Vistas of New York Part 10

John Stone looked at her for a moment in amazement, while his cheeks flamed. Then he rose to his feet and stood before her.

"Did you suppose that I wanted to marry you for your money?" he said, making an obvious effort for self-control.

"Yes," she answered, lowering her eyes. "And that is why I was going to accept you."

She felt that the man was still staring at her, wholly unable to understand.

"I am poor, very poor," she went on, hurriedly. "I don't know how I am going to live next month. I believed that you thought I was wealthy. It seemed to me a mean thing for a man to do, to marry a woman for her money, so I didn't mind deceiving you."

He stood silently gazing at her for a minute, and she could not but think that a man was very slow to understand.

Then he sat down again, and took her hand once more, and petted it.

"You must have been sadly tried if you were willing to do a thing like that," he said, with infinite pity in his voice. "You poor child!"

It was her turn then to be astonished, but she was swifter of comprehension.

"Do you mean to say that you still want to marry me," she asked, looking him full in the face, "even after I have insulted you?"

"Yes," he answered. "I want to marry you--and more than ever now, so that you may never again be exposed to a temptation like this."

"But now I refuse to marry you," she returned, forcibly, as she withdrew her hand. "I say 'no' now--without hesitation this time."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because it isn't fair now," she responded.

"Fair?" he repeated, puzzled.

"I couldn't do it now; it would be too mean for anything," she explained. "As long as I supposed you thought I was rich and were going to marry me for my money, I didn't mind cheating you. I could let you marry me even if I didn't love you, and it would only be serving you right. But now!--now I couldn't! It wouldn't be fair to you. I am pretty mean, I confess, but I'm not mean enough for that, I hope."

Again he took a moment to think before he spoke.

"I don't know what to make of you," he began. "Am I to understand that you were going to marry me, though you did not love me, so long as you thought I did not love you, but that now, when you know that I really do love you, for that very reason you refuse to marry me?"

"That's it," she cried. "You must see how I feel about it. It wouldn't be fair to marry you now I know you are in earnest, would it?"

"But if I am willing," he urged; "if I want you as much as ever; if I feel confident that I can get you to love me a little in time; if you will only let me hope--"

"Oh, I couldn't," she answered. "I couldn't cheat you now I really know you--now that I like you a great deal better than I did."

He was about to protest again, when she interrupted him.

"Don't let's talk about it any more," she said, impetuously; "it has given me a headache already."

Forbidden to speak upon the one subject about which he had something to say, the man said nothing, and for a minute or more there was silence.

They could hear the patter of the rain as it pelted against the window near which they were sitting. Then there was a slight flash of lightning, followed by a distant growl of thunder.

A s.h.i.+ver ran through Mrs. Randolph, and she gave a little nervous laugh.

"I hate lightning," she explained, "and I detest a storm--don't you? I don't see how any one can ever choose to be a sailor."

He smiled grimly. "I am a sailor," he said.

"And are you going to sea again soon?" she returned. "I shall miss you dreadfully. I'm glad I sha'n't be here in New York when you are gone.

Perhaps I shall leave first."

"Where are you going?" he asked, eagerly.

"I've got to go somewhere," she answered, "now that I've had to change all my plans. I'm going to Milwaukee."

"To Milwaukee?" he repeated. "I did not know you had any friends there."

"I haven't," she answered, with a repet.i.tion of the hard little laugh.

"Not a friend in Milwaukee, and not a friend in New York."

"Then why are you going?"

"I must earn my living, somehow," she responded, "and I can't paint, and I can't embroider, and I can't teach whist, and I'm not young enough to go on the stage--so I'm to settle down as the matron of a girl's school in Milwaukee. The place has been offered to me, and I intend to accept it."

"When must you be there?" he inquired.

"Oh, I don't know," she answered. "Next week some time, or perhaps not till next month. I'm not sure when."

John Stone rose to go. "Then I may come to see you again--Evelyn?" he asked.

Her heart throbbed a little as she heard her name from his lips.

"Oh yes," she replied, cordially. "Come and see me as often as you can.

I hate to be as lonely as I was this afternoon."

And she held out her hand.

"Good-by, then," he responded, and he raised her hand again and kissed it.

When he had gone she walked restlessly to and fro for several minutes.

At last she opened her desk and took out the unfinished letter and tore it up impatiently. Then she went to the window and peered out.

Twilight was settling down over the city, but the sky was leaden, with not a gleam of sunset along the horizon. Lights were already twinkling here and there over the vast expanse of irregular roofs across which she was looking. The rain was heavier than ever, and it fell in sheets, now, as though it would never cease.

Yet the solitary woman looking out at the dreary prospect did not feel so lonely as she had felt two hours earlier. She had meant to accept John Stone, and she had rejected him. But it was a comfort to her to know that somewhere in the immense city that spread out before her there was a man who really loved her.

(1898)