XIII
Having duly considered the emptiness of existence, the unworthiness ofmen, the dreary future that awaited her--though this did not troubleher greatly, as she confidently expected to die soon--and many othersuch dolorous topics, Miss Hugonin decided to retire for the night.She rose, filled with speculations as to the paltriness of life andthe probability of her eyes being red in the morning.
"It will be all his fault if they are," she consoled herself."Doubtless he'll be very much pleased. After robbing me of all faithin humanity, I dare say the one thing needed to complete his happinessis to make me look like a fright. I hate him! After making memiserable, now, I suppose he'll go off and make some other womanmiserable. Oh, of course, he'll make love to the first woman he meetswho has any money. I'm sure she's welcome to him. I only pity anywoman who has to put up with _him_. No, I don't," Margaret decided,after reflection; "I hate her, too!"
Miss Hugonin went to the door leading to the hallway and paused.Then--I grieve to relate it--she shook a little pink-tipped fist inthe air.
"I detest you!" she commented, between her teeth; "oh, how _dare_ youmake me feel so ashamed of the way I've treated you!"
The query--as possibly you may have divined--was addressed to Mr.Woods. He was standing by the fireplace in the hallway, and his tallfigure was outlined sharply against the flame of the gas-logs thatburned there. His shoulders had a pathetic droop, a listlessness.
Billy was reading a paper of some kind by the firelight, and the blackoutline of his face smiled grimly over it. Then he laughed and threwit into the fire.
"Billy!" a voice observed--a voice that was honey and gold and velvetand all that is most sweet and rich and soft in the world.
Mr. Woods was aware of a light step, a swishing, sibilant, delightfulrustling--the caress of sound is the rustling of a well-groomedwoman's skirts--and of an afterthought of violets, of a merereminiscence of orris, all of which came toward him through thedimness of the hall. He started, noticeably.
"Billy," Miss Hugonin stated, "I'm sorry for what I said to you. I'mnot sure it isn't true, you know, but I'm sorry I said it."
"Bless your heart!" said Billy; "don't you worry over that, Peggy.That's all right. Incidentally, the things you've said to me and aboutme aren't true, of course, but we won't discuss that just now. I--Ifancy we're both feeling a bit fagged. Go to bed, Peggy! We'll bothgo to bed, and the night will bring counsel, and we'll sleep off allunkindliness. Go to bed, little sister!--get all the beauty-sleep youaren't in the least in need of, and dream of how happy you're going tobe with the man you love. And--and in the morning I may have somethingto say to you. Good-night, dear."
And this time he really went. And when he had come to the bend in thestairs his eyes turned back to hers, slowly and irresistibly, drawntoward them, as it seemed, just as the sunflower is drawn toward thesun, or the needle toward the pole, or, in fine, as the eyes of younggentlemen ordinarily are drawn toward the eyes of the one woman in theworld. Then he disappeared.
The mummery of it vexed Margaret. There was no excuse for his lookingat her in that way. It irritated her. She was almost as angry with himfor doing it as she would have been for not doing it.
Therefore, she bent an angry face toward the fire, her mouth poutingin a rather inviting fashion. Then it rounded slowly into a sanguineO, which of itself suggested osculation, but in reality stood for"observe!" For the paper Billy had thrown into the fire had fallenunder the gas-logs, and she remembered his guilty start.
"After all," said Margaret, "it's none of my business."
So she eyed it wistfully.
"It may be important," she considerately remembered. "It ought not tobe left there."
So she fished it out with a big paper-cutter.
"But it can't be very important," she dissented afterward, "or hewouldn't have thrown it away."
So she looked at the superscripture on the back of it.
Then she gave a little gasp and tore it open and read it by thefirelight.
Miss Hugonin subsequently took credit to herself for not going intohysterics. And I think she had some reason to; for she found the papera duplicate of the one Billy had taken out of the secret drawer, withhis name set in the place of hers. At the last Frederick R. Woods hadrelented toward his nephew.
Margaret laughed a little; then she cried a little; then she did bothtogether. Afterward she sat in the firelight, very puzzled and veryexcited and very penitent and very beautiful, and was happier than shehad ever been in her life.
"He had it in his pocket," her dear voice quavered; "he had it in hispocket, my brave, strong, beautiful Billy did, when he asked me tomarry him. It was King Cophetua wooing the beggar-maid--and the beggarwas an impudent, ungrateful, idiotic little _piece!_" Margaret hissed,in her most shrewish manner. "She ought to be spanked. She ought to godown on her knees to him in sackcloth, and tears, and ashes, and allsorts of penitential things. She will, too. Oh, it's such a beautifulworld--_such_ a beautiful world! Billy loves me--really! Billy's amillionaire, and I'm a pauper. Oh, I'm glad, glad, _glad!_"
She caressed the paper that had rendered the world such a goodly placeto live in--caressed it tenderly and rubbed her check against it. Thatwas Margaret's way of showing affection, you know; and I protest itmust have been very pleasant for the paper. The only wonder was thatthe ink it was written in didn't turn red with delight.
Then she read it through again, for sheer enjoyment of thosebeautiful, incomprehensible words that disinherited her. How _lovely_of Uncle Fred! she thought. Of course, he'd forgiven Billy; whowouldn't? What beautiful language Uncle Fred used! quite prayer-booky,she termed it. Then she gasped.
The will in Billy's favour was dated a week earlier than the one theyhad found in the secret drawer. It was worthless, mere waste paper. Atthe last Frederick R. Woods's pride had conquered his love.
"Oh, the horrid old man!" Margaret wailed; "he's left me everything hehad! How _dare_ he disinherit Billy! I call it rank impertinence inhim. Oh, boy dear, dear, _dear_ boy!" Miss Hugonin crooned, in anecstacy of tenderness and woe. "He found this first will in one of theother drawers, and thought _he_ was the rich one, and came in a greatwhirl of joy to ask me to marry him, and I was horrid to him! Oh, whata mess I've made of it! I've called him a fortune-hunter, and I'vetold him I love another man, and he'll never, never ask me to marryhim now. And I love him, I worship him, I adore him! And if onlyI were poor--"
Ensued a silence. Margaret lifted the two wills, scrutinised themclosely, and then looked at the fire, interrogatively.
"It's penal servitude for quite a number of years," she said. "But,then, he really _couldn't_ tell any one, you know. No gentleman wouldallow a lady to be locked up in jail. And if he knew--if he knew Ididn't and couldn't consider him a fortune-hunter, I really believe hewould--"
Whatever she believed he would do, the probability of his doing itseemed highly agreeable to Miss Hugonin. She smiled at the fire in themost friendly fashion, and held out one of the folded papers to it.
"Yes," said Margaret, "I'm quite sure he will."
There I think we may leave her. For I have dredged the dictionary,and I confess I have found no fitting words wherewith to picture thisinconsistent, impulsive, adorable young woman, dreaming brave dreamsin the firelight of her lover and of their united future. I shouldonly bungle it. You must imagine it for yourself.
It is a pretty picture, is it not?--with its laughable side, perhaps;under the circumstances, whimsical, if you will; but very, verysacred. For she loved him with a clean heart, loved him infinitely.
Let us smile at it--tenderly--and pass on.
But upon my word, when I think of how unreasonably, how outrageouslyMargaret had behaved during the entire evening, I am tempted todepose her as our heroine. I begin to regret I had not selected AdeleHaggage.
She would have done admirably. For, depend upon it, she, too, hadher trepidations, her white nights, her occult battles over Hugh VanOrden. Also, she was a pretty girl--if y
ou care for brunettes--andaccomplished. She was versed in I forget how many foreign languages,both Continental and dead, and could discourse sensibly in any one ofthem. She was perfectly reasonable, perfectly consistent, perfectlyunimpulsive, and never expressed an opinion that was not countenancedby at least two competent authorities. I don't know a man living,prepared to dispute that Miss Haggage excelled Miss Hugonin in allthese desirable qualities.
Yet with pleasing unanimity they went mad for Margaret and had thegreatest possible respect for Adele.
And, my dear Mrs. Grundy, I grant you cheerfully that this was allwrong. A sensible man, as you very justly observe, will seek in awoman something more enduring than mere personal attractions; he willvalue her for some sensible reason--say, for her wit, or her learning,or her skill in cookery, or her proficiency in Greek. A sensible manwill look for a sensible woman; he will not concern his sensible headover such trumperies as a pair of bright eyes, or a red lip or so, ora satisfactory suit of hair. These are fleeting vanities.
However--
You have doubtless heard ere this, my dear madam, that had Cleopatra'snose been an inch shorter the destiny of the world would have beenchanged; had she been the woman you describe--perfectly reasonable,perfectly consistent, perfectly sensible in all she said anddid--confess, dear lady, wouldn't Antony have taken to his heels andhave fled from such a monster?