ST. Ives

Page 124

I owe you so much for your kindness to the prisoner Champdivers.'

'Meaning that the lady's affections are more advantageously disposed of?' he asked, with a sneer. 'Thank you, I am sure. And, since you have given me a lead, just hear a word of good advice in your turn. Is it fair, is it delicate, is it like a gentleman, to compromise the young lady by attentions which (as you know very well) can come to nothing?'

I was utterly unable to find words in answer.

'Excuse me if I cut this interview short,' he went on. 'It seems to me doomed to come to nothing, and there is more attractive metal.'

'Yes,' I replied, 'as you say, it cannot amount to much. You are impotent, bound hand and foot in honour. You know me to be a man falsely accused, and even if you did not know it, from your position as my rival you have only the choice to stand quite still or to be infamous.'

'I would not say that,' he returned, with another change of colour. 'I may hear it once too often.'

With which he moved off straight for where Flora was sitting amidst her court of vapid youths, and I had no choice but to follow him, a bad second, and reading myself, as I went, a sharp lesson on the command of temper.

It is a strange thing how young men in their teens go down at the mere wind of the coming of men of twenty-five and upwards! The vapid ones fled without thought of resistance before the Major and me; a few dallied awhile in the neighbourhood--so to speak, with their fingers in their mouths--but presently these also followed the rout, and we remained face to face before Flora. There was a draught in that corner by the door; she had thrown her pelisse over her bare arms and neck, and the dark fur of the trimming set them off. She shone by contrast; the light played on her smooth skin to admiration, and the colour changed in her excited face. For the least fraction of a second she looked from one to the other of her pair of rival swains, and seemed to hesitate. Then she addressed Chevenix:-

'You are coming to the Assembly, of course, Major Chevenix?' said she.

'I fear not; I fear I shall be otherwise engaged,' he replied. 'Even the pleasure of dancing with you, Miss Flora, must give way to duty.'

For awhile the talk ran harmlessly on the weather, and then branched off towards the war. It seemed to be by no one's fault; it was in the air, and had to come.

'Good news from the scene of operations,' said the Major.

'Good news while it lasts,' I said. 'But will Miss Gilchrist tell us her private thought upon the war? In her admiration for the victors, does not there mingle some pity for the vanquished?'

'Indeed, sir,' she said, with animation, 'only too much of it! War is a subject that I do not think should be talked of to a girl. I am, I have to be--what do you call it?--a non-combatant? And to remind me of what others have to do and suffer: no, it is not fair!'

'Miss Gilchrist has the tender female heart,' said Chevenix.

'Do not be too sure of that!' she cried. 'I would love to be allowed to fight myself!'

'On which side?' I asked.

'Can you ask?' she exclaimed. 'I am a Scottish girl!'

'She is a Scottish girl!' repeated the Major, looking at me. 'And no one grudges you her pity!'

'And I glory in every grain of it she has to spare,' said I. 'Pity is akin to love.'

'Well, and let us put that question to Miss Gilchrist. It is for her to decide, and for us to bow to the decision. Is pity, Miss Flora, or is admiration, nearest love?'

'Oh come,' said I, 'let us be more concrete. Lay before the lady a complete case: describe your man, then I'll describe MINE, and Miss Flora shall decide.'

'I think I see your meaning,' said he, 'and I'll try. You think that pity--and the kindred sentiments--have the greatest power upon the heart. I think more nobly of women. To my view, the man they love will first of all command their respect; he will be steadfast- -proud, if you please; dry, possibly--but of all things steadfast. They will look at him in doubt; at last they will see that stern face which he presents to all the rest of the world soften to them alone.

Robert Louis Stevenson
Classic Literature Library

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