Tom Moore Part 41

"Rhymer?" repeated he. "I see you have been talking with Sir Percival."

"To be sure," said Bessie. "So pleasant and witty a gentleman is worthy of attention."

Moore sighed, and drawing a chair nearer to the desk sat down and crossed his legs comfortably.

"See here, Bessie," he said in his most persuasive tones, "why should we quarrel in this foolish fas.h.i.+on?"

The girl laughed in rather an embarra.s.sed way and s.h.i.+fted a little on the chair.

"If there is some other fas.h.i.+on in which you would prefer to quarrel, perhaps it will be as acceptable as this," she replied, lightly.

"Will you never be serious?" demanded the poet.

"Why should I be serious, sir?"

"To please me, if for no other reason."

"Ah, but why should I wish to please you, Mr. Moore?"

"It is a woman's duty to make herself agreeable."

"Not to every impudent young versifier who thinks to do her honor with his attention," replied Bessie, smiling mischievously as she rebuked an unruly ringlet with one dimpled hand.

"But I have no such idea," protested Moore, quite baffled by her behavior.

"No? Surely a young man who proposes marriage to two different girls in one afternoon must think very well of himself?"

Moore groaned, and gave the girl an appealing glance that failed to accomplish anything.

"Ah, Bessie, you have no heart!"

"Have you, _Mr. Moore_?"

"You have had it these two years, Bessie," he replied, fervidly.

"You are quite mistaken, sir," quoth she, in tones of conviction. "I would have no use for such a thing, so would not accept it. You are thinking of some other girl, _Mr. Moore_."

"I am thinking of you, Bessie."

"Then you are wasting your time, _Mr. Moore_, and I 'll thank you to say 'Mistress d.y.k.e' in the future when you address me."

"I 'd like to say 'Mrs. Moore,'" replied the poet.

"What did you say, sir?" she demanded shortly, an angry flash in her eyes.

"I said I 'd know more some day."

"That is certainly to be hoped," said Bessie. "One should be sanguine, no matter how futile such cheerfulness may appear at the present time."

So far Moore had succeeded but poorly in breaking down the girl's reserve, and though painfully conscious of his failure, was nevertheless quite resolved that the interview should not end with their present att.i.tudes unaltered.

That she herself was not averse to listening to his arguments this evening was already fully proved, for she had made no effort to conclude their conversation, and in fact seemed waiting with no little interest for the next attempt he might make to restore himself to his old-time place in her regard.

"Mistress d.y.k.e," began Moore, hopefully, favoring the girl with a look as languis.h.i.+ng as love could make it, "do you know what your mouth reminds me of as you sit there?"

"Cherries?" suggested the girl promptly. "I believe that is the usual comparison made by lame-witted poets."

"No, indeed. Cherries conceal pits, and, as you no doubt remember, Joseph fell into one. Now I am no Joseph."

"No," said Bessie. "You are more like Charles Surface, I fancy."

"Never mind mixing the Drama with this conversation," replied Moore, chidingly. "Forget for a moment that you are an actress and remember you are a woman, though no doubt it amounts to the same thing."

"Well, what _does_ my mouth remind you of, Mr. Moore?" asked the girl, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Of better things, Mistress d.y.k.e."

"Indeed? What may they be, sir?"

"Kisses," replied the poet lightly. "Ah, Bessie, it is glad that I am that your mouth is no smaller."

"And why so?" she asked, suspiciously.

"The smaller a woman's mouth, the greater the temptation."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'The smaller a woman's mouth, the greater the temptation,' said Moore."]

"Is that what you call me?"

"Your mouth, my dear. Alluring is no name for it. Temptation? Aye, that it is. Twin ribbons of rosy temptation, or I 'm no Irishman."

"We won't dwell upon that subject," announced Bessie.

"If I were a honey-bee, I 'd live and die there," said Moore, sincerely.

"Where?" asked the girl.

"On the subject, _if I were a honey-bee_."

"The subject is closed," she answered, compressing her lips in anything but an amiable expression.

"I don't like it so well that way."

"How you like it does not interest me at all, sir."

"Now I wish to speak to you seriously," said Moore with becoming gravity. "Please give me your attention."

"I am listening, sir," she answered, a trifle uneasily.