Part 37 (1/2)
Harry and Miss Delany accompanied Iola as far as her new home, and remained several days. The evening before their departure, Harry took Miss Delany a drive of several miles through the pine barrens.
”This thing is getting very monotonous,” Harry broke out, when they had gone some distance.
”Oh, I enjoy it!” replied Miss Delany. ”These stately pines look so grand and solemn, they remind me of a procession of hooded monks.”
”What in the world are you talking about, Lucille?” asked Harry, looking puzzled.
”About those pine-trees,” replied Miss Delany, in a tone of surprise.
”Pshaw, I wasn't thinking about them. I'm thinking about Iola and Frank.”
”What about them?” asked Lucille.
”Why, when I was in P----, Dr. Latimer used to be first-rate company, but now it is nothing but what Iola wants, and what Iola says, and what Iola likes. I don't believe that there is a subject I could name to him, from spinning a top to circ.u.mnavigating the globe, that he wouldn't somehow contrive to bring Iola in. And I don't believe you could talk ten minutes to Iola on any subject, from dressing a doll to the latest discovery in science, that she wouldn't manage to lug in Frank.”
”Oh, you absurd creature!” responded Lucille, ”this is their honeymoon, and they are deeply in love with each other. Wait till you get in love with some one.”
”I am in love now,” replied Harry, with a serious air.
”With whom?” asked Lucille, archly.
”With you,” answered Harry, trying to take her hand.
”Oh, Harry!” she exclaimed, playfully resisting. ”Don't be so nonsensical! Don't you think the bride looked lovely, with that dress of spotless white and with those orange blossoms in her hair?”
”Yes, she did; that's a fact,” responded Harry. ”But, Lucille, I think there is a great deal of misplaced sentiment at weddings,” he added, more seriously.
”How so?”
”Oh, here are a couple just married, and who are as happy as happy can be; and people will crowd around them wis.h.i.+ng much joy; but who thinks of wis.h.i.+ng joy to the forlorn old bachelors and restless old maids?”
”Well, Harry, if you want people to wish you much happiness, why don't you do as the doctor has done, get yourself a wife?”
”I will,” he replied, soberly, ”when you say so.”
”Oh, Harry, don't be so absurd.”
”Indeed there isn't a bit of absurdity about what I say. I am in earnest.” There was something in the expression of Harry's face and the tone of his voice which arrested the banter on Lucille's lips.
”I think it was Charles Lamb,” replied Lucille, ”who once said that school-teachers are uncomfortable people, and, Harry, I would not like to make you uncomfortable by marrying you.”
”You will make me uncomfortable by not marrying me.”
”But,” replied Lucille, ”your mother may not prefer me for a daughter.