Interlude on Marriage.

Otago Witness, Issue 2728, 27 June 1906, Page 85

Interlude on Marriage.

%t Fra>*k Moktojt.

CPor the Witness.)

"I think," said Nesta airily, "that I shall never marry. A girl can be so free these times, without burdening herself with a husband, and some married girls I know live pitifully in bondage. If one cannot get freedom by marriage, why marry? I see no other incentive."

"Nesta, you are just doing little performing monkey tricks now." Rathbone gmikd genially on the girl as he spoke. "Look at the mated gulls." Nesta pouted, but for the moment mack no more definite reply. They were op the water again, cutting along toward*Egypt with all the power of the turbinec J and a favouring breeze. The day was very lovely, and the honeyed softness of the air was such as befitted the day. Mrs Rathbone sat by, intent on the mysterious fancywork they all laughed at as her latest fad. Lenton and Mortimer were pretending to play cribbage, a pxirsuit quite foreign to their ordinary habit. "Marriage," said Mortimer sententiously, "is the compromise Convenience makes with Necessity, the easy escape from a difficult problem." "^ferriage," said Lenton, "is the besfc thing in the world — and the worst ; the sweetest thing in the world — and the bitterest ; the most delicate thing in the world — and the most squalid. There is life and sweet solace in it — death and stern damnation. In ordinary circumstances, the man and woman being reasonably matched, it is Purgatory with a foretaste of Paradise. "Marriage," said Mrs Rathbone softly,* "is the honod? of man and the justification of womanhood. All these definitions are bad, and all are partly good — even Mr Mortimer's laboured cynicisms."

"When my mother met my father," said Rathbone, "she was a millionaire's pet daughter, and he wasn't worth a cent. They married, and her father cast her off. He went broke, and they got his forgiveness and mide him happy for the first time in his life. They were the happiest married people I ever knew, my folk ; but they only 6t«md for a case in point that proves nothing."

"I know a man," said Mortimer, "w"ho met a girl. She was the daughter of a plutocrat; he an artist and a gentleman in every fibre of his souL He had no money, out she cajoled him into marrying on hers. Then she hardened, and taunted him. All his genius shrivelled, all his promise died. He went mad. Thai's another case in point, and it proves a lot."

"Things would be better," said Lenton, "if- -it were not that the artificial life has blurred our ideals. The natural tendency of men and women is to be happy, but modern conditions give them no chance. And the pity of it is that they squander their heart's blood defending modern conditions. They swallow more microbes when they're tsick, instead of taking physic. They stick thorns into the bruiees that cry for salve. They treat their burns with acid. And they do all these foolish things with a fatuous smile on their shaking lips, crying to the blessed sun to admire their high, morality. It's very sad."

"Marriage," said Nesta, smiling, "might easily be made a safer risk if men had more sense. Women, I candidly admit, are not your intellectual equals, 6 my lords ; bat we have our qualities you will not recognise. We are vastly more reasonable than you think. We are only cattish and small at times because you insist on the cat ideal in your hearts and persistently drum into our ears the bitter iteration that we are by nature little. Well, we're not. Don't we always show best in big situations? Are we cattish when you win us, and after, when you need us most? We want to be chums as well as lovers ; and as chums you don't want us: you say we are not clubbable. Why?" Nesta lifted her dainty eyebrows in serious questioning. Mrs Rathbone looked at the cirl, and the matron's quiet smile w?c ""Tjnrphpnsivp.

" Nesta," she said, "you are becoming too serious tor this fanciful assembly."

"Oh, I do wish you would get out of all your beads the idea that I am always frivolous and shallow, like a petted kitten !" The girl stamped her small foot impatiently, and bit her lip in genuine vexation. "It is not only that men will not understand women ; women as a class seldom seem able to understand themselves. Mamma has always encouraged me to think. It may have been unfashionable and daring of her ; but I'm sure that she was right. Most women with any brains at all only begin to think when it is too late, and *so merely become what you call advanced. I detest advanced women whose whole ambition it is to show as little men, ineffective counterfeits. I'm sure that we shall never attain to our best possibilities till we learn the stupiduess of wearing ourselves out stretching after things we may not reach. Advanced women say that we are men's equals in everything — such nonsense ! No woman will ever be a Shakespeare, or a Beethoven, or a Michael Angelo. It would be just as sensible of us to try and grow beards or sing bass. But in some respects men will never be our equals, either. The thing cuts both ways. You laugh at our intuition on those rare occasions when it is at fault; but in your hearts you know that it is a kind of sixth sense in us, and that you can n©v«T possess it. All your emotions are more or less brutal, and the coarsest of ours are in some degree etherealified. Men and women are so often discordant now because they bo seldom meet in frank admission of each other's differences." "Miss Whjtfors*" eai4 "you

abash me. What fire has touched your lips?" "I think, 1 ' interpolated Mrs Rathbone, "that Nesta is spurred by a very common womanly emotion, impatience of misconception." "That is it," assented the girl. 'Tartly that, and partly something else — I don't know what." 'Possibly/ said Lenton, quietly, "what ono might call the imminence of marriage. It looms over all good girls of this civilisation, from the cradle to the altar. We 1 ere talking of marriage, you know, when vo.i digressed." " From the cradle to — the altar," murmured the girl, absently. "From the cradle to — the grave." This was Mortimer's variant as he pulled at his briar and grinned cynically at the overarching blue. " Mi* Mortimer," 6aid Nesta, "you are perfectly horrid to-day, by intention ; but there may be. more truth than you suspect in your jibes. My dearest friend,

Viola Summers, was married in Colombo

last year, and she lias been as gco<k as I dead ever since. Her lmsband, Mr Lulj wood-Speril, is like a- concentrated Blue Book. He knows a dreadful lot j but in all his knowledge is nothing that really seems worth while. When he bores her half to death with things that are not her business in* the least, she pretends to be proud of his confidence. When she wants

in go to some little frivol, and he — he is

idiotically jealou.", you know — says he is ; afraid she might catch cold or overtire herself, she pretends to love his solicitude. She has become the most arrant little humbug, and she used to be the most straightforward and truthful girl of all our set." "What a very .short- time our serious Nesta kteted," said Mb Rathbone. " Oh, I am as serious as ever. In a better ordered world, Viola would never have tied herself to a podgy hare like Mr Lulwootl-Speril. She 'is lovely, and at his best he's only commonplace. H© is bald — not nicely or picturesquely bald, you

know ; just patch}'. Tsn't it strange that ' all the men baldness would suit have mops • of scrubby hair, while nil the men that

hair would improve have silly shiny 1 noddles like billiard balls? Nearly all the I men I know need either a hair restorer or a depilatory." j '"Even rue !" suggested Mortimer meekly. i "Oh, you? Why, certainly. You ought

to have a shock of ob-v^ions hair, like the

1 pictures of Alphurise Daudct. Then you j coald keep always very clean-shaved, and j look quite interesting." I "Personalities are not at all nice, Nesta," j said Mrs Rathbona as chaperon. I "Serves him right for asking for it !" : retorted the sweet rebel. ''Men are always , like that. They ask one's calm opinion, and then are shocked when they get it, 1 while Propriety mumbles in her cramped corner and all the world makes goggle-•-eyes of horrid surprise at one." "I'm sure that Mrs Rathbone never mumbles," observed Lenton. 1 "Of course not," eaid Misa Perversity. "In a world of men and muddles she is the one thing in tune. If you will be kind, Mr Mortimer, I won't be naughty any more before dinner." "Well, what is it now?" asked Mor- [ timer. "Do you want to 6teer the ship j again and lead us to the cliff-edge of J disaster? or are you merely hungering ' girlishly for the moon?" ' "I'm too lazy to steer to-day." said the i girl, "and it's hours off mooarise. Will you sing us one of Mr Lenton 's songs?" Mortimer yawned and made a little grimace. "For a bald man of commerce to play I the banjo and oing such rhapsodies is ' surely very frivolous,' he said. '"But so ' long as it is understood that I only sing , by your direct request and abetment, I j suppose it's all right. You have not heard Lenton's latest yearn. He wrote it, I think, under the spell of Olympus, and 1 that Greek genius with the kink in his , name set it to music. Will that do." j "Oh, yes," said Nesta. "What ifi it j called — this new song?" I Mortimer played a tinkling prelude on \ the banjo. "It is called ' Love's Star,' ". I said he, "and it is strictly apropos of our ! recent chatter. Let us not to the marriage , of true souls admit impediment." Mortimer sang 6uperbly. Having regard to the appearance and general tone of the , man, this was his queerest gift. And the banjo accompaniment made a, gratefnl background as he sang. Beyond the suns, beyond all sight and sound of this So little earth we see. Still tenantless, but fit for love's abode, there is A star for you and me. There, when this life has passed, and these forms, crumb by crumb, Have vanished in decay, We two shall wake and greet, though busy lips are dumb, Our resurrection day. Hope shall fulfilment find, and kisses never cloy, . X"or pains, nor tears, nor signs Shall irk my soul that rests immersed in perfect joy Fathomless, in your eyes. Star-miat and moonbeams stall our pagan palace make. And on our bridal night The suns shall veif their fires for your Bweet blushes' Bake ; Your eyes shall give us light. The little dimpled elves that nestle In Love's breast Shall bear your fears away; Each in each other's arms fiecuie, we two shall rest Till glad night glows to day. Beyond the gates of senes beyond, ajl ti»e land space, \

Taere is, enclosed apart, our love's late fruiting place— A star for you and me! "That," said Nesta, "is very sweet f and your voice is always superb, Mr Mortimer. But don't you think philosophy goes far when it makes Mr Lenton resigned to such a long wait?" Lenton 6aid nothing, but in hie laugh was no special note of resignation. His eyes caught Nesta's, and hers immediately dropped in sudden confusion. Mrs Rathbone smiled benignly on the circle. "You are so very silly," she said, "jou young people !"