Arms and the Woman by Harold MacGrath (summer reading list .txt) 📕

Ethel and her fiancé, Mr. Holland, will be together, which means that Aunty and I will have no one to talk to unless you come. Carmen is to be sung. Please do not fail me.

"PHYLLIS."


Fail her! I thought not.

Then I read the second letter. I read it three or four times, and even then I was not sure that I was not dreaming. I caught up my pipe again, filled it and lit it. I read the letter once more. I was solemnly informed that my uncle was dead and that I was mentioned in the will, and that if I would kindly call at the Hoffman House the following morning a certain sum of money would be given to me. I regretted that I had reached that age when a man's actions must be dignified, although alone; otherwise I dare say I should have danced the pas seul. Whatever my uncle's bequest might be, I believed that it would make me independently rich. I am ashamed to admit that I did not feel sorry at the news of his sudden departure from this life. It is better to be rich than to be ambitious. It is better to have at hand what you want than to work for it, and then not get it. Phyllis was scarcely an arm's length away now. I whistled as I locked up my desk, and proceeded down stairs and sang a siren song into the waxen ears of the cashier.

"You have only twenty coming this week, Mr. Winthrop," said he.

"Never mind," I replied; "I'll manage to get along next week." It was only on very rare occasions that I drew my full pay at the end of the week.

I dined at a fashionable restaurant. As I sipped my wine I built one of my castles, and Phyllis reigned therein. There would be a trip to Europe every summer, and I should devote my time to writing novels. My picture would be the frontispiece in the book reviews, and wayside paragraphs would tell of the enormous royalties my publishers were paying me. I took some old envelopes from my pocket and began figuring on the backs of them as to what purposes the money should be put. It could not be less than $50,000, perhaps more. Of course my uncle had given a harbor to a grudge against me and mine, but such things are always forgotten on the death bed. It occurred to me that I never had known before what a fine world it was, and I regretted having spoken ill of it. I glanced across the way. The sky had cleared, and the last beams of the sun flamed in the windows of the tall buildings. Fortune, having buffeted me, was now going to make me one of her favorite children. I had reached the end of the long lane.

As I left the restaurant I decided to acquaint Phyllis with my good luck and also my desire that she should share of it. I turned into a florist's and had a dozen roses sent up to her. They were American Beauties. I could afford it now.


I found Phyllis thrumming on the piano. She was singing in a low voice the aria from "Lucia." I stood on the threshold of the drawing-room and waited till she had done. I believed her to be unaware of my presence. She was what we poets call a "dream of loveliness," a tangible dream. Her neck and shoulders were like satin, and the head above them reminded me of Sappho's which we see in marble. From where I stood I could catch a glimpse of the profile, the nose and firm chin, the exquisite mouth, to kiss which I would gladly have given up any number of fortunes. The cheek had that delicate curve of a rose leaf, and when the warm blood surged into it there was a color as matchless as that of a jack-rose. Ah, but I loved her. Suddenly the music ceased.

"There is a mirror over the piano, Jack," she said, without turning her head.

So I crossed the room and sat down in the chair nearest her. I vaguely wondered if, at the distance, she had seen the love in my eyes when I thought myself unobserved.

"I thank you for those lovely roses," she said, smiling and permitting me to press her hand.

"Don't mention it," I replied. It is so difficult for a man to say original things in the presence of the woman he loves! "I have great news for you. It reads like a fairy tale, you know; happy ever afterward, and all that."

"Ah!"

"Yes. Do you remember my telling you of a rich uncle who lived in the South?"

"Is it possible that he has left you a fortune?" she cried, her eyes shining.

"You have guessed it."

"I am very glad for your sake, Jack. I was beginning to worry about you."

"Worry about me?"

"Yes. I do not understand how a newspaper man can afford to buy roses four or five times a week-and exist." She had the habit of being blunt and frank to her intimate friends. I secretly considered it an honor when she talked to me like this. "I have told you repeatedly to send me flowers only once a week. I'd rather not have them at all. Last week you spent as much as $30 on roses alone. Mr. Holland does not do that for Ethel, and he has a million."

"I'm not Holland," I said. "He doesn't-that is-I do not think he-." Then I foundered. I had almost said: "He doesn't care as much for Ethel as I do for you."

Phyllis pretended not to note my embarrassment. The others came in then, and conversation streamed into safer channels.

When we entered the box at the opera the curtain had risen. Phyllis and I took the rear chairs. They were just out of the glare of the lights.

"You are looking very beautiful to-night," I whispered lowly. I was beginning business early. There was no barrier at my lips.

"Thank you," she replied. Then with a smile: "Supposing I were to say that you are looking very handsome?"

"Oh," said I, somewhat disconcerted, "that would be rather embarrassing."

"I do not doubt it."

"And then it would not be true. The duty we men owe to a beautiful woman is constantly to keep telling her of it."

"And the duty we women owe to a fine-looking man?" a rogue of a dimple in her cheeks.

"Is to explicitly believe all he says regarding your beauty," I answered, evading the question. "A man may tell a woman that she is beautiful, but a woman may not tell a man that he is fine-looking, that is, in public."

"The terms are not fair."

"That may be true, but they make the wheels of the social organization run smoother. For instance, if I met a strange woman and she told me that I was handsome, I shouldn't be able to speak again the whole evening. On the other hand, a beautiful woman, after you say that you are delighted to meet her, expects the very next remark to concern her good looks."

"Your insight is truly remarkable," she said, the dimple continuing its elusive manoeuvres. "Hush; here comes Carmen."

And our voices grew faint in the swell of melody. Mrs. Wentworth was entranced; her daughter was fondly gazing at the back of her fiancé's head; Phyllis had turned her face from me to the stage. As for myself, I was not particularly interested in the cigarette girl. It was running through my head that the hour had arrived. I patted my gloves for a moment, then I drew a long breath.

"Phyllis!" said I. There was a quaver in my voice. Perhaps I had not spoken loud enough. "Phyllis!" said I again.

She turned quickly and gave me an inquiring and at the same time nervous glance.

"What is it?"

"I want to tell you something I have never dared to tell you till now," I said earnestly. The voice on the stage soared heavenward. "I love you. Will you be my wife?"

Ah, me! where were those drooping eyelids, that flush, that shy, sweet glance of which I had so often dreamt? Phyllis was frowning.

"Jack, I have been afraid of this," she said. "I am so sorry, but it cannot be."

"Oh, do not say that now," I cried, crushing my gloves. "Wait awhile; perhaps you may learn to love me."

"Jack, I have always been frank to you because I like you. Do you suppose it will take me five years to find out what my heart says to any man? No. Had I loved you I should not have asked you to wait; I should have said yes. I do not love you in the way you wish. Indeed, I like you better than any man I know, but that is all I can offer you. I should be unkind if I held out any false hopes. I have often asked myself why I do not love you, but there is something lacking in you, something I cannot define. Some other woman will find what I have failed to find in you to love."

I was twisting my gloves out of all recognition. There was a singing in my ears which did not come from the stage.

"Look at it as I do, Jack. There is a man in this world whom I shall love, and who will love me. We may never meet. Then he shall be an ideal to me, and I to him. You believe you love me, but the love you offer is not complete."

"Not complete?" I echoed.

"No. It would be if I returned it. Do you understand? There is in this world a woman you will truly love and who will return your love in its fulness. Will you meet? That is in the hands of your destinies. Shall I meet my ideal? Who knows? But till I do, I shall remain an old maid."

I nodded wearily. A dissertation on affinities seemed ill-timed.

"And now," she said, "this beautiful friendship of ours must come to an end." And there were tears in her eyes.

"Yes," said I, twisting and untwisting the shreds of my gloves. It seemed as though the world had slipped from under my feet and I was whirling into nothingness. "My heart is very heavy."

"Jack, if you talk like that," hastily, "you will have me crying before all these people."

Unfortunately Ethel turned and saw the tears in her cousin's eyes.

"Mercy! what is the matter?" she asked.

"Jack has been telling me a very pathetic story," said Phyllis, with a pity in her eyes.

"Yes; something that happened to-night," said I, staring at the programme, but seeing nothing, nothing.

"Well," said Ethel, "this is not the place for them," turning her