37. CHAPTER XXXVII.
THAT Chairman was nowhere in sight. Such disappointments
seldom occur in novels, but are always happening
in real life.
She was obliged to make a new plan. She sent him a
note, and asked him to call in the evening—which he did.
She received the Hon. Mr. Buckstone with a sunny smile,
and said:
“I don't know how I ever dared to send you a note, Mr.
Buckstone, for you have the reputation of not being very
partial to our sex.”
“Why I am sure my reputation does me wrong, then,
Miss Hawkins. I have been married once—is that nothing
in my favor?”
“Oh, yes—that is, it may be and it may not be. If you
have known what perfection is in woman, it is fair to argue
that inferiority cannot interest you now.”
“Even if that were the case it could not affect you, Miss
Hawkins,” said the chairman gallantly. “Fame does not
place you in the list of ladies who rank below perfection.”
This happy speech delighted Mr. Buckstone as much as it
seemed to delight Laura. But it did not confuse him as
much as it apparently did her.
“I wish in all sincerity that I could be worthy of such a
felicitous compliment as that. But I am a woman, and so I
am gratified for it just as it is, and would not have it altered.”
“But it is not merely a compliment—that is, an empty
compliment—it is the truth. All men will endorse that.”
Laura looked pleased, and said:
“It is very kind of you to say it. It is a distinction indeed,
for a country-bred girl like me to be so spoken of by people
of brains and culture. You are so kind that I know you
will pardon my putting you to the trouble to come this evening.”
“Indeed it was no trouble. It was a pleasure. I am
alone in the world since I lost my wife, and I often long for
the society of your sex, Miss Hawkins, notwithstanding what
people may say to the contrary.”
“It is pleasant to hear you say that. I am sure it must be
so. If I feel lonely at times, because of my exile from old
friends, although surrounded by new ones who are already
very dear to me, how much more lonely must you feel, bereft
as you are, and with no wholesome relief from the cares of
state that weigh you down. For your own sake, as well as
for the sake of others, you ought to go into society oftener.
I seldom see you at a reception, and when I do you do not
usually give me very much of your attention.”
“I never imagined that you wished it or I would have
been very glad to make myself happy in that way.—But one
seldom gets an opportunity to say more than a sentence to
you in a place like that. You are always the centre of a
group—a fact which you may have noticed yourself. But if
one might come here—”
“Indeed you would always find a hearty welcome, Mr.
Buckstone. I have often wished you would come and tell me
[ILLUSTRATION]
PLAYING TO WIN.
[Description: 499EAF. Page 337. In-line image of a man and a woman sitting
together on a couch.]
more about Cairo and the Pyramids, as you once promised
me you would.”
“Why, do you remember that yet, Miss Hawkins? I
thought ladies' memories were more fickle than that.”
“Oh, they are not so fickle as gentlemen's promises. And
besides, if I had been inclined to forget, I—did you not give
me something by way of a remembrancer?”
“Did I?”
“Think.”
“It does seem to me that I did; but I have forgotten what
it was now.”
“Never, never call a lady's memory fickle again! Do you
recognize this?”
“A little spray of box! I am beaten—I surrender. But
have you kept that all this time?”
Laura's confusion was very pretty. She tried to hide it,
but the more she tried the more manifest it became and withal
the more captivating to look upon. Presently she threw the
spray of box from her with an annoyed air, and said:
“I forgot myself. I have been very foolish. I beg that
you will forget this absurd thing.”
Mr. Buckstone picked up the spray, and sitting down by
Laura's side on the sofa, said:
“Please let me keep it, Miss Hawkins. I set a very high
value upon it now.”
“Give it to me, Mr. Buckstone, and do not speak so. I
have been sufficiently punished for my thoughtlessness. You
cannot take pleasure in adding to my distress. Please give
it to me.”
“Indeed I do not wish to distress you. But do not consider
the matter so gravely; you have done yourself no wrong.
You probably forgot that you had it; but if you had given it
to me I would have kept it—and not forgotten it.”
“Do not talk so, Mr. Buckstone. Give it to me, please,
and forget the matter.”
“It would not be kind to refuse, since it troubles you so,
and so I restore it. But if you would give me part of it and
keep the rest—”
“So that you might have something to remind you of me
when you wished to laugh at my foolishness?”
“Oh, by no means, no! Simply that I might remember
that I had once assisted to discomfort you, and be reminded
to do so no more.”
Laura looked up, and scanned his face a moment. She
was about to break the twig, but she hesitated and said:
“If I were sure that you—”She threw the spray away,
and continued: “This is silly! We will change the subject.
No, do not insist—I must have my way in this.”
Then Mr. Buckstone drew off his forces and proceeded to
make a wily advance upon the fortress under cover of carefully-contrived
artifices and stratagems of war. But he contended
with an alert and suspicious enemy; and so at the
end of two hours it was manifest to him that he had made
but little progress. Still, he had made some; he was sure
of that.
Laura sat alone and communed with herself;
“He is fairly hooked, poor thing. I can play him at my
leisure and land him when I choose. He was all ready to
be caught, days and days ago—I saw that, very well. He
will vote for our bill—no fear about that; and moreover he
will work for it, too, before I am done with him. If he
had a woman's eyes he would have noticed that the spray of
box had grown three inches since he first gave it to me, but
a man never sees anything and never suspects. If I had
shown him a whole bush he would have thought it was the
same. Well, it is a good night's work: the committee is safe.
But this is a desperate game I am playing in these days—a
wearing, sordid, heartless game. If I lose, I lose everything
—even myself. And if I win the game, will it be worth its
cost after all? I do not know. Sometimes I doubt. Sometimes
I half wish I had not begun. But no matter; I
have
begun, and I will never turn back; never while I live.”
Mr. Buckstone indulged in a reverie as he walked homeward:
“She is shrewd and deep, and plays her eards with considerable
discretion—but she will lose, for all that. There is no
hurry; I shall come out winner, all in good time. She is
the most beautiful woman in the world; and she surpassed
herself to-night. I suppose I must vote for that bill, in the
end maybe; but that is not a matter of much consequence—
the government can stand it. She is bent on capturing me,
that is plain; but she will find by and by that what she took
for a sleeping garrison was an ambuscade.”
