequal chance to seek requital? Why have not they the same right to lookout for the happiness of their lives by all honorable means that menhave? Surely it is far more to them to marry the men they love than toa man to marry any particular woman. It seems to me that making suitablematches is not such an easy matter that society can afford to leave thechief part of it to the stupider sex, giving women merely the right ofveto. To be sure, even now women who are artful enough manage to evadethe prohibition laid on their lips and make their preference known. I amproud to say that I have a royal husband, who would never have lookedmy way if I had not set out to make him do so; and if I do say it, whoshould n't, I flatter myself he has a better wife than he could havepicked out without my help. There are plenty of women who can say thesame thing; but, unluckily, it is the best sort of women, girls likeyou, --simple, sincere, noble, without arts of any sort, --who can'tdo this. On them the etiquette that forbids women to reveal their heartsexcept by subterfuge operates as a total disability. They can onlysit with folded hands, looking on, pretending not to mind, while theirhusbands are run away with by others. " Maud took up the poker and carefully arranged the coals under the gratein a heap. Then she said: "Suppose a girl did what you 've been speakingof. I mean, suppose she really said such a thing to a man, --said thatshe cared for him, or anything like that, --what do you suppose hewould think of her? Don't you fancy she would be in danger of making himthink very cheaply of her?" "If she thought he were that kind of a man, " replied Lucy, "I can'tunderstand her ever falling in love with him. Of course, I 'm not sayingthat he would necessarily respond by falling in love with her. She wouldhave to take her chance of that; but I 'm sure, if he were a gentleman, she need have no fear of his thinking unworthily of her. If I had spokento Dick in that way, even if he had never wanted to marry me, I know hewould have had a soft spot for me in his heart all the rest of his life, out of which even his wife would not have quite crowded me. Why, how dowe think of men whom we have refused? Do we despise them? Do we ridiculethem? Some girls may, but they are not ladies. A low fellow might laughat a woman who revealed a fondness for him which he did not return; buta gentleman, never. Her secret would be safe with him. " "Girls!" It was the voice of Mrs. Elliott speaking from the upper hall. "Do you know how late it is? It is after one o'clock. " "I suppose we might as well go to bed, " said Lucy. "There's no usesitting up to wait for women to get their rights. They won't get themto-night, I dare say; though, mark my word, some day they will. " "This affair of yours may come out all right yet, " she said hopefully, as they went upstairs together. "If it does not, you can consoleyourself with thinking that people in general, and especially girls, never know what is good for them till afterward. Do you remember thatsummer I was at the beach, what a ninny I made of myself over thatlittle Mr. Parker? How providential it was for me that he did notreciprocate. It gives me the cold shivers when I think what might havebecome of me if he' had proposed. " At the door of her room Lucy said again: "Remember, you are to come tome in New York for a long visit soon. Perhaps you will find there areother people in the world then. " Maud smiled absently, and kissed her good-night. She seemed preoccupied, and did not appear to have closely followed what her lively friend wassaying. The following afternoon, as she was walking home after seeing Lucy onthe cars, she met a gentleman who lifted his hat to her. It was ArthurBurton. His office was on the one main street of the small New Englandcity which is the scene of these events, and when out walking orshopping Maud often met him. There was therefore nothing at allextraordinary in the fact of their meeting. What was extraordinary wasits discomposing effect upon her on this particular afternoon. She hadbeen absorbed a moment before in a particularly brown study, taking nomore notice of surrounding objects and persons than was necessary toavoid accidents. On seeing him she started perceptibly, and forthwithbecame a striking study in red. She continued to blush so intenselyafter he had passed that, catching sight of her crimson cheeks in a shopwindow, she turned down a side street and took a quieter way home. There was nothing particularly remarkable about Arthur Burton. Fortunately there does not need to be anything remarkable about youngmen to induce very charming girls to fall in love with them. He was justa good-looking fellow, with agreeable manners and average opinions. Hewas regarded as a very promising young man, and was quite a favoriteamong the young ladies. If he noticed Maud's confusion on meeting him, he certainly did not think of associating it in any way with himself. For although they had been acquaintances these many years, and belongedto the same social set, he had never entertained the first sentimentalfancy concerning her. So far as she had impressed him at all, it was asa thoroughly nice girl, of a good family, not bad-looking, but ratherdull in society, and with very little facility in conversation; at leasthe had always found it hard to talk with her. Ten days or a fortnight after Lucy Merritt's departure there was alittle party at Ella Perry's, and both Arthur Burton and Maud werepresent. It was the custom of the place for the young men to escortthe girls home after evening entertainments, and when the couples wererightly assorted, the walk home was often the most agreeable part of theevening. Although they were not engaged, Arthur imagined that he was inlove with Ella Perry, and she had grown into the habit of lookingupon him as her particular knight. Towards the end of the evening hejestingly asked her whom he should go home with, since he could not thatevening be her escort. "Maud Elliott, " promptly suggested Ella, selecting the girl of thosepresent in her opinion least likely to prove a diverting companion. Soit chanced that Arthur offered his company to Maud. It struck him, as she came downstairs with her wraps on, that shewas looking remarkably pale. She had worn a becoming color during theevening, but she seemed to have lost it in the dressing-room. As theywalked away from the house Arthur began, to the best of his ability, tomake himself agreeable, but with very poor success. Not only was Maud, as usual, a feeble contributor of original matter, but her randomanswers showed that she paid little attention to what he was saying. He was mentally registering a vow never again to permit himself to becommitted to a tête-à-tête with her, when she abruptly broke the silencewhich had succeeded his conversational efforts. Her voice wascuriously unsteady, and she seemed at first to have some difficulty inarticulating, and had to go back and repeat her first words. What shesaid was:-- "It was very good in you to come home with me to-night. It is a greatpleasure to me. " "You 're ironical this evening, Miss Elliott, " he replied, laughing, andthe least bit nettled. It was bore enough doing the polite to a girl who had nothing on hermind without being gibed by her to boot. "I 'm not ironical, " she answered. "I should make poor work at irony. Imeant just what I said. " "The goodness was on your part in letting me come, " he said, mollifiedby the unmistakable sincerity of her tone, but somewhat embarrassedwithal at the decidedly flat line of remark she had chosen. "Oh, no, " she replied; "the goodness was not on my side. I was only tooglad of your company, and might as well own it. Indeed, I will confessto telling a fib to one young man who offered to see me home, merelybecause I hoped the idea of doing so would occur to you. " This plump admission of partiality for his society fairly staggeredArthur. Again he thought, "She must be quizzing me;" and, to make sure, stole a sidelong glance at her. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, andthe pallor and the tense expression of her face indicated that she waslaboring under strong excitement. She certainly did not look like one ina quizzing mood. "I am very much flattered, " he managed to say. "I don't know whether you feel so or not, " she replied. "I'm afraid youdon't feel flattered at all, but I--I wanted to--tell you. " The pathetic tremor of her voice lent even greater significance to herwords than in themselves they would have conveyed. She was making a dead set at him. There was not a shadow of doubt anylonger about that. As the full realization of his condition flashed uponhim, entirely alone with her and a long walk before them, the strengthsuddenly oozed out of his legs, he felt distinctly cold about the spine, and the perspiration started out on his forehead. His tongue clung tothe roof of his mouth, and he could only abjectly wonder what was comingnext. It appeared that nothing more was coming. A dead silence lastedfor several blocks. Every block seemed to Arthur a mile long, as if hewere walking in a hasheesh dream. He felt that she was expecting him tosay something, to make some sort of response to her advances; but whatresponse, in Heaven's name, could he make! He really could not makelove. He had none to make; and had never dreamed of making any to MaudElliott, of all girls. Yet the idea of letting her suppose him such anoaf as not to understand her, or not to appreciate the honor a lady'spreference did him, was intolerable. He could not leave it so. Finally, with a vague idea of a compromise between the impossiblealternative of making love to her, which he could n't, and seeming aninsensible boor, which he wouldn't, he laid his disengaged hand uponhers as it rested on his arm. It was his intention to apply to it agentle pressure, which, while committing him to nothing, might tend tocalm her feelings and by its vaguely reassuring influence help to staveoff a crisis for the remainder of their walk. He did not, however, succeed in carrying out the scheme; for at the moment of contact herhand eluded his, as quicksilver glides from the grasp. There was no hintof coquettish hesitation in its withdrawal. She snatched it away asif his touch had burned her; and although she did not at the sametime wholly relinquish his arm, that was doubtless to avoid making thesituation, on the street as they were, too awkward. A moment before only concerned to evade her apparent advances, Arthurfound himself in the position of one under rebuke for offering anunwarranted familiarity to a lady. There was no question that he hadutterly misconstrued her previous conduct. It was very strange that hecould have been such a fool; but he was quite too dazed to disentanglethe evidence just then, and there was no doubt about the fact. "Pardon me, " he stammered, too much overcome with confusion and chagrinto be able to judge whether it would have been better to be silent. The quickness with which the reply came showed that she had been on thepoint of speaking herself. "You need not ask my pardon, " she said. Her tones quivered withexcitement and her utterance was low and swift. "I don't blame you inthe least, after the way I have talked to you to-night. But I did notmean that you should think lightly of me. I have said nothing right, nothing that I meant to. What I wanted to have you understand was that Icare for you very much. " Her voice broke here, but she caught her breathand went right on. "I wanted you to know it somehow, and since I couldnot make you know it by ways clever girls might, I thought I would tellyou plainly. It really amounts to the same thing; don't you think so?and I know you 'll keep my secret. You need n't say anything. I know you've nothing to say and may never have. That makes no difference. You oweme nothing merely because I care for you. Don't pity me. I'm not so muchashamed as you 'd suppose. It all seems so natural when it's once said. You need n't be afraid of me. I shall never say this again or troubleyou at all. Only be a little good to me; that's all. " She delivered this little speech almost in one breath, with headlong, explosive utterance, as if it were something she had to go throughwith, cost what it might, and only wanted somehow to get out the words, regardless, for the time, of their manner or effect. She ended withan hysterical sob, and Arthur felt her hand tremble on his arm as shestruggled with an emotion that threatened to overcome her. But it wasover almost instantly; and without giving him a chance to speak, sheexclaimed, with an entire alteration of tone and manner:-- "Did you see that article in the 'Gazette' this morning about the crazefor collecting pottery which has broken out in the big cities? Do yousuppose it will reach here? What do you think of it?" Now it was perfectly true, as she had told him, that Arthur had nothingwhatever to say in response to the declaration she had made; but allthe same it is possible, if she had not just so abruptly diverted theconversation, that he would then and there have placed himself and allhis worldly goods at her disposal. He would have done this, althoughfive minutes before he had had no more notion of marrying her than theEmperor of China's daughter, merely because every manly instinct criedout against permitting a nice girl to protest her partiality for himwithout meeting her half-way. Afterward, when he realized how nearhe had come to going over the verge of matrimony, it was with suchreminiscent terror as chills the blood of the awakened sleep-walkerlooking up at the dizzy ridge-pole he has trodden with but a hair'sbreadth between him and eternity. During the remainder of the way to Maud's door the conversation uponpottery, the weather, and miscellaneous topics was incessant, --almostbreathless, in fact. Arthur did not know what he was talking about, and Maud probably no better what she was saying, but there was not amoment's silence. A stranger meeting them would have thought, "What aremarkably jolly couple!" "I 'm much obliged for your escort, " said Maud, as she stood upon herdoorstep. "Not at all. Great pleasure, I 'm sure. " "Good-evening. " "Good-evening. " And she disappeared within the door. Arthur walked away with a slow, mechanical step. His fallen jaw, openmouth, and generally idiotic expression of countenance would havejustified his detention by any policeman who might have met him, onsuspicion of being a feeble-minded person escaped from custody. Turningthe first corner, he kept on with the same dragging step till he cameto a vacant lot. Then, as if he were too feeble to get any farther, hestopped and leaned his back against the fence. Bracing his legs beforehim so as to serve as props, he thrust his hands deep in his pockets, and raising his eyes appealingly to the stars, ejaculated, "Proposed to, by Jove!" A period of profound introspection followed, and then he brokeforth: "Well, I 'll be hanged!" emphasizing each word with a slow nod. Then he began to laugh, --not noisily; scarcely audibly, indeed; butwith the deep, unctuous chuckle of one who gloats over some exquisitelyabsurd situation, some jest of many facets, each contributing its ray ofhumor. Yet, if this young man had tremblingly confessed his love to a lady, hewould have expected her to take it seriously. Nevertheless, let us not be too severe with him for laughing. It waswhat the average young man probably would have done under similarcircumstances, and it was particularly stated at the outset that therewas nothing at all extraordinary about Arthur Burton. For the rest, itwas not a wholly bad symptom. Had he been a conceited fellow, he verylikely would not have laughed. He would have stroked his mustache andthought it quite natural that a woman should fall in love with him, andeven would have felt a pity for the poor thing. It was, in fact, becausehe was not vain that he found the idea so greatly amusing. On parting with Arthur, Maud rushed upstairs and locked herself in herroom. She threw herself into the first chair she stumbled over in thedimly lighted apartment, and sat there motionless, her eyes fixed onthe empty air with an expression of desperation, her hands clinched sotightly that the nails bit the palms. She breathed only at considerableintervals, with short, quick inhalations. Yet the act which caused this extraordinary revulsion of feeling hadnot been the result of any sudden impulse. It was the execution of adeliberate resolve which had originated in her mind on the night of LucyMerritt's departure, as she sat with her before the fire, listening toher fanciful talk about the advantages which might be expected to attendfranker relations in love affairs between men and women. Deeply in love, and at the same time feeling that in the ordinary course of events shehad nothing but disappointment to look forward to, she was in a stateof mind just desperate enough to catch at the idea that if Arthur Burtonknew of her love, there would be some chance of his returning it. Itseemed to her that if he did not, she could be no worse off than shewas already. She had brooded over the subject day and night ever since, considering from every point of view of abstract right or true femininepropriety the question whether a woman might, without real prejudice toher maidenly modesty, tell a man that she cared for him, without waitingfor him to ask her to marry him. Her conclusion had been that there wasno reason, apart from her own feelings, why any woman, who dared do it, should not; and if she thought her life's happiness dependent on herdoing it, that she would be a weak creature who did not dare. Her resolve once taken, she had only waited an opportunity to carry itout; and that evening, when Arthur offered to walk home with her, she felt that the opportunity had come. Little wonder that she camedownstairs from the dressing-room looking remarkably pale, and thatafter they had started, and she was trying to screw up her courage tothe speaking point, her responses to his conversational efforts shouldhave been at random. It was terribly hard work, this screwing upher courage. All the fine arguments which had convinced her that herintended course was justifiable and right had utterly collapsed. Shecould not recall one of them. What she had undertaken to do seemedshocking, hateful, immodest, scandalous, impossible. But there was abed-rock of determination to her character; and a fixed, dogged resolveto do the thing she had once made up her mind to, come what might, hadnot permitted her to draw back. Hardly knowing what she was about, orthe words she was saying, she had plunged blindly ahead. Somehow she hadgot through with it, and now she seemed to herself to be sitting amidstthe ruins of her womanhood. It was particularly remarked that Arthur Burton's laughter, as heleaned against the fence a square away in convulsions of merriment, was noiseless, but it was perfectly audible to Maud, as she sat inthe darkness of her chamber. Nay, more: although his thoughts were notuttered at all, she overheard them, and among them some which the youngman, to do him justice, had the grace not to think. The final touch to her humiliation was imparted by the reflection thatshe had done the thing so stupidly, --so blunderingly. If she mustneeds tell a man she loved him, could she not have told him in languagewhich at least would have been forcible and dignified? Instead of that, she had begun with mawkish compliments, unable in her excitement tothink of anything else, and ended with an incoherent jumble that barelyescaped being hysterical He would think that she was as lacking in senseas in womanly self-respect. At last she turned up the gas, for veryshame avoiding a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she did so, andbathed her burning cheeks. II Meanwhile Arthur had reached home and was likewise sitting in his room, thinking the matter over from his point of view, with the assistance ofa long-stemmed pipe. But instead of turning the gas down, as Maud haddone, he had turned it up, and, having lighted all the jets in the room, had planted his chair directly in front of the big looking-glass, sothat he might enjoy the reflection of his own amusement and be doublyentertained. By this time, however, amazement and amusement had passed their acutestages. He was considering somewhat more seriously, but still withfrequent attacks of mirth, the practical aspects of the predicament inwhich Maud's declaration had placed him; and the more he considered it, the more awkward as well as absurd that predicament appeared. They hadthe same acquaintances, went to the same parties, and were very likelyto meet whenever they went out of an evening. What if she shouldcontinue to pursue him? If she did, he either would have to cut society, which had promised to be unusually lively that winter, or providehimself with a chaperon for protection. For the first time in his lifehe was in a position to appreciate the courage of American girls, who, without a tremor, venture themselves, year in and year out, in thecompany of gentlemen from whom they are exposed at any time to proposalsof a tender nature. It was a pity if he could not be as brave as girlswho are afraid of a mouse. Doubtless it was all in getting used to it. On reflection, he should not need a chaperon. Had she not assured himthat he need not be afraid of her, that she would never repeat what shehad said, nor trouble him again? How her arm trembled on his as she wassaying that, and how near she came to breaking down! And this was MaudElliott, the girl with whom he had never ventured to flirt with as withsome of the others, because she was so reserved and distant. Thevery last girl anybody would expect such a thing from! If it had beenembarrassing for him to hear it, what must it have cost such a girl asMaud Elliott to say it! How did she ever muster the courage? He took the pipe from his mouth, and the expression of his eyes becamefixed, while his cheeks reddened slowly and deeply. In putting himselfin Maud's place, he was realizing for the first time how strong musthave been the feeling which had nerved her to such a step. His heartbegan to beat rather thickly. There was something decidedly intoxicatingin knowing that one was regarded in such a way by a nice girl, even ifit were impossible, as it certainly was in this case, to reciprocate thefeeling. He continued to put himself mentally in Maud's place. No doubtshe was also at that moment sitting alone in her chamber, thinking thematter over as he was. She was not laughing, however, that was prettycertain; and it required no clairvoyant's gift for him to be sensiblethat her chief concern must be as to what he might be at that momentthinking about her. And how had he been thinking about her? As this question came up to his mind, he saw himself for a momentthrough Maud's eyes, sitting there smoking, chuckling, mowing like anidiot before the glass because, forsooth, a girl had put herself at hismercy on the mistaken supposition that he was a gentleman. As he saw hisconduct in this new light, he had such an access of self-contempt that, had it been physically convenient, it would have been a relief to kickhimself. What touching faith she had shown in his ability to take agenerous, high-minded view of what she had done, and here he had beenguffawing over it like a corner loafer. He would not, for anything inthe world, have her know how he had behaved. And she should not. Sheshould never know that he was less a gentleman than she believed him. She had told him, to be sure, that he owed her nothing because sheloved him; but it had just struck him that he owed her at least, on thataccount, a more solicitous respect and consideration than any one elsehad the right to expect from him. There were no precedents to guide him, no rules of etiquette prescribingthe proper thing for a young man to do under such circumstances asthese. It was a new problem he had to work out, directed only by suchgenerous and manly instincts as he might have. Plainly the first thing, and in fact the only thing that he could do for her, seeing that hereally could not return her affection, was to show her that she had notforfeited his esteem. At first he thought of writing her a note and assuring her, in a fewgracefully turned sentences, of his high respect in spite of what shehad done. But somehow the gracefully turned sentences did not occur tohis mind when he took up his pen, and it did occur to him that to writepersons that you still respect them is equivalent to intimating thattheir conduct justly might have forfeited your respect. Nor would it beat all easier to give such an assurance by word of mouth. In fact, quitethe reverse. The meaning to be conveyed was too delicate for words. Onlythe unspoken language of his manner and bearing could express it withoutoffense. It might, however, be some time before chance brought themtogether in society, even if she did not, for a while at least, purposely avoid him. Meantime, uncertain how her extraordinary actionhad impressed him, how was she likely to enjoy her thoughts? In the generous spirit bred of his new contrition, it seemed to him abrutal thing to leave her weeks or even days in such a condition of mindas must be hers. Inaction on his part was all that was required to makeher position intolerable. Inaction was not therefore permissible to him. It was a matter in which he must take the initiative, and there seemedto be just one thing he could do which would at all answer the purpose. A brief formal call, with the conversation strictly limited to theweather and similarly safe subjects, would make it possible for them tomeet thereafter in society without too acute embarrassment. Had hethe pluck for this, the nerve to carry it through? That was the onlyquestion. There was no doubt as to what he ought to do. It would be anawkward call, to put it mildly. It would be skating on terribly thin ice--a little thinner, perhaps, than a man ever skated on before. If he could but hit on some pretext, it scarcely mattered how thin, --for of course it would not be intended to deceive her, --the interviewpossibly could be managed. As he reflected, his eyes fell on a largevolume, purchased in a fit of extravagance, which lay on his table. Itwas a profusely illustrated work on pottery, intended for the victims ofthe fashionable craze on that subject, which at the date of these eventshad but recently reached the United States. His face lighted up witha sudden inspiration, and taking a pen he wrote the following note toMaud, dating it the next day:-- Miss Elliott: Our conversation last evening on the subject of old china has suggested to me that you might be interested in looking over the illustrations in the volume which I take the liberty of sending with this. If you will be at home this evening, I shall be pleased to call and learn your impression. Arthur Burton. The next morning he sent this note and the book to Maud, and thatevening called upon her. To say that he did not twist his mustacherather nervously as he stood upon the doorstep, waiting for the servantto answer the bell, would be to give him credit for altogether morenerve than he deserved. He was supported by the consciousness that hewas doing something rather heroic, but he very much wished it were done. As he was shown into the parlor, Maud came forward to meet him. She worea costume which set off her fine figure to striking advantage, and hewas surprised to perceive that he had never before appreciated whata handsome girl she was. It was strange that he should never haveparticularly observed before what beautiful hands she had, and whata dazzling fairness of complexion was the complement of her red-brownhair. Could it be this stately maiden who had uttered those wild wordsthe night before? Could those breathless tones, that piteousshame-facedness, have been hers? Surely he must be the victim of somestrange self-delusion. Only the deep blush that mantled her face as shespoke his name, the quickness with which, after one swift glance, hereyes avoided his, and the tremor of her hand as he touched it, fullyassured him that he had not dreamed the whole thing. A shaded lamp was on the centre-table, where also Arthur's book onpottery lay open. After thanking him for sending it and expressing thepleasure she had taken in looking it over, Maud plunged at once intoa discussion of Sèvres, and Cloisonné, and Palissy, and tiles, and allthat sort of thing, and Arthur bravely kept his end up. Any one who hadlooked casually into the parlor would have thought that old crockerywas the most absorbing subject on earth to these young people, withsuch eagerness did they compare opinions and debate doubtful points. At length, however, even pottery gave out as a resource, especiallyas Arthur ceased, after a while, to do his part, and silences beganto ensue, during which Maud rapidly turned the pages of the book orpretended to be deeply impressed with the illustrations, while hercheeks grew hotter and hotter under Arthur's gaze. He knew that he wasa detestable coward thus to revel in her confusion, when he ought tobe trying to cover it, but it was such a novel sensation to occupy thismasterful attitude towards a young lady that he yielded basely to thetemptation. After all, it was but fair. Had she not caused him a veryembarrassing quarter of an hour the night before? "I suppose I shall see you at Miss Oswald's next Thursday, " he said, ashe rose to take his leave. She replied that she hoped to be there. She accompanied him to the doorof the parlor. There was less light there than immediately aboutthe table where they had been sitting. "Good-evening, " he said. "Good-evening, " she replied; and then, in a lowered voice, hardly abovea whisper, she added, "I appreciate all that was noble and generous inyour coming to-night. " He made no reply, but took her hand and, bendinglow, pressed his lips to it as reverently as if she had been a queen. Now Arthur's motive in making this call upon Maud, which has beendescribed, had been entirely unselfish. Furthest from his mind, of allideas, had been any notion of pursuing the conquest of her heart whichhe had inadvertently made. Nevertheless, the effect of his call, andthat, too, even before it was made, --if this bull may be pardoned, --had been to complete that conquest as no other device, however studied, could have done. The previous night Maud had been unable to sleep for shame. Hercheeks scorched the pillows faster than her tears could cool them; andaltogether her estate was so wretched that Lucy Mer-ritt, could she havelooked in upon her, possibly might have been shaken in her opinion asto the qualifications of women to play the part of men in love, even ifpermitted by society. It had been hard enough to nerve herself to the point of doing what shehad done in view of the embarrassments she had foreseen. An hour aftershe uttered those fatal words, her whole thinking was summed up in thecry, "If I only had not done it, then at least he would still respectme. " In the morning she looked like one in a fever. Her eyes were redand swollen, her face was pallid but for a hard red spot in eachcheek, and her whole appearance was expressive of bodily and mentalprostration. She did not go down to breakfast, pleading a very genuineheadache, and Arthur's note and the book on pottery were brought up toher. She guessed his motive in a moment. Her need gave her the due tohis meaning. What was on Arthur's part merely a decent sort of thing to do, herpassionate gratitude instantly magnified into an act of chivalrousgenerosity, proving him the noblest of men and the gentlest ofgentlemen. She exaggerated the abjectness of the position from which hisaction had rescued her, in order to feel that she owed the more to hisnobility. At any time during the previous night she gladly would havegiven ten years of her life to recall the confession that she had madeto him; now she told herself, with a burst of exultant tears, that shewould not recall it if she could. She had made no mistake. Her womanlydignity was safe in his keeping. Whether he ever returned her love ornot, she was not ashamed, but was glad, and always should be glad, thathe knew she loved him. As for Arthur, the reverence with which he bent over her hand on leavingher was as heartfelt as it was graceful. In her very disregard ofconventional decorum she had impressed him the more strikingly with thenative delicacy and refinement of her character. It had been reservedfor her to show him how genuine a thing is womanly modesty, and how farfrom being dependent on those conventional affectations with which itis in the vulgar mind so often identified, with the effect of seeming asartificial as they. When, a few evenings later, he went to Miss Oswald's party, the leadingidea in his mind was that he should meet Maud there. His eyes soughther out the moment he entered the Oswald parlors, but it was some timebefore he approached her. For years he had been constantly meeting her, but he had never before taken special note of her appearance in company. He had a curiosity about her now as lively as it was wholly new. He tooka great interest in observing how she walked and talked and laughed, howshe sat down and rose up and demeaned herself. It gave him an odd butmarked gratification to note how favorably she compared in style andappearance with the girls present. Even while he was talking with EllaPerry, with whom he believed himself in love, he was so busy makingthese observations that Ella dismissed him with the sarcastic advice tofollow his eyes, which he presently proceeded to do. Maud greeted him with a very fair degree of self-possession, though hercheeks were delightfully rosy. At first it was evidently difficultfor her to talk, and her embarrassment betrayed uncertainty as tothe stability of the conventional footing which his call of the otherevening had established between them. Gradually, however, the easy, nonchalant tone which he affected seemed to give her confidence, andshe talked more easily. Her color continued to be unusually though notunbecomingly high, and it took a great deal of skirmishing for himto get a glance from her eyes, but her embarrassment was no longerdistressing. Arthur, indeed, was scarcely in a mood to notice that shedid not bear her full part in the conversation. The fact of conversingon any terms with a young lady who had confessed to him what Maudhad was so piquant in itself that it would have made talk in thedeaf-and-dumb alphabet vivacious. All the while, as they laughed andtalked together quite as any other two young people might do, thosewords of hers the other night: "I care for you very much, " "Be a littlegood to me, " were ringing in his ears. The reflection that by virtue ofher confession of love she was his whenever he should wish to claim her, even though he never should claim her, was constantly in his mind, andgave him a sense of potential proprietorship which was decidedly heady. "Arthur Burton seems to be quite fascinated. I never supposed that hefancied Maud Elliott before, did you?" said one of the young ladies, alittle maliciously, to Ella Perry. Ella tossed her head and replied thatreally she had never troubled herself about Mr. Burton's fancies, whichwas not true. The fact is, she was completely puzzled as well as vexedby Arthur's attentions to Maud. There was not a girl in her set of whomshe would not sooner have thought as a rival. Arthur had never, to herknowledge, talked for five minutes together with Maud before, and herehe was spending half the evening in an engrossing tête-à-tête with her, to the neglect of his other acquaintances and of herself in particular. Maud was looking very well, to be sure, but no better than often before, when he had not glanced at her a second time. What might be the clue tothis mystery? She remembered, upon reflection, that he had escorted Maudhome from the party at her own house the week before, but that explainednothing. Ella was aware of no weapon in the armory of her sex capable ofeffecting the subjugation of a previously quite indifferent young manin the course of a ten-minutes' walk. If, indeed, such weapons therehad been, Maud Elliott, the most reserved and diffident girl of heracquaintance, --"stiff and pokerish, " Ella called her, ---was the lastperson likely to employ them. It must be, Ella was forced to conclude, that Arthur was trying to punish her for snubbing him by devotinghimself to Maud; and, having adopted this conclusion, the misguideddamsel proceeded to flirt vigorously with a young man whom she detested. In the latter part of the evening, when Arthur was looking again forMaud, he learned that she had gone home, a servant having come to fetchher. The result was that he went home alone, Ella Perry having informedhim rather crushingly that she had accorded the honor of escortingherself to another. He was rather vexed at Ella's jilting him, though headmitted that she might have fancied she had some excuse. A few days later he called on her, expecting to patch up their littlemisunderstanding, as on previous occasions. She was rather offish, butreally would have been glad to make up, had he shown the humility andtractableness he usually manifested after their tiffs; but he was not ina humble frame of mind, and, after a brief and unsatisfactory call, took his leave. The poor girl was completely puzzled. What had come overArthur? She had snubbed him no more than usual that night, and generallyhe took it very meekly. She would have opened her eyes very wide indeedif she had guessed what there had been in his recent experience to spoilhis appetite for humble-pie. It was not late when he left Ella, and as he passed Maud's house hecould not resist the temptation of going in. This time he did notpretend to himself that he sought her from any but entirely selfishmotives. He wanted to remove the unpleasantly acid impression left byhis call on Ella by passing an hour with some one whom he knew would beglad to see him and not be afraid to let him know it. In this aim he wasquite successful. Maud's face fairly glowed with glad surprise when heentered the room. This was their second meeting since the evening Arthurhad called to talk pottery, and the tacit understanding that her tenderavowal was to be ignored between them had become so well establishedthat they could converse quite at their ease. But ignoring is notforgetting. On the other hand, it implies a constant remembering; andthe mutual consciousness between these young people could scarcely failto give a peculiar piquancy to their intercourse. That evening was the first of many which the young man passed in Maud'sparlor, and the beginning of an intimacy which caused no end of wonderamong their acquaintances. Had its real nature been suspected, thatwonder would have been vastly increased. For whereas they supposed itto be an entirely ordinary love affair, except in the abruptness of itsdevelopment, it was, in fact, a quite extraordinary variation on theusual social relations of young men and women. Maud's society had in fact not been long in acquiring an attraction forArthur quite independent of the peculiar circumstances under which hehad first become interested in her. As soon as she began to feel atease with him, her shyness rapidly disappeared, and he was astonishedto discover that the stiff, silent girl whom he had thought rather dullpossessed cultore and originality such as few girls of his acquaintancecould lay claim to. His assurance beyond possibility of doubt that shewas as really glad to see him whenever he called as she said she was, and that though his speech might be dull or his jests poor they weresure of a friendly critic, made the air of her parlor wonderfully genial. The result was that he fell into a habit whenever he wanted a littlesocial relaxation, but felt too tired, dispirited, or lazy for theeffort of a call on any of the other girls, of going to Maud. Oneevening he said to her just as he was leaving, "If I come here too much, you must send me home. " "I will when you do, " she replied, with a bright smile. "But really, " he persisted, "I am afraid I bore you by coming so often. " "You know better than that, " was her only reply, but the vivid blushwhich accompanied the words was a sufficient enforcement of them; and hewas, at the bottom of his heart, very glad to think he did know better. Without making any pretense of being in love with her, he had come todepend on her being in love with him. It had grown so pleasing to counton her loyalty to him that a change in her feelings would have beena disagreeable surprise. Getting something for nothing is a mode ofacquisition particularly pleasing to mankind, and he was enjoyingin some respects the position of an engaged man without any of theresponsibilities. But if in some respects he was in the position of an engaged man, inothers he was farther from it than the average unengaged man. For whileMaud and he talked of almost everything else under heaven, the subjectof love was tabooed between them. Once for all Maud had said her say onthat point, and Arthur could say nothing unless he said as much as shehad said. For the same reason, there was never any approach to flirtingbetween them. Any trifling of that sort would have been meaninglessin an intimacy begun, as theirs had been, at a point beyond where mostflirtations end. Not only in this respect, but also in the singular frankness whichmarked their interchange of thought and opinion, was there something intheir relation savoring of that of brother and sister. It was as if herconfession of love had swept away by one breath the whole lattice ofconventional affectations through which young men and women usually talkwith each other. Once for all she had dropped her guard with him, andhe could not do less with her. He found himself before long talking morefreely to her than to any others of his acquaintance, and about moreserious matters. They talked of their deepest beliefs and convictions, and he told her things that he had never told any one before. Whyshould he not tell her his secrets? Had she not told him hers? It was apleasure to reciprocate her confidence if he could not her love. He hadnot supposed it to be possible for a man to become so closely acquaintedwith a young lady not a relative. It came to the point finally that whenthey met in company, the few words that he might chance to exchange withher were pitched in a different key from that used with the others, suchas one drops into when greeting a relative or familiar friend met in athrong of strangers. Of course, all this had not come at once. It was in winter that theevents took place with which this narrative opened. Winter had meantimeglided into spring, and spring had become summer. In the early part ofJune a report that Arthur Burton and Maud Elliott were engaged obtainedcirculation, and, owing to the fact that he had so long been apparentlydevoted to her, was generally believed. Whenever Maud went out she metcongratulations on every side, and had to reply a dozen times a day thatthere was no truth in the story, and smilingly declare that she couldnot imagine how it started. After doing which, she would go home and cryall night, for Arthur was not only not engaged to her, but she had cometo know in her heart that he never would be. At first, and indeed for a long time, she was so proud of the frank andloyal friendship between them, such as she was sure had never beforeexisted between unplighted man and maid, that she would have beencontent to wait half her lifetime for him to learn to love her, if onlyshe were sure that he would at last. But, after all, it was the hope ofhis love, not his friendship, that had been the motive of her desperateventure. As month after month passed, and he showed no symptoms of anyfeeling warmer than esteem, but always in the midst of his cordialitywas so careful lest he should do or say anything to arouse unfoundedexpectations in her mind, she lost heart and felt that what she hadhoped was not to be. She said to herself that the very fact that he wasso much her friend should have warned her that he would never be herlover, for it is not often that lovers are made out of friends. It is always embarrassing for a young lady to have to deny a report ofher engagement, especially when it is a report she would willingly havetrue; but what made it particularly distressing for Maud that thisreport should have got about was her belief that it would be the meansof bringing to an end the relations between them. It would undoubtedlyremind Arthur, by showing how the public interpreted their friendship, that his own prospects in other quarters, and he might even thinkjustice to her future, demanded the discontinuance of attentions whichmust necessarily be misconstrued by the world. The public had been quiteright in assuming that it was time for them to be engaged. Such anintimacy as theirs between a young man and a young woman, unless it wereto end in an engagement, had no precedent and belonged to no knownsocial category. It was vain, in the long run, to try to livedifferently from other people. The pangs of an accusing conscience completed her wretchedness at thistime. The conventional proprieties are a law written on the hearts ofrefined, delicately nurtured girls; and though, in the desperation ofunreciprocated and jealous love, she had dared to violate them, not theless did they now thoroughly revenge themselves. If her revolt againstcustom had resulted happily, it is not indeed likely that she would everhave reproached herself very seriously; but now that it had issuedin failure, her self-confidence was gone and her conscience easilyconvicted her of sin. The outraged Proprieties, with awful spectaclesand minatory, reproachful gestures, crowded nightly around her bed, the Titanic shade of Mrs. Grundy looming above her satellite shams andfreezing her blood with a Gorgon gaze. The feeling that she had deservedall that was to come upon her deprived her of moral support. Arthur had never showed that he thought cheaply of her, but in his heartof hearts how could he help doing so? Compared with the othergirls, serene and unapproachable in their virgin pride, must she notnecessarily seem bold, coarse, and common? That he took care never tolet her see it only proved his kindness of heart. Her sense of thiskindness was more and more touched with abjectness. The pity of it was that she had come to love him so much more since shehad known him so well. It scarcely seemed to her now that she could havetruly cared for him at all in the old days, and she wondered, asshe looked back, that the shallow emotion she then experienced hademboldened her to do what she had done. Ah, why had she done it? Why hadshe not let him go his way? She might have suffered then, but not suchheart-breaking misery as was now in store for her. Some weeks passed with no marked change in their relations, except thata new and marked constraint which had come over Arthur's manner towardsher was additional evidence that the end was at hand. Would he thinkit better to say nothing, but merely come to see her less and lessfrequently and so desert her, without an explanation, which, after all, was needless? Or would he tell her how the matter stood and say good-by?She thought he would take the latter course, seeing that they had alwaysbeen so frank with each other. She tried to prepare herself for what sheknew was coming, and to get ready to bear it. The only result was thatshe grew sick with apprehension whenever he did not call, and was onlyat ease when he was with her, in the moment that he was saying good-bywithout having uttered the dreaded words. The end came during a call which he made on her in the last part ofJune. He appeared preoccupied and moody, and said scarcely anything. Several times she caught him furtively regarding her with a very strangeexpression. She tried to talk, but she could not alone keep up theconversation, and in time there came a silence. A hideous silence itwas to Maud, an abyss yawning to swallow up all that was left of herhappiness. She had no more power to speak, and when he spoke she knew itwould be to utter the words she had so long expected. Evidently it wasvery hard for him to bring himself to utter them, --almost as hard asit would be for her to hear them. He was very tender-hearted she hadlearned already. Even in that moment she was very sorry for him. It wasall her fault that he had to say this to her. Suddenly, just as she must have cried out, unable to bear the tensionof suspense any longer, he rose abruptly to his feet, uttering somethingabout going and an engagement which he had almost forgotten. Hastilywishing her good-evening, with hurried steps he half crossed the room, hesitated, stopped, looked back at her, seemed to waver a moment, andthen, as if moved by a sudden decision, returned to her and took hergently by the hand. Then she knew it was coming. For a long moment he stood looking at her. She knew just the pitifulnessthat was in his expression, but she could not raise her eyes to his. Shetried to summon her pride, her dignity, to her support. But she had nopride, no dignity, left. She had surrendered them long ago. "I have something to say to you, " he said, in a tone full of gentleness, just as she had known he would speak. "It is something I have put offsaying as long as possible, and perhaps you have already guessed what itis. " Maud felt the blood leaving her face; the room spun around; she wasafraid she should faint. It only remained that she should break down nowto complete her humiliation before him, and apparently she was going todo just that. "We have had a most delightful time the past year, " he went on; "thatis, at least I have. I don't believe the friendship of a girl was everso much to a man as yours has been to me. I doubt if there ever was justsuch a friendship as ours has been, anyway. I shall always look back onit as the rarest and most charming passage in my life. But I haveseen for some time that we could not go on much longer on the presentfooting, and tonight it has come over me that we can't go on evenanother day. Maud, I can't play at being friends with you one hour more. I love you. Do you care for me still? Will you be my wife?" When it is remembered that up to his last words she had been desperatelybracing herself against an announcement of a most opposite nature, itwill not seem strange that for a moment Maud had difficulty in realizingjust what had happened. She looked at him as if dazed, and with aninstinct of bewilderment drew back a little as he would have claspedher. "I thought, " she stammered--"I thought--I"-- He misconstrued her hesitation. His eyes darkened and his voice wassharpened with a sudden fear as he exclaimed, "I know it was a long timeago you told me that. Perhaps you don't feel the same way now. Don'ttell me, Maud, that you don't care for me any longer, now that I havelearned I can't do without you. " A look of wondering happiness, scarcely able even yet to believe in itsown reality, had succeeded the bewildered incredulity in her face. "O Arthur!" she cried. "Do you really mean it? Are you sure it is notout of pity that you say this? Do you love me after all? Would youreally like me a little to be your wife?" "If you are not my wife, I shall never have one, " he replied. "You havespoiled all other women for me. " Then she let him take her in his arms, and as his lips touched hersfor the first time he faintly wondered if it were possible he had everdreamed of any other woman but Maud Elliott as his wife. After she hadlaughed and cried awhile, she said: "How was it that you never let me see you cared for me? You never showedit. " "I tried not to, " he replied; "and I would not have shown it to-night, if I could have helped it. I tried to get away without betraying mysecret, but I could not. " Then he told her that when he found he hadfallen in love with her, he was almost angry with himself. He was soproud of their friendship that a mere love affair seemed cheap andcommon beside it. Any girl would do to fall in love with; but there wasnot, he was sure, another in America capable of bearing her part in sucha rare and delicate companionship as theirs. He was determined to keepup their noble game of friendship as long as might be. Afterward, during the evening, he boasted himself to her not a little ofthe self-control he had shown in hiding his passion so long, a feat themerit of which perhaps she did not adequately appreciate. "Many a time in the last month or two when you have been saying good-byto me of an evening, with your hand in mine, the temptation has beenalmost more than I could withstand to seize you in my arms. It was allthe harder, you see, because I fancied you would not be very angry ifI did. In fact, you once gave me to understand as much in prettyplain language, if I remember rightly. Possibly you may recall theconversation. You took the leading part in it, I believe. " Maud had bent her head so low that he could not see her face. It wasvery cruel in him, but he deliberately took her chin in his hands, andgently but firmly turned her face up to his. Then, as he kissed theshamed eyes and furiously blushing cheeks, he dropped the tone of banterand said, with moist eyes, in a voice of solemn tenderness:-- "My brave darling, with all my life I will thank you for the words youspoke that night. But for them I might have missed the wife God meantfor me. "