The Mayor of WarwickHopkins, Herbert M. (Herbert Müller)
General
The Mayor of Warwick
Hopkins, Herbert M. (Herbert Müller)
Mayors -- Fiction; New England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Social classes -- United States -- Fiction
"This is a most embarrassing demonstration of affection," he commented.
"If any one should suddenly open the door, I fear his surprise would be
very great. Now, is it not fortunate that my room is opposite that of
my young colleague, rather than the room of some other person less well
disposed, less a friend, I may say, to you both?"
"I 'm sure it is," she answered. "If any one else had been living in
this room, I would never have ventured"--
"Exactly. No one else, perhaps, has had my opportunities for
understanding you. Now, on the basis of our long acquaintance, and
because of my deep attachment to yourself and your father, I wish to
urge you to reconsider your intention of making any other call this
afternoon."
"I shall have to use my own judgement," she returned, without
flinching. "I am in great perplexity--you don't know."
"I do know," he retorted, "and perhaps the time has come for me to tell
you so. A wanderer like myself comes across many unexpected things in
the course of his peregrinations. Shall I tell you how, while looking
for some records of my family in an old New York church, secretly
indulging the genealogical mania I am wont to deride, I lighted upon a
record I did not think to find--the record of the marriage of one who
is very dear to me?"
"Then you knew all the time! I almost thought so--often."
"Not all the time," he corrected, "though for what seemed a very long
time, while I waited for the bolt to fall on your father's unsuspecting
head. Perhaps, Felicity, you will accept it as a proof of my devotion
to you that I did not consider it my duty to enlighten your father. If
I can be of any assistance to you even now--but I am an outsider. I
merely wish to assure you of my unswerving--friendship."
"Don't make me cry," she protested, with a shaken little laugh. She
bit her lip and winked back the starting tears. "Father knows now--and
you know--and I am going to tell Mr. Leigh."
"Well, well," he answered, "I say no more." His eyes searched her face
earnestly, and he began to shake her hands, which he had retained in
his own from the time she put them there. "You must redeem your
promise to come and see me again, I hope under happier circumstances."
He flung open the door with suspicious haste, and bowed her out in his
ceremonious way.
She found herself facing the same beckoning firelight, with the same
reassuring silence about her. In addition she felt a new comfort and
an unexpected permission from the recent interview. Without further
hesitation, she stepped across the threshold and quietly closed the
door behind her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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