An American Politician: A NovelCrawford, F. Marion (Francis Marion)
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An American Politician: A Novel
Crawford, F. Marion (Francis Marion)
Political fiction; Politicians -- Fiction
That night, when Ronald was alone in his room at the hotel, he took
Josephine's photograph from a case in his bag and set it before him on the
table. He would think about her for a while, and reflect on his situation;
and he sat down for that purpose, his chin resting on his folded hands.
Dear Joe--he loved her so dearly, and she was so cruel not to marry him!
But, somehow, as he looked, he seemed to see through the photograph, and
another face came and smiled on him. Again and again he called his
attention back, and tried to realize that the future would be very blank
and dreary without Joe; but do what he would, it did not seem so blank and
dreary after all; there was somebody else there.
"Joe is quite right," he said aloud. "I am a brute." And he went to bed,
trying hard to be disgusted with himself. But his dreams were sweet, for
he dreamed he was sitting among the ferns at Mrs. Wyndham's house, talking
to Sybil Brandon.
"Why, my dear," said Mrs. Wyndham, when Ronald was gone, "he is perfectly
charming. We have positively found a new man."
"Yes," said Sybil. "I am so glad you asked him to dinner. I do not think
he is very clever, but he talks easily, and says funny things."
"I suppose he has come over to marry his cousin--has not he?" inquired
Mrs. Wyndham.
"No," replied Sybil, "he is not going to marry Joe Thorn," she answered
absently; for she was thinking of something, and her tone indicated such
absolute certainty in the matter that Mrs. Wyndham looked quickly at her.
"Well, you seem quite certain about it, any way," she said.
"I? Oh--well, yes. I think it is extremely unlikely that he will marry
her."
"I almost wish I had offered to take him to the party to-night," said Mrs.
Wyndham, evidently unsatisfied. "However, as he is coming to-morrow, that
will do quite as well. Sybil, dear, you look tired. Why don't you go and
lie down before dinner?"
"Oh, because--I am not tired, really. I am always pale, you know."
"Well, I am tired to death myself, my dear, and as there is no one here I
will say I am not at home, and rest till dinner."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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