Chapter 4 Novels 1871-1880 | ||
Chapter 4
Which of them is it?
asked Longueville of his friend, after they had
bidden good-night to the three ladies and to Captain Lovelock, who went
off to begin, as he said, the evening. They stood, when they had turned
away from the door of Mrs. Vivian's lodgings, in the little, rough-paved
German street.
Which of them is what?
Gordon asked, staring at his
companion.
Oh, come,
said Longueville, you are not going to
begin to play at modesty at this hour! Did n't you write to me that you
had been making violent love?
Violent? No.
The more shame to you! Has your love-making been
feeble?
His friend looked at him a moment rather soberly.
I suppose you thought it a queer document — that letter I wrote
you.
I thought it characteristic,
said Longueville smiling.
Is n't that the same thing?
Not in the least. I have never thought you a man of
oddities.
Gordon stood there looking at him with a serious eye, half
appealing, half questioning; but at these last words he glanced away. Even
a very modest man may wince a little at hearing himself denied the
distinction of a few variations from the common type. Longueville made
this reflection, and it struck him, also, that his companion was in a graver
mood than he had expected; though why, after all, should he have been in
a state of exhilaration? Your letter was a very natural, interesting
one,
Bernard added.
Well, you see,
said Gordon, facing his companion
again, I have been a good deal preoccupied.
Obviously, my dear fellow!
I want very much to marry.
It 's a capital idea,
said Longueville.
I think almost as well of it,
his friend declared,
as if I had invented it. It has struck me for the first time.
These words were uttered with a mild simplicity which provoked Longueville to violent laughter.
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My dear fellow,
he exclaimed, you have, after
all, your little oddities.
Singularly enough, however, Gordon Wright failed to appear flattered by this concession.
I did n't send for you to laugh at me,
he said.
Ah, but I have n't travelled three hundred miles to cry!
Seriously, solemnly, then, it is one of these young ladies that has put
marriage into your head?
Not at all. I had it in my head.
Having a desire to marry, you proceeded to fall in
love.
I am not in love!
said Gordon Wright, with some
energy.
Ah, then, my dear fellow, why did you send for me?
Wright looked at him an instant in silence.
Because I thought you were a good fellow, as well as a clever
one.
A good fellow!
repeated Longueville. I don't
understand your confounded scientific nomenclature. But excuse me; I
won't laugh. I am not a clever fellow; but I am a good one.
He
paused a moment, and then laid his hand on his companion's shoulder.
My dear Gordon, it 's no use; you are in love.
Well, I don't want to be,
said Wright.
Heavens, what a horrible sentiment!
I want to marry with my eyes open. I want to know my wife.
You don't know people when you are in love with them. Your
impressions are colored.
They are supposed to be, slightly. And you object to
color?
Well, as I say, I want to know the woman I marry, as I
should know any one else. I want to see her as clearly.
Depend upon it, you have too great an appetite for knowledge;
you set too high an esteem upon the dry light of science.
Ah!
said Gordon promptly; of course I want to be
fond of her.
Bernard, in spite of his protest, began to laugh again.
My dear Gordon, you are better than your theories. Your
passionate heart contradicts your frigid intellect. I repeat it — you are in
love.
Please don't repeat it again,
said Wright.
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Bernard took his arm, and they walked along.
What shall I call it, then? You are engaged in making studies
for matrimony.
I don't in the least object to your calling it that. My studies
are of extreme interest.
And one of those young ladies is the fair volume that contains
the precious lesson,
said Longueville. Or perhaps your
text-book is in two volumes?
No; there is one of them I am not studying at all. I never
could do two things at once.
That proves you are in love. One can't be in love with two
women at once, but one may perfectly have two of them — or as many as
you please — up for a competitive examination. However, as I asked you
before, which of these young ladies is it that you have selected?
Gordon Wright stopped abruptly, eying his friend.
Which should you say?
Ah, that 's not a fair question,
Bernard urged. It
would be invidious for me to name one rather than the other, and if I were
to mention the wrong one, I should feel as if I had been guilty of a
rudeness towards the other. Don't you see?
Gordon saw, perhaps, but he held to his idea of making his companion commit himself.
Never mind the rudeness. I will do the same by you some
day, to make it up. Which of them should you think me likely to have
taken a fancy to? On general grounds, now, from what you know of
me?
He proposed this problem with an animated eye.
You forget,
his friend said, that though I know,
thank heaven, a good deal of you, I know very little of either of those
girls. I have had too little evidence.
Yes, but you are a man who notices. That 's why I wanted
you to come.
I spoke only to Miss Evers.
Yes, I know you have never spoken to Miss Vivian.
Gordon Wright stood looking at Bernard and urging his point as he
pronounced these words. Bernard felt peculiarly conscious of his gaze.
The words represented an illusion, and Longueville asked himself quickly
whether it were not his duty to dispel it. The answer came more slowly
than the question, but
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honor
thrusting
in its nose. Miss Vivian, in her own good time, would doubtless mention
to Gordon the little incident of Siena. It was Bernard's fancy, for a
moment, that he already knew it, and that the remark he had just uttered
had an ironical accent; but this impression was completely dissipated by
the tone in which he added — All the same, you noticed her.
Oh, yes; she is very noticeable.
Well, then,
said Gordon, you will see. I should
like you to make it out. Of course, if I am really giving my attention to
one to the exclusion of the other, it will be easy to discover.
Longueville was half amused, half irritated by his friend's own relish of his little puzzle.
`The exclusion of the other' has an
awkward sound,
he answered, as they walked on. Am I to
notice that you are very rude to one of the young ladies?
Oh dear, no. Do you think there is a danger of that?
Well,
said Longueville, I have already
guessed.
Gordon Wright remonstrated.
Don't guess yet — wait a few
days. I won't tell you now.
Let us see if he does n't tell me,
said Bernard,
privately. And he meditated a moment. When I presented myself,
you were sitting very close to Miss Evers and talking very earnestly. Your
head was bent toward her — it was very lover-like. Decidedly, Miss Evers
is the object!
For a single instant Gordon Wright hesitated, and then —
I hope
I have n't seemed rude to Miss Vivian!
he exclaimed.
Bernard broke into a light laugh.
My dear Gordon, you are
very much in love!
he remarked, as they arrived at their hotel.
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Chapter 4 Novels 1871-1880 | ||