PAGE 17
The Harshaw Bride
by
“But there is no decent way. How can I explain to you, or you to her, such a measly affair as this? It began with a question of money he owed that woman on the ranch. He bought it of her,–and a cruel bad bargain it was,–and he never could make his last payment. She has threatened him, and played the fool with him when he’d let her, and bored him no end. His governor would have helped him out; but, you see, Micky has been a rather expensive boy, and he has given the old gentleman to understand that the place is paid for,–to account for money sent him at various times for that ostensible purpose,–and on that basis the bargain was struck, between our governors, for my interest in the ranch. My father bought me in, on a clear title, as Uncle George represented it, in perfect good faith. I’ve never said a word, on the old gentleman’s account; and Micky has never dared undeceive his father, who is the soul of honor in business, as in everything else. I am sorry to bore you with family affairs; but it’s rather rum the way Micky’s fate has caught up with him, through his one weakness of laziness, and perhaps lying a little, when he was obliged to. How this affair came about so suddenly I can’t say. Didn’t like to ask her too many questions; and Micky, poor devil, faded from view directly he saw us coming. But at a venture: she had heard he was going to be married, and came down here to make trouble when he should arrive with his bride; but he came back alone, disgusted with life, and found her here. It was easier to marry her than–pay her, we’ll say. She has been something over-generous, perhaps. She would rather have had him, any time, than her money, and now was the time. She took advantage of a weak moment.”
“A weak and a spiteful moment,” I kindly added. “Now if he hastens the news to England, and the Percifers hear of it in New York, how pleasant for Kitty to have all her friends hear that he is married and she is not!”
“Great Heavens!” said the young fellow, “if she would let me hasten the news–that she is married to me!”
“Why don’t you appeal to her pride and her spirit now while they are in the dust? Why do you bother with sentiment now?”
I liked him so much at that moment that I would have had him have Kitty, no matter what way he got her.
“Yes,” he said; “why not take advantage of her, as everybody else has done?”
“Some people’s scrupulousness comes rather late,” I said.
“To those who don’t understand,” he had the brazenness to say. “What is done is done. It’s a rough beginning–awfully rough on her. The end must atone somehow. If I don’t win her I shall be punished enough; but if I do, it will be because she loves me. And pray God”–He stopped, with that look. It is a number of years since a young man has looked at me in that way, but a woman does not forget.
It was rather difficult telling to Kitty the story of her old lover’s marriage, as I took it on myself to do. Not that she winced perceptibly; but I fear she has taken the thing home, and is dwelling on it–certain features of it–in a way that can do no good. From a word she lets slip now and then, I gather that she is brooding over that fancy of hers that Cecil Harshaw offered himself by way of reparation, as she was falling between two stools,–her own home and her lover’s,–to save her from the ground. As since that rainy night in the wagon she has never distinctly referred to this theory of his conduct, I have no excuse for bringing it up, even to attack it. In fact, I dare not; she is in too complicated a mood. And, after all, why should I want her to marry either of them? Why should the “hungry generations” tread her down? She is nice enough to stay as she is.