The Carcellini Emerald, With Other TalesHarrison, Burton, Mrs.
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The Carcellini Emerald, With Other Tales
Harrison, Burton, Mrs.
American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
“You asked to see me on business, I understood,” she interrupted, as
if he had come to peddle his wares in her drawing-room.
Carmichael blushed crimson. The sting of her manner was intolerable.
“I came, if you will have it outright, to offer to save you and
your brother Tom from the scandals that are already attacking his
good name,” he exclaimed, angrily. “For the sake of old times I can
forgive your inhospitality, and even the insulting rudeness of your,
and his, and your husband’s manner to me at the Ellisons’ dinner.
I suppose you did not dream that entertainment was to terminate so
unfortunately for you. The mischief this article in the ---- has done
him is, in point of fact, incredible. I happen to have some control
over the situation--”
“Then it _is_ your work! I thought so,” she said, cutting him short.
“May I ask why you presume to come to me?”
“You are determined to think the worst of me,” he answered, growing
white where he had been red. “I repeat that I came in friendship. I
can be of service to you, and I offer to do my best. I can, in two
words, get the forthcoming article suppressed, and will do so upon
condition that you withdraw your enmity to me before the world; that
you acknowledge and receive me in your house, and consent to overlook
the past; that you induce your husband to treat me with common
civility. This is not so much for me to ask from you--Eunice--the
only woman I ever loved, who has gone from me forever.”
For one moment her eyes met his, and she saw that he spoke the truth
in what he had said last--that in all his poor, mean, warped life his
feeling for her had been the best he had known. But even this feeling
he would now make the vehicle of his selfish schemes. Eunice tried
to compass, but could not, the infinite pettiness of the bargain he
strove to make with her. Her brain, confused and shocked, refused to
see, what came to her afterward, that he could not, at this crisis,
afford to meet the open suspicion and hostility of a man of Arden
Farnsworth’s importance.
“I do not see--I cannot believe--that we should owe this to you,” she
replied, more softly. “I can speak certainly for Tom, that he would
resent your interference in any affair of his. If I have done you
injustice in supposing you are responsible for our annoyance, I am
willing to ask your pardon. But I am sure--quite, quite sure--we can
none of us ever believe in you again.”
“You are indeed implacable,” he muttered.
That she did not ask him to be seated cut him to the quick. He
lingered uncertainly for a few moments, then bowing to her, took his
leave. The footman, standing in the hall outside, opened the door for
him, then was summoned back by Mrs. Farnsworth.
“You will remember, Jasper, and tell the others to remember, that I
am never at home to Mr. Ashton Carmichael again.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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