The Pride of Two.

Evening Post, Volume LXXVIII, Issue 57, 4 September 1909, Page 10

The Pride of Two.

When I became engaged to Kit he had just made his first success as a novelist. Persons who knew nothing about my financial affairs were pleased to cry me about as a great heiress, becanse my parents having died during my childhood I was very early in possession of my father's property. Kit's pride would not allow him to speak to aae till the public had labelled his genius "successful." His pseudonym is Balder Hildebrand, and people have thought his a Norwegian instead of a Connaught man, which naturally added to his prestige. However, I, being Lilirosa Annabedla, so \ named in my father's will, and under promise to my mother always to write ray name in full, as ifc comprehended her own name and those of her two sisters, delighted in the liberty and simplicity of "Kit."' To drag sixteen letters of the alphabet along the end of an epistle, and to be replied to by three, was one of tha smaller fascinations of a thoroughly satisfactory engagement. Our disagreement arose out of my caprice — which was as great as his pride. I pretended^ to fear that a novelist might expect Ms wife to act as his amanuensis ; though I was secretly longing for such an opportunity to help him. His pride rose to white heat at the bare suggestion of such fears, and I played with it till an angry letter, giving me back my freedom, brought me to my senses. Believing in my power, I made no reply, and my next news of him was through a newspaper announcement that the distinguished novelist Balder Hildebrand had started on a, trip to Central Africa, in search of material for a brilliant novel descriptive of the social life of London. I finished the season, dancing myself and friends into the belief that I was delighted- to regain my freedom, and when that was over I, too, went tripping abroad. I tarried in Egypt, studying the -problem of the Sphinx, hovering about the desert, observing . human na-' ture under new conditions, and trying to believe that I was developing into a superior woman. Two whole years passed before I returned to England, and then I was rather the fashion among my friends and admirers as a girl who had done independent things, and had eny joyed unusual- experiences. I was too. proud to ask questions about Kit, 'and I searched thie in vain .for a . word about> Bajder Hildebrand. He appeared to have dropped out of the fickle public mind. In a ballroom I at last heard mention of his name. i "Do you see that girl in white dancing?" said : one woman to another. "She may well look . pleased. SEe has had a lucky -escape. Imagine, two years ago she - was engaged to poor ' Balder Hildebrand"! What a fate to have been tied for life to a blind^novelisb !" "I am quite tired," I said to my partner; and hurried home. Many careful enquiries failed to procure me further information, than was conveyed in such passing words as "Oh, yes, poor fellow ! Work stopped. Got a blast of some poisonous air into his eyes while travelling. Has retired somewhere or other. Too proud to show himjself ,_one imagines. " - My mind 'kept running on the business of a .professional secretary or 4ffiaj3uTeßsis7 TSnd~to; occupy part' ol my tine I got myself on the Committee of Management of a bureau for procuring engagements. for persons who had adopted that profession.'"l became quite assiduous in my attendance at the office, and took much interest in the applica* ti&ns for help from literary quarters. ,^Gne , day during business hours I beard the remark, "Application of an amanuensis from Balder Hildebrand, tfte " novelist^ He appears td want a man, "and we have only women." *.! -took occasion to say (my pride comf?rt£i! by the knowledge that my past \*&s'_ unknown' in 'this quarter) : "With regard to -the case -'of Mr. Hildebrand, F can get Mm what he wants. Write to Mm that a person will be with him on fijonday as he _ wishes. Give me his letter, that I 'may have the address." until I got home and eat down to tpink did I know what I intended to do. , Bat I was soon packing a modest tsuu'lt, and looking-up. the railway regulations for reaching the byways of Devonshire. - , , ,- £ found the place, a- cottage lost away is.7tEe apple country, standing in a garden clearing among orchards, and walk-ed*-up a lane between bending trees richly coloured witbj the ripening fruit. /Ih,e air was deliriously sweet, and f ragjrant with the odours of September flow-srs that know- the dews and winds. /(How-he must enjoy this!" I thought, iprgetting for. one moment that he was blind.— ----- - Over .alow bedge on which perched a. stiff, r ;fier«6o"cß, eft!," out of th,e dense dark' yesry I saw hhft coming idown th© orchard slowly, -stopping a moment and" putting his hand on a weighted branch touching the rounded apples, then dropping his arm tp his side and. moving on dejectedly. I took care to aVoid and ; waited till lie had entered tlie tjousebefore' 1; presented myself at the door. An ©Id-- Irish servant,' summoned? to "mind" him in his present state, received me, -and stepped froth the" hall into the little study to announce Miss, Gibbs, the' seoretary sent down from London. -"Yes, sir, it's a lady, sir." ■T-here was an exclamation of displeasure 1 from the master, a murmur of abrupt conversation-, and the man returned to me. '.i'Your sect's against you, miss," he sajd: "We've only two men here, and we' have no way of puttin' tip a lady." 'Jt have made arrangements to stay wltli the postmistress- in the village except in working hours," I said. "Will you tell your master that the men in London were all engaged; and that I know my business?" After toother conference within, and a little delay I was admitted to the temporary sanctum of Balder Hildebrand. "He's in that great a fuss that he'll try to /be doin' with you, miss" whispered Bejtpard, and lingered before ht> closed the- door, as if to see his master well through the irritation of his disappointin ept. Kit was sitting in a most uncomfortably accidental position in the middle of ..the r<K>rn,' ".with the adr of one who did not know where he was, or had no sense of arrangement, no care about his particular surroundings. There was a litter of ' papers on the writing-table in the wide-latticed window, everything ,waS tossed about by an impatient hand, a pen wet with ink had been thrown dawn upon a page and had made a blot. Having greeted me with that polite-ness-of good- breeding which no irritation- could q^ 6 • extinguish in Kit, he saifiTir- '""; 7' '"J wanted a mat.. One could grumble at him and swear at him as much as one pleased—" "Pray don't restrain yourself," I said in ca rather husky vojoe, which I had beep practising for some hours. I have a knack of mimicking tones of , voice, and was now reproducing the manner of on© oi my acquaintances . who has a, gec^asflis^ ■

"I am not a brute," he eaid huffily. "I suppose you know why I require your services. I have a novel to write, and I can't see to write it» I hate typing. A pair of hands and an intelligent brain are what I need to help me." "Shall we begin at once?" I said. "May I arrange your papers? I can't write in disorder. And won't you sit in a comfortable chair near the window? Let me place it for you. Would not & few flowers on the table beside you be agreeable?" "What difference does it make to me?" he said. "You have a woman's ways, and 1 tell you frankly I have no liking for the society of women. As you are here, however, I would rather you were comfortable. If you can do better in pretty surroundings by all means let *us have the best of your work." I had been rapidly putting things to rights, and when a clmster of roses was .placed at his hand he belied his words by raising it to his fa*e for a moment, and breathing its sweetness. "I am ready, I said. He leaned back in. his chair, and seemed to want a minute to gather up his thoughts. I selected my pen, and sat with my eyes on his face till they became 'inconveniently moist. So this was Kit He has ruddy brown hair, you know, and a golden light in his eyes when he smiles. His eyelids were now drooped, unexpectant of light, and there was no smile. We began. The story opened pleasantly, and animation returned to his face. That day's work was bright and consoling. As the woman beloved by the man in the book showed herself, I felt exultantly sure that her face, form, and personality were modelled on mine ; and I went home to my postmistress with a lightened heart; as day followed day, however, and the heroine's character and conduct took an unexpected turn my spirits sank, and I could not help seeing myself as I must have appeared ;to another at the time of our quarrel. I bore this change with resolution, strengthening my intention of keeping my secret, if not for ever, at least until some inevitable and encouraging moment might arrive. Her name was Vialante. (He had formerly liked a long name, and to find that he had now unnecessarily chosen one reconciled me a little to Lilirosa Annabella.) I was just hoping that the hero would begin to understand her better when she began to behave so badly that I nearly cried out, declaring myself ready to answer for the innocence of her intentions. I blotted several pages that day, and had to spend my evening copying them. After that the matter grew worse and worse, and at last I lost my prudence, and threw down my pen, saying : " This is a very cynical novel." "Eeally!" he said in great surprise. "Do you always criticise as you go along V ' ." One must, if one has any brains. And you said you wanted a' person with brains." .He gave a little laugh. Had I felt less sore I should have been glad to have amused him. "Pray go on," he said. "I know women, it appears, better than you do." "How can that be?" I said. "I am a woman, and you are not." " That is the very reason," he said. "A man unfortunately comes to know a woman better than women ever know their own sex — through suffering." "Then you haye — suffered from such a woman as Violante !'" "I am not obliged by the rules of this engagement to answer impertinent questions — " " Oh !" 1 ''But by the tone of your voice I am warned not to class you with the impertinent. You are a sympathetic woman, and I forgive yon." This, I think, was the very moment at which I began to get jealous of myself. I dared not say more, and was particularly silent and unobtrusive for the rest of that day. But as I walked back to the village between the apple trees there was war in the heart of the girl who was engaged to Kit two years ago, with the secretary of to-day who was winning on his sympathies. The situation was odd, and I tried to laugh myself out of it. I sat down to the work next morning, telling a humorous story of the conduct of two little birds I had come upon, evidently making up a quarrel, perched on the tail of the yew-clipped peacock on the garden hedgerow. Kit listened with more of his old smile than I had seen as yet, and 1 made no complaint that day, though Violante was behaving disgustingly. All the time I was longing to talk to Kit. It seemed so natural to do so. But in much conversation there was danger of forgetting my assumed voice, and my little lisp. A& I was leaving after work, he said, " You have been very silent today. I hope you are well. "Oh, yes," I replied, ''but there is only the story to talk about. And I fear to seem — impertinent." c „ "There is really no danger," he said' eagerly. " I WotJld rather hear 1 your comments." "I don't think you would. I am in atms for my sex. Ido not believe Violante behaved like that." "Let us talk over her, then." "To-morrow, if you Wish. I most say good-bye for this evening." He looked disappointed. Next day he broke off work early, and the Irishman brought tea into the stady. " No.w," he said, " I invite you to tea with me — tea, and a little conversation. I am' a lonely man, with— disabilities. A woman — I will not say, a lady, because the other word means so much mofe — a true woman, as you claim to be, will r.ot refuse to gratify me." "I am at your service," I said, "but the claim I make is not tot myself, as I have said, but for my sex." "It is a very unusual attitude for a woman to take up. She so N>ften assumes to be herself the only exception to an unhappily general rule. As >oa are so large-minded, I have a mind to trust you. Morose and solitary as 1 have been for the last two years, I have confided in no one. If this blindness had not overtaken me, I might have shaken off a bitter disappointment — " I smothered an exclamation which would have marked my keen sense of the suggestion that I might easily have been quite forgotten, and swallowed the sound with a slight cough. "I fear you have got a cold." " Oh, very slightly. But my huskiness must be disagreeable to listen to." " Not at all. I rather like a low contralto voice." Another blow for me, who remembered his oft-expressed 'delight in the " merry ringing treble " of my talk and laughter. Rossetti's drawing Of "How they met themselves in a wood" just glimmered across my mental vision, with a meaning for me, only. Truly, we were meeting ourselves in a wood ; our very selves, with the knowledge that makes a difference. "Will you please to continue your criticism of my heroine. YovL accuse me of cynicism in drawing a woman's character. I ', "1 do not believe you ever knew such a woman." "I have; known her. A woman will accept a man's devotion so long as he makes her feel herself a qneen, obeying her commands, and delighting in her caprices. But let her find herself called -on. Jo- Jjea£ ier share of ,the burdens of

life, and her love has flown. At a suspicion, even a groundless one, that the smallest service may be required of her, interfering with her amusement, her wings are spread." "Did she behave like that? I don't mean Violante, but the other one?" "Yes; I fear I snubbed you once for asking ms something like that question. I have accepted your sympathy, and I answer your enquiry, straight.' I was choking now with hatred and jealousy of myself. I did not know whether my past self or my present self had the more right to be aggrieved. "I have not given you much sympathy as yet," I said. "To listen with interest to the grumblings of a blind man is sympathy in itself, he said, with a touch of pathos "?n the lines of his face, which some people would have scorned as "self-pity," •out which did not excite my contempt. I could not, however, afford to show sympathy. The only safety was in argument. "You don't agree with Scott on the point," I said, attempting to get again upon genera) ground. "No," he said, and repeated the lines that had come into my mind : "0, Woman, in our hours of ease Uncertain, coy, and hard to please^ — When care and sickness wring: the brow A ministering angel thou!" "I have no belief in that. The woman 1 wanted to marry would have hated the trouble of me, now !" "You cruel sceptic !" I cried ; and for the moment forgot my caution. It was my own voice that rang in my ears. He threw up his head as the sound caught him, with an indescribable look which frightened me. A smile slowly grew on his face and died away ; after which he dropped his head on his hand, and there was a long silence between us. "Perhaps I am," he said at laso. "But with regard to that memorable stanza, so hackneyed as a quotation, I would say, as a reading of it — that the woman who comes to a man in his pain as a ministering angel is not the same person as the caprice of his hours of ease. They are different types of feminine character. So much you will allow, if you are reasonable." "Let me be reasonable in your eyes," I said, "for my experience is different from yours. But we have finished the tea, and I pyomised to do a little service for my landlady this evening." "I rose to go, and he rose also, and made a step towards me. "Will you not shake hands with me?" he said. I went to meet him, and put my fingers in his, as he could not see to find mine. He held my hand, closely as if he would cling to it, until I pulled ifc away indignantly. "Good evening, sir," I said,., in my most pronounced unnatural voice, and left him. As I trimmed st hat for my postmistress, shut up in my little room in the village that evening, angry tears fell thick on the tulle and flowers, which are not warranted to stand a shower. Oh, the inconsistency of man ! Woman is a miracle of fidelity compared with him. To think that I should have nur»> ed my romancß through. the distractions of travel and society, living on sweet memories in my own neart — for this ! Could I have grown, "sympathetic" and confidential with a masculine secretary, in case I had been forced to employ one ? Here was Kit, whom 1 still looked on as all my own more so than ever in his affliction, forgetting me with bitterness, and ready to fall in love with a strange woman, his mere amanuensis, an argumentative woman, too, and with an unpleasant' voice, and a lisp! My passion over, I , summoned my common sense, and resolved to be what Kit would call reasonable. I was despised and practically forgotten. I would finish his book for him, keeping him well at a distance in the meantime, and then I would return whence I had come, undiscovered, and leave him to find another secretary, who would gladly respond to his confidences. Finding it more than ever difficult to present myself at my desk the next morning, I admitted that I was properly punished for my hardihood in venturing on an undertaking .which had provea too difficult for me. All day he made himself perfectly delightful to that odious creature, the secretary. There were no more snubs and lectures. He drew her out, like one who desired to be informed by her superior knowledge. No matter how hoarse she was, or how absurdly she lisped, he listened to her with a rapturous expression which made me ill with unhappiness. The work went on, nevertheless. "I know you don't like it," he said, "bnt what I have written I have written. One can only write of one's own experiences. Should sweeter happenings come to me after much suffering, my next novel will, perhaps, be of a more sanguine colouring." I had been as silent as I found it possible to be, but here I spoke. "Has any one the right to call his own mood an experience of the character and conduct of others? What he provokes, he creates." "Ah !" he said reflectively, "not badly put. I will think that over. The in consistencies of character, and the contradictions of truths are illimitable and immeasurable. Who knows whether Violante may not justify herself, even in the last chapter?" He then began to quote again the lines of Scott to_ which he had given his own particular reading. This hurt me beyond bearing. "You forget," I said, "that you found two different types of woman registered in those verses. And Violante is only one." He smiled. It was terrible to me to f«el that I had grown fo dread his smile, which was for the secretary and not for me. I wished he would relapse into sternness towarda her, and memories of mo. I said something further abont two women and one woman. I can't remember exactly what it was, but I know that the utterance left me aware of imminent risk of a dangerous collision between Lilirosa Annabella, and the detestable Miss -Gibbs. He clid not appear to notice it, however. It was evident that the secretary was occupying all his masculine attention. The novel was drawing to a close, and it was still uncertain whether he meant to clear Violante's character, show her as an angel misunderstood, the victim of deceptive appearances, or dismiss her into the penal realms where wander in eternal oblivion the never-to-be-forgiven heroines. "I know you mean to end it badly, ' I said, when he intimated that he was preparing the denouement, and intended to make a pause and think it over. He had proposed an interval for a walk in the orchard and garden every day, to delay the work while he was making up his mind, and this tendered me so thoroughly miserable that I could endue my position no longer, and resolved to break the engagement and hurry away, at any cost. "You have decided on a tad ending, * 1 repeated. "Any one could write it for you, to save you the trouble. Your Violante is not real enough to require yon, or any other special author of her being, for her ending. She is such a poor bloodless creature very little would finish her." "Will you undertake it, then ?" he asked. "If I leav& the ending altogether to you, will you write me the last few chapters?" "Indeed, 1 will not, ' I said — "you must work her out for youraelf, or employ, sores ga,©. ffiapsg Slews flre. like

your own. And I am* obliged to tell you — " I added with an effort to speak indifferently, "that I shall return to London in a day or two. This engagement has run beyond the length specified, and I am due elsewhere." His face became clouded, and remorse took possession of me. Lilirosa and the strange woman were rending my heart between them. O, Miss Gibbs, Miss Gibbs, how had you gained such an influence over my Kit, with your sharp contradictions and your merely mechanical services? "Don't go away yet; give me another day or two," he pleaded. "I am due in London to-morrow night." He was silent for a minute, and I fussed with my papers to occupy the interval. "Come to say good-bye in the morning," he urged,' and I said, "Yes, I can do that," feeling as if I had got a reprieve from the full penalty of immediate departure. To leave hinr> so, alone and helpless, without even a secretary to comfort him, was intolerable "I may be able to send you an amanuensis from London," I said n You would still prefer a man, I suppose." He actually laughed; and that hard- | ened me a little for the moment, and enabled me to get out of his presence j without betraying myself. After a miserable night, I rose up, j limp, but resolved. I dressed myself ! for our last meeting, in white, as he used to like to see me, my heart reminding me the while of how silly it was to. think of such follies. I might as well be clother in sackcloth and ashes for all the difference it could 'make to a man who was sightless. "No matter!,' I said, trying to remove the telf-tale redness from about my eyes (also of no consequence], "I will, once for all, destroy Miss Gibbs, if only to my own consciousness. I will feel that I am myself in the moment of my last farewell to Kit." I walked through the sweet green lanes, and saw that the apple-trees had a redder glow through the green than when first I saw them, and that the yew peacock stood forth more darkly against the brilliance of distant foliage now touched with gold and scarlet. To lengthen my walk I approached the cottage by the orchard paths, and paused a moment to disentangle a tress of my hair from the claws of a pendent branch which had just dropped an overripe apple into the hat that I carried on my arm. Turning my head I saw Kit coming up the path to meet me. His eyes were open, and the golden smile was in them. He walked with a free step, looking straight before him. It was Kit, no longer blind. My arms fell by my sides. Hat and apple were on the ground. Transfixed with amazement I waited for him to come to me. "Lil !" he said, with the ring of a great joy in his voice. "Kit! What has done it?" 1 forgot* all about Miss Gibbs, We were here together, and the sight of me was making him glad ! "You have done it. Your coming did it. My doctor told me that the blindness, being of the nerves, might possibly go as suddenly as it came. The joy of your return to mo has acted as a tonic. I knew it when, this morning, I opened my eyes to the sunshine." "But — Miss Gibbs — " I said, "you did not know — " "1 found you out pretty early in the proceedings. You were not so clever as j you intended to be. How could you expect to keep up a disguise of voice and manner so perfectly that Lil should never shine through it?" "And you were allowing me to go away !" "As a blind man, how could I take»i advantage of your generosity? But I was torn with indecision. When I saw the blessed light this morning I knew that God was sending me a great happiness. ' ' "Kit," I said, after a few unreportable minutes had flown, "we are the two happiest people in the world this morning." Wb repeated those words to each other to-day, the seventh anniversary of our marriage.

By ROSA MULHOLLAND. (All Eight* Reserved.)