64. CHAPTER LXIV.
AN EXPERIENCE.
“I came back to Huntsdon,” continued Harley, “with the conviction
that no man as happy as myself had ever before breathed the
breath of life. Love is, after all, the supreme joy of existence.
What is like it? We do not live, I think, before we love.
“I am moralizing, you see, St. Leger; the truth is, I am trying to
delay my statement of the events which followed my betrothal to
Miss Chandos. The marriage was to take place in six months.
I was to return twice in every month. The distance was considerable,
and proper attention to my affairs would not permit me to
visit the young lady more frequently. I acquiesced rather unwillingly
in so unnatural an arrangement, summoned all my resolution
to my aid, and stayed away the entire first fortnight nearly. Hour
after hour, however, fourteen days after leaving the young lady, I
was with her again, at the house of her old guardian.
“When I entered the room, I saw that the young lady had a
visitor. His back was turned to me, but he looked toward the door
as I came in, and I recognized Gontran.
“I afterwards ascertained that he had made her acquaintance in
a very simple manner. A bachelor friend of his in the neighborhood
had taken the fancy to marry, had known Gontran at college,
and, casting about him for groomsmen, had called upon Gontran;
he had complied with the request, came, was assigned as groomsman
to Miss Chandos,—a friend of the bride—hence their acquaintance.
“When I came into the room, Gontran looked at me in a manner
which I did not exactly like, but I was much too happy to resent
imaginary insults, and held out my hand. To my surprise, he did
not take it, pretending not to see it. I think I must have greeted
this proceeding with some hauteur. I was a very proud person in
those days, and offered no further courtesies, except to say in a stiff
way that I hoped Mr. Gontran was well. To this speech he replied
in a negligent manner that he was perfectly well; and then he went
on conversing with the young lady, who, to my great astonishment,
bestowed upon him, even in my presence, evidences of the greatest
enjoyment of his society.
“Gontran stayed all day, scarcely taking the least notice of me.
He was several years older than myself, had the air of considering
this difference of age greater than it was, and, in a word, treated me
as a grown man treats a boy—with a manner indicating a consciousness
of superiority, almost of authority.
“This, I confess, made me a little angry. Once or twice I nearly
made up my mind to take him aside, and ask him if he intended
his manner to be offensive to me, but he gave me no opportunity,
remained at the young lady's side all day, and then took his departure,
laughing in his disagreeable way, and not so much as looking
at me. You see, my dear St. Leger, I am going steadily through all
the details of what is an old, commonplace, worn-out story, such as
the romance-writers, when they aim to describe human life, naturally
invent and put in their books. I was in love with a young
lady, and engaged to be married to her, and at this interesting
moment lover number 2 appears, turns his back on myself, (lover
number 1,) diverts the young lady's attention from myself, amuses
her, flatters her, looks tenderly at her, and goes away, leaving me
in a pet—not to say angry.
“I ended by becoming angry, and this had the result which any
one experienced in feminine human nature might have predicted.
`It was very hard,' my young lady friend said, pouting, `that she
was not to look at any other gentleman. Was I an ogre? Would
I eat her when we were married? Mr. Gontran had certainly done
nothing at which I had the right to take offence.' And tears followed
the pouting; pathos succeeded indignation—a tender scene,
abject apologies from myself for my unreasonable and absurd dissatisfaction
with the proceedings of such an angel—and so sunshine
blotted out the black clouds, and summer weather came back.
When, after my visit of two days, during which Gontran did not
again make his appearance, I set out to return to Huntsdon, my
mind was perfectly at ease, and I had not a doubt, a fear, or even
any feeling of disquiet.
“I went again at the end of the month, and was received with
the fondest affection. Gontran was not visible; and it was only by
accident that I heard from an old negro groom, my personal friend,
as he rubbed down my horse one morning, that Mr. Gontran had
been twice to see the young lady during my absence. This, I confess,
was far from agreeable intelligence, and my first impulse was
to go and ask the lady if she had received visits from Mr. Gontran,
and if so, why she had not mentioned the fact. I felt, however,
that I was angry, might use some expression or indicate some
suspicion which would not please my lady friend, and I refrained.
It was only when I was about to leave her again, and she seemed
to have no feeling but one of the saddest regret at my going, that I
asked her, with a forced smile, why she had not spoken of Mr. Gontran's
visits. She colored deeply, and her voice altered, as she replied:
`Mr. Gontran? His visits? She had quite forgotten them.
Yes, he certainly had been to see her. Several other gentlemen
had called. Had she mentioned
them? Well, it was possible that
she had done so, omitting Mr. Gontran's among the number. Of
course, it was the merest accident. What did I mean? Was I jealous
of Mr. Gontran?'
“A light laugh accompanied the question. She added that I was
`a goose—the very biggest goose she had ever known. I really
must learn to be less suspicious. There was nothing that alienated
love like jealousy,' with which consolation, and the sound of her
light laugh in my ears, I rode away.
“My dear St. Leger,” Harley went on, after stopping a moment,
“do you think that I derive any pleasure from telling you this story,
from venting my spite on women, and indulging my bitterness?
I assure you, if you think that, you are mistaken. Instead of
taking pleasure in my narrative, I shrink from it. I prove that to
you by abridging it as far as I can. I have aimed so far to show
you how the connection between Gontran and the young lady
began, continued, and gradually assumed a more serious character.
When a lady conceals from her affianced lover the visits of another
person, there is something more than the simple visits that she conceals.
Is it necessary to say that? Concealment of anything is a
wrong to love, for suspicion follows; and suspicion of one you love
has in it the bitterness of death.
“Instead of prosing on, and giving you every detail, I shall proceed
to the result, and that as rapidly as possible. The visits of
Gontran continued, as I ascertained, but always in my absence; and
when the young lady paid a visit to a friend in the neighborhood,
he was with her every day, and all day, as I was duly informed by
one of those excellent people living in all communities, who see,
hear, and report whatever causes pain. I had a more disagreeable
scene than the first with the young lady, which resulted in an open
quarrel, nearly; but a flood of tears followed, then protestations of
devotion. All was forgotten. She trembled a little, and did not
seem able to meet my eye; but she fixed the day for our marriage.
“I was punctual, I need scarcely tell you. My poor horse must
have wondered on that journey why he was so punished with the
spur. I arrived, and my friend (the old guardian) met me at the
door, and informed me that Miss Chandos had on that morning
eloped with Gontran!”
