The Dangerous Age Part 20

How your letter amused me, and how delighted I am to hear your interesting intelligence. You could not have given me better news. In future I am relieved of all need of sympathetic anxiety about you, and henceforth I can enjoy my freedom without a qualm, and dispose of life just as I please.

Every good wish, dear friend! We must hope that this young person will make you very happy; but, you know, young girls have their whims and fancies. Fortunately, you are not only a good-looking man in the prime of life, but also an uncommonly good match for any woman. The young girls of the present day are seldom blind to such advantages, and you will find her devotion very lasting, I have no doubt.

Who can she be? I have not the least idea. But I admire your discretion--you have not changed in that respect. In any case, be prepared, Richard, she will turn the house upside down and your work will be cut out for you to get it straight again.

I am sure she bikes; she will probably drop her cigarette ashes into your best Venetian gla.s.ses; she is certain to hate goloshes and long skirts, and will enjoy rearranging the furniture. Well, she will be able to have fine times in your s.p.a.cious, well-ordered establishment!

I hope at any rate that you will be able to keep her so far within bounds that she will not venture to chaff you about "number one." Do not let her think that my taste predominates in the style and decorations of the house....

Dear friend, already I see you pus.h.i.+ng the perambulator! Do you remember the ludicrous incident connected with the fat merchant Bang, who married late in life and was always called "gran'pa" by his youthful progeny? Of course, that will not happen in your case--you are a year or two younger than Bang, so your future family will more probably treat you like a playfellow.

You see, I am quite carried away by my surprise and delight.

If it were the proper thing, I should immensely like to be at the wedding; but I know you would not allow such a breach of all the conventions.

Where are you going for the honeymoon? You might bring her to see me here occasionally, in the depths of the country, so long as n.o.body knew.

One of my first thoughts was: how does she dress? Does she know how to do her hair? Because, you know, most of the girls in our particular set have the most weird notions as regards hair-dressing and frocks.

However, I can rely on the sureness of your taste, and if your wedding trip takes you to Paris, she will see excellent models to copy.

Now I understand why your letters got fewer and farther between. How long has the affair been on hand? Did it begin early in the summer? Or did you start it in the train between h.o.e.rlsholm and Helsingoer, on your way to and from the factory? I only ask--you need not really trouble to answer.

I can see from your letter that you felt some embarra.s.sment, and blushed when you wrote it. Every word reveals your state of mind; as though you were obliged to give some account of yourself to me, or were afraid I should take your news amiss. I have already drunk to your happiness all by myself in a gla.s.s of champagne.

You can tell your young lady, if you like.

Under the circ.u.mstances you had better not accept the invitation I gave you in my last letter; although I would give much to see your good, kind face, rejuvenated, as it doubtless is, by this new happiness. But it would not be wise. You know it is harder to catch and to keep a young girl than a whole sackful of those lively, hopping little creatures which are my horror.

Besides, a new idea has occurred to me, and I can hardly find patience to wait for its realisation.

Guess, Richard!... I intend to take a trip round the world. I have already written to Cook's offices, and am eagerly awaiting information as to tickets, fares, etc. I shall not go alone. I have not courage enough for that. I will take Jeanne with me. If I cannot manage it out of my income, I shall break into my capital, even if I have to live on a pittance hereafter.

No--do not make any more of your generous offers of help. You must not give any more money now to "women." Remember that, Richard!

The White Villa will be shut up during my absence; it cannot take to itself wings, nor eat its head off during my absence. Probably in future I shall spend my time between this place and various big towns abroad, so that I shall only be here in summer.

At the same time as this letter, I am sending a wedding present for your new bride. Girls are always crazy about jewellery. I have no further use for a diadem of brilliants; but you need not tell her where it comes from. You will recognise it. It was your first overwhelming gift, and on our wedding day I was so taken up with my new splendour that I never heard a word of the pastor's sermon. They said it was most eloquent.

I hope you will have the tact to remove the too numerous portraits of myself which adorn your walls. Sell them for the benefit of struggling artists; in that way, they will serve some good purpose, and I shall not run the risk of being disfigured by my successor.

If I should come across any pretty china, or fine embroidery, in j.a.pan, I shall not forget your pa.s.sion for collecting.

Let me know the actual date of the wedding, you can always communicate through my banker. But the announcement will suffice. Do not write.

Henceforth you must devote yourself entirely to your role of young husband.

You quite forgot to answer my questions about Lillie, and I conclude from your silence that all is well with her.

Give her my love, and accept my affectionate greetings.

ELSIE LINDTNER.

P.S.--As yet I cannot grapple with the problem of my future appellation.

I do not feel inclined to return to my maiden name. "Elizabeth Bugge"

makes me think of an overgrown grave in a churchyard.

Well, you will be neither the first nor the last man with several wives scattered about the globe. The world may be a small place, but it is large enough to hold two "Mrs. Lindtners" without any chance of their running across each other.