Part 9 (1/2)
”No, Mr. Atwood,” she answered gravely, ”you do not understand me.
Experience has made me immeasurably older than you are.”
”Very possibly,” he admitted, with a short, embarra.s.sed laugh. ”My former self-a.s.surance and complacency are all gone.”
”Self-reliance and self-restraint are better than self-a.s.surance,”
she remarked with a smile.
”Miss Jocelyn,” he began, with something like impetuosity, ”I would give all the world if I could become your friend. You could do so much for me.”
”Mr. Atwood,” said Mildred, with a laugh that was mixed with annoyance, ”you are imposed upon by your fancy, and are imagining absurd things, I fear. But you are good-hearted and I shall be a little frank with you. We are in trouble. Business reverses have overtaken my father, and we are poor, and may be much poorer. I may be a working-woman the rest of my days; so, for Heaven's sake, do not make a heroine out of me. That would be too cruel a satire on my prosaic lot.”
”You do not understand me at all, and perhaps I scarcely understand myself. If you think my head is filled with sentimental nonsense, time will prove you mistaken. I have a will of my own, I can a.s.sure you, and a way of seeing what is to be seen. I have seen a great deal since I've known you. A new and larger world has been revealed to me, and I mean to do something in it worthy of a man. I can never go on with my old life, and I will not,” he continued, almost pa.s.sionately. ”I was an animal. I was a conceited fool. I'm very crude and unformed now, and may seem to you very ridiculous; but crudity is not absurdity, undeveloped strength is not weakness. An awakening mind may be very awkward, but give me time and you will not be ashamed of my friends.h.i.+p.”
He had ceased leaning against a tree that grew near the roadway, and at some distance from the house. In his strong feeling he forgot his embarra.s.sment, and a.s.sumed an att.i.tude so full of unconscious power that he inspired a dawning of respect; for, while he seemed a little beside himself, there was a method in his madness which suggested that she, as well as the young man, might eventually discover that he was not of common clay and predestined to be commonplace.
But she said, in all sincerity, ”Mr. Atwood, I'm sure I wish you twice the success you crave in life, and I've no reason to think you overrate your power to achieve it; but you greatly overrate me.
It would be no condescension on my part to give you my friends.h.i.+p; and no doubt if you attain much of the success you covet you will be ready enough to forget my existence. What induces you to think that a simple girl like me can help you? It seems to me that you are vague and visionary, which perhaps is natural, since you say you are just awaking,” she concluded, with a little smiling sarcasm.
”You are unjust both to yourself and to me,” he replied firmly, ”and I think I can prove it. If I shall ever have any power in the world it will be in seeing clearly what is before me. I have seldom been away from this country town, and yet as soon as I saw you with a mind free from prejudice I recognized your superiority.
I brought the belle of Forestville and placed her by your side, and I could think of nothing but brazen instruments until I left her loudness at her father's door. I would not go near her again if there were not another woman in the world. I saw at a glance that she was earthenware beside you.”
Mildred now could not forbear laughing openly. ”If you lose your illusions so rapidly,” she said, ”my turn will come soon, and I shall be china beside some fine specimen of majolica.”
”You may laugh at me, but you will one day find I am sincere, and not altogether a fool.”
”Oh, I'm ready to admit that, even now. But you are altogether mistaken in thinking I can help you. Indeed I scarcely see how I can help myself. It is a very poor proof of your keen discernment to a.s.sociate me with your kindling ambition.”
”Then why had you the power to kindle it? Why do I think my best thoughts in your presence? Why do I speak to you now as I never dreamed I could speak? You are giving purpose and direction to my life, whether you wish it or not, whether you care or not. You may always be indifferent to the fact, still it was your hand that wakened me. I admit I'm rather dazed as yet. You may think I'm talking to you with the frankness--perhaps the rashness--of a boy, since you are 'immeasurably older,' but the time is not very distant when I shall take my course with the strength and resolution of a man.”
”I should be sorry to be the very innocent cause of leading you into th.o.r.n.y paths. I truly think you will find more happiness here in your quiet country life.”
His only answer was an impatient gesture.
”Perhaps,” she resumed, ”if you knew more of the world you would fear it more. I'm sure I fear it, and with good reason.”
”I do not fear the world at all,” he replied. ”I would fear to lose your esteem and respect far more, and, distant as you are from me, I shall yet win them both.”
”Mr. Atwood, I suppose I have as much vanity as most girls, but you make me blush. You are indeed dazed, for you appear to take me for a melodramatic heroine.”
”Pardon me, I do not. I've been to the theatre occasionally, but you are not at all theatrical. You are not like the heroines of the novels I've read, and I suppose I've read too many of them.”
”I fear you have,” she remarked dryly. ”Pray, then, What am I like?”
”And I may seem to you a hero of the dime style; but wait, don't decide yet. What are you like? You are gentle, like your mother.
You are exceedingly fond of all that's pretty and refined, so much so that you tried to introduce a little grace into our meagre, angular farmhouse life--”
”Thanks for your aid,” interrupted Mildred, laughing. ”I must admit that you have good eyes.”
”You shrink,” he resumed, ”from all that's ugly, vulgar, or coa.r.s.e in life. You are an unhappy exile in our plain home.”