Old Valentines

  III

  "Lady Neville is a most estimable woman," observed Sir Peter, atbreakfast the next morning, "and your friend Margaret is a very nicegirl, as I have observed. But these places, my dear, these socialsettlements, as they call them, Saint Ruth's, and--er--the rest of them,are the breeding-places of discontent, of unrest hotbeds of socialism. Ican't approve of your going there often."

  "Well, of course, Uncle Peter, you know far more about it than I do. ButI should think that Saint Ruth's would make the poor people morecontented. If there were no such clean, bright, cheery places to go to,and to leave their babies in, and to hear music on summer nights, andsee the motion-pictures which make them forget their hard, drudging,colorless lives for a little while,"--here Phyllis caught her breath inthat fascinating way she has--"if there were no such helpful places, Ishould think they might be more hopeless and bitter. But when they knowthat Lady Neville, and you, and other rich people care something forthem,--enough to want to give them some happy hours; when they see PeggyNeville teaching their little girls to sew,--don't you think they mayfeel less like throwing a stone through the windows of her motor?"

  "Perhaps, my dear child, perhaps. I do not say you are wrong. I aminclined to think, however, that they suppose these--er--socialsettlements are maintained by the County Council, and supported by therates. And I rather think," added Sir Peter, lighting his cigar, "Irather think they believe they pay the rates themselves."

  "Have you ever visited Saint Ruth's, Uncle Peter? But I am sure youhaven't, or I should have known it. Now, how can you sit in your libraryhere and analyze the thoughts and motives of those poor people? Whatmust Saint Ruth's seem to them, compared with their miserabledwellings?"

  "I can't say I have ever been there," owned Sir Peter, "but I am one ofthe Board of Trustees, in charge of the funds of several philanthropicinstitutions, and I hear these things discussed. But, my dear child, Ido not wish to offer any objection to your going there if you areinterested. Good idea; see the other side. Of course, you won't ever goalone, though. Those East End streets, you know--better take the car andhave Thompson wait. I will make an inquiry or two of Sir CharlesAnstruther at the Club; he takes a deep interest in--er--these socialsettlements,--Toynbee Hall and----Ten o'clock! I shall be late.Good-bye, my dear. Have a good time in your own way."

  Phyllis may have confused inclination with duty a little; in any event,Mrs. Thorpe, whose kind face might have served for a likeness of SaintRuth herself, found plenty of work for her. And Phyllis did love thebabies; they did not all look alike to her, as they did to John. TheHonorable Margaret found her quite at home when Thursday rolled around.

  "Good for you, Phil!" was her salutation "My word! Don't they get dirtyover-night!"

  When a month had passed, it was Phyllis's custom to go to Saint Ruth'snearly every day. The work was engrossing; Dr. Thorpe warned her againstoverdoing it; his experience of volunteer workers was large.

  "Oh! she will stay with us," laughed Mrs. Thorpe, to whom his misgivingswere clear. "Miss Oglebay and I are to make calls in the neighborhoodthis afternoon."

  "You will see sad sights," said the doctor; "but lots of funny ones,too."

  To the Christmas ceremonies she brought Sir Peter, determined to bepleased, against his better judgment. He liked Dr. Thorpe at once; SirPeter knew a man when he saw one. Mrs. Thorpe made him chuckle; so heliked her, too. The place was crowded; mostly with the very poor, intheir best and at their best; but Sir Peter was surprised to meet anumber of his acquaintances; not so surprised as they were, however.

  There were two adjoining houses to be leased and connected with SaintRuth's; a matter of arrangement was submitted by Dr. Thorpe. Sir Peterpaced off the rooms for himself and gave his opinion. Dr. Thorpeconsulted strangers on problems of obvious solution; the hard ones heand Mrs. Thorpe thought out after they went to bed.

  They occupied front seats for the entertainment and Phyllis pointedpeople out to him.

  "There is Father Carroll," she said, indicating direction with herprogramme. "Dr. Thorpe and Father Carroll and Mr. Landless are thecommittee. Father Carroll will give the address later; Mr. Landlessarranged the songs. I helped him with that."

  The entertainment was a success. Such proud mothers and fathers when theprizes were distributed! Every child had honorable mention, at least.Father Carroll told the funniest stories; how the crowd laughed. Andwhen he talked seriously to them--you could have heard a pin drop.

  When John was introduced to Sir Peter, he stood very straight; onestood at attention instinctively, before Sir Peter.

  "Very pleased, indeed, to meet you, sir," said Sir Peter. "You don'thappen to be of the Sussex Landlesses, do you; I knew a Hugh Landless atCambridge."

  "Yes, sir. They are my people. He was my father."

  "Really. Let me see: he took orders, did he not? I hope I am not toinfer----"

  "He died last June, sir."

  "I beg your pardon. I didn't know. I am sorry not to have seen more ofhim after he left the University. He was a most likeable fellow. Weshall see more of you, I trust? Have you been long in London?"

  "I came after--at once. There was nothing to keep me there, and I felt Imust begin work in my profession immediately."

  If John had been looking at Phyllis, he would have seen her face flushslightly; an anxious look came into her eyes. But he was looking at SirPeter.

  "What is it to be?" asked Sir Peter. "Not the Church?"

  "No, sir." John's chin was noticeable now. "I follow the profession ofpoetry."

  "Upon my word!" exclaimed Sir Peter, and would have said more.

  "Isn't it fine, Uncle Peter!" Phyllis interrupted, her cheeks rosy, andher eyes starry pleaders for a lost cause. "Mr. Landless means to be apoet. That is his chosen profession. Don't you think it fine to makesuch a choice,--when one has the talent, of course?" Her earnest voicefell before Sir Peter's stony gaze.

  "But poetry isn't a profession," declared Sir Peter roundly. He gave ashort, hard laugh. "A pastime, perhaps; a recreation; but not aprofession, Mr. Landless. But, pshaw! You don't expect me to take youseriously?"

  There was an awkward moment. When Phyllis ventured a look at John, shewas surprised to see him smiling.

  "I assure you I am quite serious," he answered easily. "But I amaccustomed to the other view. Thank you cordially for your willingnessto see something of me. My father would have been pleased. When I wasgoing through his papers I fancy I ran across your name in one of hisold diaries. You won't think me disrespectful if I tell you that thediary spoke of you as 'Top' Oglebay."

  "Good Gad!" said Sir Peter; "I have not heard that name in thirty years.Yes, I was 'Top' Oglebay."

  Phyllis was glad to see Mark Holroyd and her dear Peggy Neville comingtoward them. Mark was sheepish, at first, but Phyllis put him at hisease in no time. The Honorable Margaret and John Landless were swornfriends. John had applied the test to her. "Perfectly smashing!" was herexpressed opinion of his profession; the foresight of Phyllis hadsmoothed the way.

  "Well, well," said Sir Peter, as they drove homeward, "that was all veryinteresting and new. You will help me to remember to send a check toThorpe in the morning, won't you, my dear?"

  Phyllis, snuggled in furs, wondered if she dared to make a remark, everso casually, about Mr. Landless; concluded she daren't, and resignedherself to think of him in silence.

  A week later John presented himself, in evening dress. Sir Peter chattedwith them for a while, and then buried himself in the "EngineeringReview." Over this he nodded, oblivious, while John recited his versesto Phyllis at the other end of the long library. They were prettyverses; Phyllis thought them beautiful. You should have seen John'ssmile. He tried to screw his courage up to recite his "Lines toPhyllis," but at ten he hadn't, and Sir Peter awoke then, and reenteredthe conversation.

  John said good-night to Sir Peter in the library. He would have toPhyllis, also, but she went with him into the hall. Sir Peter followedthem there, and said good-night again, in the frie
ndliest way.

  Phyllis called on Saint Ruth's neighbors often in the weeks thatfollowed. Mindful of her uncle's command, she was never alone. SometimesMrs. Thorpe, at others Peggy Neville, and quite often John Landless wentwith her. The squalor and misery all about them was shocking to everysense; hideous at its worst; but the sharp, sweet, bitter-sweet memoriesof those winter afternoons will linger in Phyllis's mind as long as shelives. Sad memories and joyous ones! And one more lovely than all therest.

  There came a day when, long in advance of its arrival, there was asudden hint of spring. Carrying a parcel, John walked beside Phyllis.The soft air was filled with magic. The mildness of it brought thetenement dwellers to windows and doors.

  "Warm, isn't it?" remarked John, trying to fan himself with the parcel,and failing "Please don't walk so fast? I have something to tell you."

  "Tell away, Mr. Landless, tell away," said Phyllis, gayly, and slackenedher pace. "Is there good news of your book? Do the flinty-heartedpublishers at last see their opportunity?"

  "No, they don't," said John. "In fact--well, I am glad my opinion of mypoetry isn't governed by theirs."

  Phyllis stole a quick look at his face; but the chin was uplifted,confident as ever.

  "Is the boys' club making progress?" she asked.

  "Splendid! But I want to talk about you and me."

  "You and me----" three little words. The subtle spring air wafted odorsof Arcady.

  For a few moments they walked on silently John was preparing hissentences, and he could never be hurried at that.

  Phyllis knew what was coming; she knew, she knew! Ah! the rapture of it,the loveliness of it all! the poignant beauty of the still unspokenwords. Phyllis was willing to wait; he had nothing to tell her shedidn't know; but she wanted to hear it said, and remember each word todream over afterward.

  Slowly they walked, in the mean little street, past dark passages,leading into tenements; past knots of lounging men; little mothers withheavy babies struggling in their thin arms; rowdies with vacuous eyes;and girls flaunting cheap finery.

  "May I call you Phyllis?" asked John, breaking the silence suddenly.

  MAY I CALL YOU PHYLLIS?]

  "Why, yes; if you wish--and if you think you ought, you know."

  "Well, then,--Phyllis. Your name has become to me the one name worthsaying in the world. Ever since I met you for the first time, fourmonths ago, I have been saying it, Phyllis; but I wanted to say it toyou. So with your face: I know every mood of you by the lights andshadows of it. I can see it in your absence, almost as well as when I amwith you. Your dear, sweet face, Phyllis, and your crown of gold, andyour loyal eyes, I know by heart, as well as your name. Dear Phyllis.And I know, too, your quick and beautiful mind; its clear, wisejudgment of the true and the false. I know its freedom from selfishness,and all littleness. I know its purity and its steadfastness I know yourcapable hands, Phyllis, and your eager, pitying heart,--for I have seenthem at work day after day, and week after week. I love you, my dearest,and I must tell you so. I think I have loved you longer than I haveknown you, but I know I have loved you as long. Perhaps you can care forme, and perhaps you can't. Sometimes I have dared to hope you might, butalmost always I have known it was too high a hope. For I am only a poorpoet, with nothing but faith in myself and love for you to offer. I knowyou have everything; a beautiful home, and beautiful clothes, andbeautiful jewels, probably, though I haven't seen them. Every wish ofyours is answered almost before you know it is yours. Life's promise toyou is the earth and the fullness thereof; and I offer you only love.But in the end I shall win, Phyllis, I am perfectly certain of that. Ishall never, never be rich; possibly never even well-to-do; but I loveyou, Phyllis; I love you. I want to ask you to wait for me--and be mywife."

  With a pretty impulse she took one of his hands and raised it to herlips.

  People were passing almost constantly. They were forced to separate, topass a group of children, playing noisily on the pavement.

  "I know I should have spoken to your uncle, first," he said, "but I knewhe would say no, unless--unless you asked him, too."

  "Ah! but I am so glad you told me to-day," said Phyllis. "I am so glad,so glad! Of all the days in the year I should have chosen to-day. Youdon't know why, do you? Because to-day is the fourteenth ofFebruary,--Saint Valentine's Day."

  In a rush of words she told him of her mother's name, and of her mother,and of her valentines.

  "You haven't told me you love me yet," said John.

  "Can't you hear my heart singing it?" asked Phyllis.

  "But I want to hear you say the words," he urged.

  "I love you, John," said Phyllis softly.

  "And you will promise to marry me--some day?" he asked.

  "Yes--some day," she repeated shyly.

  "And you are not afraid of the future?"

  "Not a bit," said Phyllis. She smiled up at him. "You must take me home,now, and we will tell Uncle Peter."

  They rode home on the top of a motor-bus. He tucked her hand into hisgreatcoat pocket, and held it there. Their mood was exalted. The streetswere glorified; the gloomy buildings had become wonderful castles; theirfellow-passengers were surrounded with the mystery of romance.

  It grew colder rapidly; at the terminus they clambered down stiffly.Twilight had fallen when they reached the great gates of the park. Johnstopped and laid a detaining hand on Phyllis's arm. They kissed for thefirst time. Moment of ecstasy!

  It is doubtful if they would ever have got past the park gates exceptfor the warning whistle of a hurrying messenger boy, on a bicycle.

  "My eye! What a smack!" he yelled, as he shot past. John glared, butPhyllis laughed happily.

  He would have lingered as they walked down the long street to thehouse; but Phyllis had no doubt of the outcome; Sir Peter's frown waswithout terrors for her, but to John--how formidable. His footstepslagged as they climbed the wide steps to the door.

  "Sir Peter was called out of town by a telegram," said Burbage, in thehall. "He said he would be home by a late train. Thompson's to meet thetwelve-thirty."

  John clutched at this reprieve.

  "I have a class at Saint Ruth's at seven," he said. "I must hurry away,Miss Oglebay." Burbage was helping Phyllis with her furs.

  It was arranged he should call early the following morning. Theyexchanged significant looks, and he was gone. A ring, set withold-fashioned garnets, was left in the hand he had pressed; one of hismother's rings, worn on his watch-chain. Phyllis seized Burbage anddanced her up and down the hall and back again, demoralizing the rugs.Then, having picked up her muff and thrown it at her, Phyllis raced upthe stairs.