Part 15 (1/2)

”If you call either you are no friend of mine,” said Lottie, springing to the door, locking it, and taking the key.

”Why, Lottie, I don't understand--”

”There is no need that you should. Nothing is the matter--only I'm blue--I've been thinking of awful things. I was in one of my moods this afternoon, now I'm in one of my tenses.”

”Unusually intense, I should think. I have not seen you so moved since Tom Wellesly threatened to blow out his brains for you.”

”He hadn't any to blow out,” snapped Lottie, ”or he wouldn't have thought of doing it for such a girl as I am.”

”Well,” sighed Bel, who at times was one of Job's comforters, ”I've heard he has never been the same since.”

”I hope he has been wiser, then. How can men be such stupid owls as to fall in love with me! Can't they see I'm a wicked little heathen?”

”That is just the kind men like,” sneered Bel, misanthropically.

”You expect to captivate (and of course you will) this sincere and saintly young minister. He already thinks that you are by far the best of our party, and has some of the first symptoms that your victims usually manifest.”

Lottie sprang up, dashed away her tears, and commenced restlessly pacing the room.

”Bother on the men,” she exclaimed. ”Why will they be so silly!

The world's a perfect jumble, and we are all lunatics and fools, crying for what is not good for us, and turning our backs upon what is. I'm disgusted with everybody, and myself in particular.

Now if this overgrown student makes a fool of himself, like the others, I shall lose faith in mankind, and I know there is nothing to hope from woman-kind.”

”I should think you were having a mood and a tense at the same time this evening,” said Bel, looking with some surprise at her friend.

”What has stirred you up so? Have you and Julian had a quarrel?”

”We shall have plenty more, I foresee,” said Lottie, seizing on the suggestion to hide the truth. Bel smiled satirically. All these harsh words were but the harmless lightnings of a summer gust that was pa.s.sing away.

”It's only a lovers' tiff,” she thought, ”and now the billing and cooing are to come.”

”O, well,” said Bel, soothingly, ”you and Julian will soon make up, and then you and all the world will change for the better.”

”We have made up,” said Lottie faintly, finding, like many another sinner in this line, that the first fib requires the second to cover it up.

”Well, well; get over your mood quickly, for the supper-bell will ring in a moment, and you are not ready to come down.”

What emergency of life can obliterate from the mind of a pretty woman the necessity of a toilet? To Bel, Lottie seemed to come to her senses at once as she sped to her bureau and commenced brus.h.i.+ng her rumpled hair. But the languid maiden was quite startled as Lottie wheeled suddenly upon her, declaring, while she brandished the hair-brush in the most tragic and impressive manner, ”If that Hemstead makes a fool of himself he may, but he shall do it with his eyes open; I will not deceive him any more.”

Thus conscience, that had been skirmis.h.i.+ng all day, appeared to gain one point of advantage, and Lottie, having made this virtuous resolve, gained in mental serenity, while the mirror that reflected her fair face helped to bring back her complacency.

”Bel,” said Lottie, as they were leaving their room, ”not a whisper of all this to any one, as you value my friends.h.i.+p.”

But before they reached the supper-room her resolution failed, as is often the case when one acts from impulse rather than principle.

She found that she could not so lightly throw away Hemstead's good opinion. She had been admired, loved, and flattered to her heart's content, but the respect, esteem, and trust of a sincere, true man formed a new offering, and it was so attractive that she could not bring herself to turn from it at once. Then her strong pride cast its weight into the scale, and she thought: ”He talks to me and treats me as if I were a woman of heart and mind, and I'm going down to show him I'm a wicked fool. I shall not do it, at least not now. Little fear but that the disagreeable truth will come out soon enough.”

”But it is wrong to deceive him,” whispered conscience.

”Suppose it is,” answered the wayward will, ”I am all wrong myself and always have been.”

”You promised to show him your real self,” still urged conscience.

”Well, I will, some other time.”