ST. Ives

Page 125

First, trust, I say. It is so that a woman loves who is worthy of heroes.'

'Your man is very ambitious, sir,' said I, 'and very much of a hero! Mine is a humbler, and, I would fain think, a more human dog. He is one with no particular trust in himself, with no superior steadfastness to be admired for, who sees a lady's face, who hears her voice, and, without any phrase about the matter, falls in love. What does he ask for, then, but pity?--pity for his weakness, pity for his love, which is his life. You would make women always the inferiors, gaping up at your imaginary lover; he, like a marble statue, with his nose in the air! But God has been wiser than you; and the most steadfast of your heroes may prove human, after all. We appeal to the queen for judgment,' I added, turning and bowing before Flora.

'And how shall the queen judge?' she asked. 'I must give you an answer that is no answer at all. "The wind bloweth where it listeth": she goes where her heart goes.'

Her face flushed as she said it; mine also, for I read in it a declaration, and my heart swelled for joy. But Chevenix grew pale.

'You make of life a very dreadful kind of lottery, ma'am,' said he. 'But I will not despair. Honest and unornamental is still my choice.'

And I must say he looked extremely handsome and very amusingly like the marble statue with its nose in the air to which I had compared him.

'I cannot imagine how we got upon this subject,' said Flora.

'Madame, it was through the war,' replied Chevenix.

'All roads lead to Rome,' I commented. 'What else would you expect Mr. Chevenix and myself to talk of?'

About this time I was conscious of a certain bustle and movement in the room behind me, but did not pay to it that degree of attention which perhaps would have been wise. There came a certain change in Flora's face; she signalled repeatedly with her fan; her eyes appealed to me obsequiously; there could be no doubt that she wanted something--as well as I could make out, that I should go away and leave the field clear for my rival, which I had not the least idea of doing. At last she rose from her chair with impatience.

'I think it time you were saying good-night, Mr Ducie!' she said.

I could not in the least see why, and said so.

Whereupon she gave me this appalling answer, 'My aunt is coming out of the card-room.'

In less time than it takes to tell, I had made my bow and my escape. Looking back from the doorway, I was privileged to see, for a moment, the august profile and gold eyeglasses of Miss Gilchrist issuing from the card-room; and the sight lent me wings. I stood not on the order of my going; and a moment after, I was on the pavement of Castle Street, and the lighted windows shone down on me, and were crossed by ironical shadows of those who had remained behind.

CHAPTER XXIX--EVENTS OF TUESDAY: THE TOILS CLOSING

This day began with a surprise. I found a letter on my breakfast- table addressed to Edward Ducie, Esquire; and at first I was startled beyond measure. 'Conscience doth make cowards of us all!' When I had opened it, it proved to be only a note from the lawyer, enclosing a card for the Assembly Ball on Thursday evening. Shortly after, as I was composing my mind with a segar at one of the windows of the sitting-room, and Rowley, having finished the light share of work that fell to him, sat not far off tootling with great spirit and a marked preference for the upper octave, Ronald was suddenly shown in. I got him a segar, drew in a chair to the side of the fire, and installed him there--I was going to say, at his ease, but no expression could be farther from the truth. He was plainly on pins and needles, did not know whether to take or to refuse the segar, and, after he had taken it, did not know whether to light or to return it. I saw he had something to say; I did not think it was his own something; and I was ready to offer a large bet it was really something of Major Chevenix's.

'Well, and so here you are!' I observed, with pointless cordiality, for I was bound I should do nothing to help him out.

Robert Louis Stevenson
Classic Literature Library

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