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The Two Husbands
by
“I am surprised, and I must say pained, to hear you speak thus. Surely you love the young lady you propose to marry?”
“Of course. But then I have a decent regard for her old father’s wealth; and I am by no means insensible to her personal attractions. I group all that is desirable into one grand consideration–beauty, wealth, standing, mental endowments, etc.,–and take her for the whole. But for love–a mere impulse that will die of itself, if left alone,–to marry a young lady! O no,–I am not the simpleton for that!”
Walter Gray looked his friend in the face for a moment or two, but did not reply. He was pained, even shocked at his levity.
“You seem really to doubt my being in earnest?” said Wilton, after a pause.
“I would doubt, if I could, Charles. But I fear you are speaking out too truly, sentiments that I could not have believed you capable of entertaining.”
“You are too simple and unsophisticated to live in this world, my old friend Walter Gray.”
“And long may I remain so,” was the calm response, “if to be honest and sincere is to be simple and unsophisticated.”
“Well, good morning to you, and success to your love marriage.”
And so saying, Charles Wilton left the office of his friend.
A few weeks more passed away, and the two young men had, in the meantime, consummated their matrimonial engagements. The wedding of Charles Wilton and Cara Linton was a splendid affair, succeeded by parties and entertainments for five or six weeks. That of Walter Gray and Jane Emory passed off more quietly and rationally.
Three months after their wedding-day, let us look in upon the two friends and their fair partners; and first, upon Charles Wilton and his bride. The time is evening, and they are sitting alone in one of their richly furnished parlors.
“O dear!” yawned out Wilton, rising and walking backwards and forwards, “this is dull work. Is there no place where we can go and spend a pleasant evening?”
“I don’t know, dear. Suppose we step over and see Pa?”
“O no. We were there two or three evenings ago. And, any how, I am in no humor for playing at draughts.”
“Well, I should like to go there this evening. I want to see Ma about something.”
“You can easily go to-morrow, Cara, and stay as long as you choose.”
“But I should like to go to night, dear.”
“Don’t think of it, Cara.”
“Then suppose we call in and sit an hour with the Melton’s?”
“Not to-night, Cara. The old man is deaf, and talks you out of all patience about sugars and teas cotton and tobacco.”
“But the girls are lively and entertaining.”
“Not for me, Cara. Think again.”
“Why not stay at home?”
“And pray what shall we do here?”
“I’ll sing and play for you.”
“I am in no humor for music to-night.”
His young wife sighed, but Wilton did not notice it.
“Come, let us go over to the Grogans?” he at length said.
“I can’t say that I care much about going there,” his wife replied.
“Of course not. You never seem to care much about going where I wish to,” said Wilton, pettishly.
His wife burst into tears, and sat sobbing for some minutes, during which time Wilton paced the room backwards and forwards, in moody silence. After a while his wife rose up and stole quietly from the room, and in a few minutes returned, dressed, to go out.
“I am ready,” she said.
“Ready to go where?”
“To Mr. Grogan’s, of course. You wish to go.”
“I don’t care about going now, as long as you are unwilling.”
“Yes, but I am willing, Charles, if the visit will be pleasant to you.”
“O, as to that, I don’t wish to compel you to go anywhere.”
“Indeed, Charles, I am willing to go,” said his wife, while her voice trembled and sounded harshly. “Come, now that I am ready. I wish to go.”
For a moment longer Wilton hesitated, and then took up his hat and went with her. Few were the words that passed between them as they walked along the street. Arrived at their friend’s house they both suddenly changed, and were as gay, and seemed as happy, as the gayest and the happiest.