The Missionary Sheriff: Being incidents in the life of a plain man who tried to do his dutyThanet, Octave
General
The Missionary Sheriff: Being incidents in the life of a plain man who tried to do his duty
Thanet, Octave
Short stories, American; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
These mental exercises, this double life that she lived, kept her
inexperienced. At thirty she knew less of the world than a girl in her
first season; and at thirty she met Ashton Clarke. Western society is
elastic, or Clarke never would have been on the edges even; he never did
get any further, and his morals were more dubious than his position; but
he was Abbie’s first impassioned suitor, and his flattering love covered
every crack in his manners or his habits. Men had asked her to marry them
before, but never had a man made love to her. For two weeks she was a
happy woman. Then came discovery, and the storm broke. The Courtlandts
were in a rage—except gentle Madam Courtlandt, who was broken-hearted and
ashamed, which was worse for Abbie. Jack, the older brother, was summoned
from Chicago. Ralph, the younger, tore home on his own account from Yale.
It was really a testimony to the family’s affection for Abbie that she
created such a commotion, but it did not impress her in that way. In the
end she yielded, but she yielded with a sense of cruel injustice done her.
Time proved Clarke worse than her people’s accusations; but time did not
efface what the boys had said, much less what the girls had said. They
forgot, of course; it is so much easier to forget the ugly words that we
say than those that are said to us. But she remembered that Jack felt
that Abbie never did have any sense, and that Ralph raged because she
did not even know a cad from a gentleman, and that Margaret, pacing the
floor, too angry to sit still, would not have minded so much had Abbie
made a fool of herself for a _man_; but she didn’t wait long enough to
discover what he was; she positively accepted the first thing with a
mustache on it that offered!
Time healed her heart, but not her crushed and lacerated vanity. And it
is a question whether we do not suffer more keenly, if less deeply, from
wounds to the self-esteem than to the heart. Generally we mistake the
former for the latter, and declare ourselves to have a sensitive heart,
when what we do have is only a thin-skinned vanity!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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