Part 95 (2/2)
”And are we not to be friends?”
”I only say that I made no particular promise. Of course we are friends. We have always been friends.”
”What would you say if you heard that I had resigned my office and given up my seat?” he asked. Of course she expressed her surprise, almost her horror, at such an idea, and then he told her everything.
It took long in the telling, because it was necessary that he should explain to her the working of the system which made it impossible for him, as a member of the Government, to entertain an opinion of his own.
”And do you mean that you would lose your salary?” she asked.
”Certainly I should.”
”Would not that be very dreadful?”
He laughed as he acknowledged that it would be dreadful. ”It is very dreadful, Mary, to have nothing to eat and drink. But what is a man to do? Would you recommend me to say that black is white?”
”I am sure you will never do that.”
”You see, Mary, it is very nice to be called by a big name and to have a salary, and it is very comfortable to be envied by one's friends and enemies;--but there are drawbacks. There is this especial drawback.” Then he paused for a moment before he went on.
”What especial drawback, Phineas?”
”A man cannot do what he pleases with himself. How can a man marry, so circ.u.mstanced as I am?”
She hesitated for a moment, and then she answered him,--”A man may be very happy without marrying, I suppose.”
He also paused for many moments before he spoke again, and she then made a faint attempt to escape from him. But before she succeeded he had asked her a question which arrested her. ”I wonder whether you would listen to me if I were to tell you a history?” Of course she listened, and the history he told her was the tale of his love for Violet Effingham.
”And she has money of her own?” Mary asked.
”Yes;--she is rich. She has a large fortune.”
”Then, Mr. Finn, you must seek some one else who is equally blessed.”
”Mary, that is untrue,--that is ill-natured. You do not mean that.
Say that you do not mean it. You have not believed that I loved Miss Effingham because she was rich.”
”But you have told me that you could love no one who is not rich.”
”I have said nothing of the kind. Love is involuntary. It does not often run in a yoke with prudence. I have told you my history as far as it is concerned with Violet Effingham. I did love her very dearly.”
”Did love her, Mr. Finn?”
”Yes;--did love her. Is there any inconstancy in ceasing to love when one is not loved? Is there inconstancy in changing one's love, and in loving again?”
”I do not know,” said Mary, to whom the occasion was becoming so embarra.s.sing that she no longer was able to reply with words that had a meaning in them.
”If there be, dear, I am inconstant.” He paused, but of course she had not a syllable to say. ”I have changed my love. But I could not speak of a new pa.s.sion till I had told the story of that which has pa.s.sed away. You have heard it all now, Mary. Can you try to love me, after that?” It had come at last,--the thing for which she had been ever wis.h.i.+ng. It had come in spite of her imprudence, and in spite of her prudence. When she had heard him to the end she was not a whit angry with him,--she was not in the least aggrieved,--because he had been lost to her in his love for this Miss Effingham, while she had been so nearly lost by her love for him. For women such episodes in the lives of their lovers have an excitement which is almost pleasurable, whereas each man is anxious to hear his lady swear that until he appeared upon the scene her heart had been fancy free. Mary, upon the whole, had liked the story,--had thought that it had been finely told, and was well pleased with the final catastrophe. But, nevertheless, she was not prepared with her reply. ”Have you no answer to give me, Mary?” he said, looking up into her eyes. I am afraid that he did not doubt what would be her answer,--as it would be good that all lovers should do. ”You must vouchsafe me some word, Mary.”
When she essayed to speak she found that she was dumb. She could not get her voice to give her the a.s.sistance of a single word. She did not cry, but there was a motion as of sobbing in her throat which impeded all utterance. She was as happy as earth,--as heaven could make her; but she did not know how to tell him that she was happy.
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