Didactic fiction; Roe, Edward Payson, 1838-1888; Short stories
During the remainder of the day he was unable to see her alone for a
moment, or to obtain any further reason to believe that the ice was in
reality broken between them. But his course was no longer noncommittal,
even to the most careless observer. The other guests of the house
smiled; and Mr. Merriweather and Mr. Hackley looked askance at one who
threw their assiduous attentions quite into the shade. Miss Madison
maintained her composure, was oblivious as far as possible, and
sometimes when she could not appear blind, looked a little surprised
and even offended.
He had determined to cast prudence and circumlocution to the winds. On
the morning following the episode in the mountains he was waiting to
meet her when she came down to breakfast. "I've seen that boy, Miss
Madison, and he's doing well."
"What! so early? You are a very kind-hearted man, Mr. Scofield."
"About as they average. That you are kind-hearted I know--at least to
every one except me--for I saw your expression as you examined the
little fellow's injury yesterday. You thought only of the child--"
"I hope you did also, Mr. Scofield," she replied with an exasperating
look of surprise.
"You know well I did not," he answered bluntly. "I thought it would be
well worth while to have my leg broken if you would look at me in the
same way."
"Truly, Mr. Scofield, I fear you are not as kind-hearted as I supposed
you to be;" and then she turned to greet Mr. Merriweather.
"Won't you let me drive you up to see the boy?" interposed Scofield,
boldly.
"I'm sorry, but I promised to go up with the doctor this morning."
And so affairs went on. He thought at times her color quickened a
little when he approached suddenly; he fancied that he occasionally
surprised a half-wistful, half-mirthful glance, but was not sure. He
knew that she was as well aware of his intentions and wishes as if he
had proclaimed them through a speaking-trumpet. His only assured ground
of comfort was that neither Mr. Merriweather nor Mr. Hackley had yet
won the coveted prize, though they evidently were receiving far greater
opportunities to push their suit than he had been favored with.
At last his vacation was virtually at an end. But two more days would
elapse before he must be at his desk again in the city. And now we will
go back to the time when we found him that early morning brooding over
his prospects, remote from observation. What should he do--propose by
letter? "No," he said after much cogitation. "I can see that little
affected look of surprise with which she would read my plain
declaration of what she knows so well. Shall I force a private
interview with her? The very word 'force,' which I have unconsciously
used, teaches me the folly of this course. She doesn't care a rap for
me, and I should have recognized the truth long ago. I'll go back to
the hotel and act toward her precisely as she has acted toward me. I
can then at least take back to town a little shred of dignity."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account