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Love At Martinmas
by
“Ah, sir,” said Lady Allonby, “you are aware that once–“
“Indeed,” said Mr. Erwyn, “’twas the sand on which I builded. But I am wiser now, and I perceive that the feeling you entertain toward me is but the pallid shadow of a youthful inclination. I shall not presume upon it. Oh, I am somewhat proud, dear Anastasia; I have freely given you my heart, such as it is; and were you minded to accept it, even at the eleventh hour, through friendship or through pity only, I would refuse. For my love of you has been the one pure and quite unselfish, emotion of my life, and I may not barter it for an affection of lesser magnitude either in kind or in degree. And so, farewell!”
“Yet hold, dear sir–” said Lady Allonby. “Lord, but will you never let me have the woman’s privilege of talking!”
“Nay, but I am, as ever, at your service,” said Mr. Erwyn, and he paused in transit for the door.
“–since, as this betokens–“
“‘Tis a tasteful handkerchief,” said Mr. Erwyn–“but somewhat moist!”
“And–my eyes?”
“Red,” said Mr. Erwyn.
“I have been weeping, toad, with my head on the pin-cushion, and the maid trying to tipsify me with brandy.”
“Why?” said Mr. Erwyn.
“I thought you were to marry Dorothy.”
Mr. Erwyn resumed his seat. “You objected?” he said.
“I think, old monster,” Lady Allonby replied, “that I would entertain the same objection to seeing any woman thus sacrificed–“
“Well?” said Mr. Erwyn.
“–except–“
“Incomparable Anastasia!” said Mr. Erwyn.
IV
Afterward these two sat long in the twilight, talking very little, and with their eyes rarely meeting, although their hands met frequently at quite irrelevant intervals. Just the graze of a butterfly to make it certain that the other was there: but all the while they both regarded the tiny fire which had set each content of the room a-dancing in the companionable darkness. For each, I take it, preferred to think of the other as being still the naïve young person each remembered; and the firelight made such thinking easier.
“D’ye remember–?” was woven like a refrain through their placid duo….
It was, one estimates, their highest hour. Frivolous and trivial persons you might have called them and have justified the accusation; but even to the fop and the coquette was granted an hour wherein all human happenings seemed to be ordered by supernal wisdom lovingly. Very soon they would forget this hour; meanwhile there was a wonderful sense of dreams come true.