Part 90 (1/2)

”Only the lady of my dreams,” he answered. ”There was no _other_ lady I should have looked at in the place. I was always refined. I met the lady of my dreams eventually. It was among the mountains of the Tyrol.

Imagine a lordly castle, with drawbridge and moat, portcullis and pleasaunce, and sauntering in the pleasaunce, among the flowers, a lady--dressed in white----”

”Samite?” Beth ventured, controlling her countenance.

”I cannot recall the texture,” he said seriously. ”How could one think of textures at such a moment! That would have been too commercial! All I noted was the lily whiteness--and her eyes, dark eyes! All the poetry and pa.s.sion of her race shone in them. And on the spot I vowed to win her. I went back to the 'Varsity, and worked myself into the best set. Lord Fitzkillingham became, as you know, my most intimate friend. He was my best man at the wedding.”

”Then you married your ideal,” said Beth. ”You should be very happy.”

He sighed. ”I would not say a word against her for the world,” he a.s.serted. ”When I compare her with other women, I see what a lucky man I must be thought. But,” he sighed again, ”I was very young, and youth has its illusions. As we grow older, mere beauty does not satisfy, mere cleverness and accomplishments do not satisfy, nor wealth, nor rank. A man may have all that, and yet may yearn for a certain something which is not there--and that something is the one thing needful.”

They were opposite to the house by this time, and he looked up at the windows sentimentally. ”Which is yours?” he asked. ”I pa.s.s by daily and look up.”

They had stopped at the door. ”I cannot ask you in,” Beth said hastily. ”Please excuse me. This is my time for work.”

”Ah, the time and the mood!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. ”I know it all so well!

Inspiration! Inspiration comes of congenial conversation, as I hope you will find. You will take my flowers. I cannot claim to have culled them for you, but at least I chose them.”

As the door had been opened, and the footman in the hall stood looking on, Beth thought it better to take the flowers in a casual way as if they belonged to her. A card tied to the bouquet by a purple ribbon fell out from among the flowers as she took them. On it was written: ”Mrs. Merton Merivale.” Beth held the flowers out to Mr. Pounce, with the card dangling, and raised her eyebrows interrogatively.

”Ah, yes,” he began slowly, detaching the card as he spoke to gain time, and changing countenance somewhat. ”I confess some one else had had the good taste to choose these orchids before I saw them; but I always insist on having just what _I_ want, so I took them, and suggested that another bouquet might be made for the lady. I overlooked the card.”

Beth bowed and left him without further ceremony.

She tossed the flowers under the table in the hall on her way upstairs, and never knew what became of them. Later in the day she described her morning's adventure to Angelica, and asked her if she knew who Mrs. Merton Merivale was.

”Oh, that woman in the princess bonnet with the big Alsatian bow, you know,” Angelica said. ”Mr. Alfred Cayley Pounce's sometime intellectual affinity.”

”Poor Alfred! he is too crude!” Beth e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. ”How I have outgrown him!”

Ideala called next day, and found Angelica alone. ”I hear that Beth is with you?” she said. ”What is she doing?”

”Writing a book.”

”What kind of a book?”

”Not a book for babes, I should say,” said Angelica. ”She does not pretend to consider the young person in the least. It is for parents and guardians, she says, not for authors, to see to it that the books the young person reads are suitable to her age. She thinks it very desirable for her only to read such as are; but personally she does not see the sense of writing down to her, or of being at all cramped on her account. She means to address mature men and women.”

”That is brave and good,” said Ideala. ”What is the subject?”

”I don't know,” said Angelica; ”but she is certain to put some of herself into it.”

”If by that you mean some of her personal experiences, I should think you are wrong,” said Ideala. ”Genius experiences too acutely to make use of its own past in that way; it would suffer too much in the reproduction. And besides, it can make better use and more telling of what it intuitively knows than of what it has actually seen.”

”I do not think you believe that Beth will succeed,” said Angelica.

”On the contrary,” Ideala rejoined, ”I expect her success will be unique; only I don't know if it will be a literary success. Genius is versatile. But we shall see.”

Having finished her book, Beth collected her friends and read it aloud to them. ”I don't know what to think of it,” she said. ”Advise me. Is it worth publis.h.i.+ng, or had I better put it aside and try again?”