Autobiography of a Pocket-HandkerchiefCooper, James Fenimore
General
Autobiography of a Pocket-Handkerchief
Cooper, James Fenimore
Fables; Handkerchiefs -- Fiction
The next morning Julia sent for me down to be exhibited to one or two
friends, my fame having spread in consequence of my late appearance. I
was praised, kissed, called a pretty dear, and extolled like a spoiled
child, though Miss W. did not fail to carry the intelligence, far and
near, that Miss Monson's much-talked-of pocket-handkerchief was nothing
after all but the THING Miss Halfacre had brought out the night of the
day her father had stopped payment. Some even began to nick-name me the
insolvent pocket-handkerchief.
I thought Julia sad, after her friends had all left her. I lay
neglected on a sofa, and the pretty girl's brow became thoughtful. Of a
sudden she was aroused from a brown study--reflective mood, perhaps,
would be a more select phrase--by the unexpected appearance of young
Thurston. There was a sort of "Ah! have I caught you alone!" expression
about this adventurer's eye, even while he was making his bow, that
struck me. I looked for great events, nor was I altogether
disappointed. In one minute he was seated at Julia's side, on the same
sofa, and within two feet of her; in two more he had brought in play
his usual tricks of flattery. My mistress listened languidly, and yet
not altogether without interest. She was piqued at Betts Shoreham's
indifference, had known her present admirer several months, if dancing
in the same set can be called KNOWING, and had never been made love to
before, at least in a manner so direct and unequivocal. The young man
had tact enough to discover that he had an advantage, and fearful that
some one might come in and interrupt the tete a tete, he magnanimously
resolved to throw all on a single cast, and come to the point at once.
"I think, Miss Monson," he continued, after a very beautiful specimen
of rigmarole in the way of love-making, a rigmarole that might have
very fairly figured in an editor's law and logic, after he had been
beaten in a libel suit, "I think, Miss Monson, you cannot have
overlooked the VERY particular attentions I have endeavored to pay you,
ever since I have been so fortunate as to have made your acquaintance?"
"I!--Upon my word, Mr. Thurston, I am not at all conscious of having
been the object of any such attentions!"
"No?--That is ever the way with the innocent and single-minded! This is
what we sincere and diffident men have to contend with in affairs of
the heart. Our bosoms may be torn with ten thousand distracting cares,
and yet the modesty of a truly virtuous female heart shall be so
absorbed in its own placid serenity as to be indifferent to the pangs
it is unconsciously inflicting!"
"Mr. Thurston, your language is strong--and--a little--a little
unintelligible."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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