Old Valentines

  V

  Was it Dr. Johnson who remarked that one great charm of London is thatyou may walk in a crowded street, eating a twopenny bun, withoutattracting a second glance? Or was it Benjamin Franklin? Not that itmatters.

  On a wintry morning, in a public conveyance a hatless and coatless youngwoman of unusual beauty, and a very self-conscious young man, sittingbeside her, were not annoyed by more than a curious stare or two.

  John had suggested a cab.

  "We must economize from the very beginning," said Phyllis, with a wansmile.

  She blushed deliciously when John handed her money, and she hurried intoa shop. Such a simple, brown hat she found, a little shopworn; thelong, warm coat she bought matched perfectly. Standing at the streetcorner, waiting for her, John counted the money in his pockets; enoughfor luncheon, fares, and even contingencies, he was glad to find. But hethought with satisfaction of the full quarter's income at his lodgings.When she rejoined him, John looked her over critically.

  "I suppose that is a terribly cheap coat," he said, trying to rememberother coats he had seen on her pretty figure.

  "It is a lovely coat. I like it very much," replied Phyllis, strokingthe flaps of the pockets.

  "Well, it really is becoming," John assured her. "So is the hat."

  "I think so, too," said Phyllis. "And I am particular about hats."

  "I would be willing to wager five shillings you never had such aninexpensive one before," said John. Phyllis didn't answer that; andJohn added, "Your uncle will send your pretty clothes to--to--whereveryou go," he ended lamely.

  Phyllis held up two slender fingers.

  "Two things I didn't like in one sentence" she admonished him. "First,Uncle Peter will send me nothing. Oh, John, I couldn't, couldn't takeanything from him now. I really could not." She stopped suddenly "I musthave my valentines, though. They were my mother's. They will go with mewherever--That reminds me of the second thing you said I didn't like.You should not have said--'Wherever you go,' but 'Wherever we go'!"

  She smiled at him bravely.

  "Well, we will go to lunch now," said John, smiling, too, and making themost of the pronoun. "It is early, but we can sit and talk it allover."

  "Where?" she asked, almost gayly. Her heart was bruised, but she meantto forget all that, and the thought of a lunch with John was a very goodplace to begin.

  John took his bearings as to restaurants.

  "If you could walk a short distance, there is Mildmay's," he suggested.

  "I can walk miles," she answered; but she thought ruefully of her thinsoles.

  A white table between them, a waitress with rolls, and something hot inprospect; John thought the time had come.

  "But, seriously, my darling, what shall we do? What is the best for you?Shall I take you to the Nevilles'?"

  Phyllis looked blank.

  "To be sent home in their car, bound hand and foot, and lecturedbesides!" she remonstrated.

  "Well, Mrs. Thorpe could certainly put you up for the night. Odd I didn'tthink of her first."

  "John, dear," began Phyllis, and then blushed, for the word had poppedout of itself. However, after a moment she went on courageously--"Didyou hear me say 'we,' a little while ago? We are going together whereverwe go." She hesitated. "Don't you want me, John?" A swift look at hisface, and hers glowed.

  "My dearest, dearest girl." John's voice expressed his earnestsincerity. "I won't pretend to misunderstand your meaning, and I do solong to believe it possible that my head swims. But--"

  "I perfectly hate 'buts,'" she interrupted She put her elbows on thetable, and flashed a smile at him, through her arched fingers.

  "But, dearest, you must consider this seriously I want you to think fora moment. Need I tell you I love you more than life! Only yesterday Iscarcely dared hope that you might be willing to wait years for meto--to earn enough with my pen to ask you to share my lot. To-day--thedoors of Paradise are opened wide. Ah! my dear, my dear, I am eager toenter, but I fear for you. I should be taking advantage of yourhelplessness----"

  "Listen, John," said Phyllis. "I am not the least bit helpless. Thereare dozens of houses to which I can go and dozens of friends who wouldbe glad to have me come to them. But at every open door there is also afinger pointing inevitably back to Uncle Peter's house. And there Ishall never, never go. So far as your lot is concerned--it is mine. Forbetter or for worse John, dear. But I trust you, and believe in you, andthink perhaps there is a high destiny for you. I want to share in that,too, if you will let me, please. And I can't do so fully unless we go,hand in hand, all the way, together. I am not dismayed by the thought ofdoing without a great many unnecessary things. And the really vitalthings I hope to have more of than ever--with you. And so, John, if youdon't mind, please, we will eat our lunch like sensible young people,and afterward--and afterward--Now, John, I simply cannot say that. Youmust say that, you know. I haven't left much of it for you to say, butthat little I insist upon your saying for yourself."

  Ah! Valentine Germain! pretty, dead Valentine Germain! your daughter iswonderfully like you now.

  John looked steadily into her trustful eyes; a long, long look.

  "Then I ask you to marry me this afternoon my dearest," he saidsolemnly. "And--oh! Phyllis, I pray God you may never reproach me."

  "I never shall, John," she answered. "For I honestly believe I am to bethe happiest and the proudest girl in England."

  "Wich of you gets the chocolate, and wich the tea?" asked the waitress.

  They were married before three; it was amazing how short, how simple, somarvelous an event could be. John spent ten minutes at the telephone. Aquarter of an hour was passed in the coldly official precincts ofDoctors' Commons. In the Faculty Office, through an open doorway,Phyllis caught glimpses of the formalities incident to securing alicense. A clerk filled up a printed form; John made affidavit to theclerk's accuracy of transcription; a stamp was affixed; a document wasblotted, examined; the dotting of an _i_ was attended to, and the dotblotted; a bank-note changed hands. The license in his pocket, Johnrejoined her.

  "We must hurry now, darling," said he.

  "Oh, dear!" said Phyllis. "I am glad to hurry away from here. Thatclerk's face was so unsympathetic."

  Half an hour after they entered the dark, quiet church, the clergyman,with a cold in his head, had pronounced them "bad ad wife."

  They were on top of a motor-bus, jolting cityward, and John was gaylyaddressing her as Mrs. Landless, before Phyllis realized that it wasreally all over--that the irrevocable step was taken--that they weremarried. The whirl of her thoughts then!

  At the terminus, John bought a newspaper and scanned its advertisements.They started on their search for lodgings. His room was in Whitechapel,near Saint Ruth's.

  "It is up under the roof, and looks over the week's washing of thesubmerged tenth; it won't do at all!" he had declared.

  The idea of a hotel impressed Phyllis unpleasantly.

  "Well, then," said John, "we must look for a new tree in which to buildour nest."

  How many dissonant bells jangled to their touch; how many drearyhallways they entered and stood waiting in; how many steep staircasesthey climbed; how many rooms they peeped into--one look enough; how manyothers they viewed at greater length, but with no more satisfaction inthe end; a few, John thought, had possibilities, but Phyllis could notbear the sight of them!

  The curious questions they were asked; as though the lodgers instead ofthe lodgings were undergoing inspection. Most of the lodging-housekeepers asked John where he was employed; some of them wanted to know ifhe could give references.

  "How cime you to leave your last plice?" was one shrill question.

  In utter weariness Phyllis at last consented to John's suggestion; hewould make a preliminary survey and she should be called into counselonly in promising cases. They were few enough. She walked up and downmonotonous streets while John was indoors; to be told, time after time,that was not the place they sought.

  Even
John might have been discouraged; on the contrary, that young man'schin rose to his difficulties. But Phyllis's eyes grew more and moretroubled when darkness fell, and the lights in windows reminded themthat they were still homeless.

  Seeking new bills, "To Let," they found themselves in a small square,surrounded by houses; a fine neighborhood in its day.

  "Oh dear, John, I fear I can walk no farther," said Phyllis. "We must goto a hotel after all, though I detest the idea. My shoes are wornthrough."

  He led her to a bench in the little square, and kneeling before her tookoff one shoe, and then the other, and carefully fitted each with a newsole, made from a page of "The Daily Chronicle."

  "If I fail as a poet I shall be a cobbler," he said to her brightly.

  He sat down beside her. "My dearest, I am so sorry. I have blunderedthrough this afternoon, horribly. Perhaps I should have taken you to myown room at once, poor as it is. Perhaps I should have sought advicefrom Mrs. Thorpe. Perhaps I should have insisted on a hotel, for a fewdays, until we could look about. At least, we might have had a cab. Ihave been most inconsiderate. I am so strong in the new hope andstrength you have given me that I haven't thought enough for you. Mypoor, tired Phyllis."

  He held her hands; his face contrite. She was too dispirited for words,but she patted his hand softly.

  As they sat there, John saw a lighted shop-window, not fifty yardsdistant.

  "Sit here and rest, darling, while I run over there and inquire for anylodgings in this vicinity. If there are none, I will call a cab and wewill go to a hotel. Think of the beautiful dinner we shall have. Ourwedding dinner, dearest! I warn you I mean to be extravagant." He leanedover her and kissed her, and then ran across the street.

  Then she allowed herself to cry for the first time. Poor, sad, tiredlittle bride, whose wedding day had been so different from all hergirlish dreams of it. She cried quietly, on the bench, alone, in thedarkness. She was cold and tired and lonely.

  John came back on the run, from the opposite direction.

  "I inquired at the bookseller's shop," said he. "He directed me to thehouse in which he lodges himself. He recommended it so highly I thoughtI would leave you alone for a few minutes longer and see the rooms.Phyllis, I really believe I have found what we want. There are threerooms, though one is very small. There is the coziest littlesitting-room, with a fireplace and an easy-chair. Adjoining it is asmaller room. But the bedroom is large, and has two windows. The placeis spotlessly clean. And the woman who lets the rooms is a wholesome,good-hearted soul; I am sure you will like her. The terms are alittle--well, just a little higher; but the woman says, of course, thatis to be expected--with the view of the square from our windows."

  John looked at Phyllis doubtfully. "Do you think, dearest, that youcould see these for yourself? It isn't far, and I will not ask you tolook at another place if you don't like this one."

  She drew new courage from his hopefulness They walked the length of thelittle square.

  John rang. The door opened, and a motherly looking woman stood aside tolet them enter. Phyllis stood directly below a flaring gas-jet, as sheturned to wait for their conductress.

  The woman screamed and her hands went to her heart.

  "Valentine Oglebay!" she exclaimed.

  "That was my mother's name," said Phyllis. She was too tired to besurprised, even. The woman took a step forward.

  "Your mother! Then you must be little Phyllis. You don't remember--"

  "Farquharson!" cried Phyllis. "Farquharson! Oh! dear, dear Farquharson."

  They were crying in each other's arms, repeating names endearingly,incredulously.