Americans -- Austria -- Fiction; Love stories; Vienna (Austria) -- Fiction; Violinists -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
It is doubtful, however, if Anna Gates would have applauded Peter
had she followed the two in their rambling walk that night. Direction
mattering little and companionship everything, they wandered on, talking
of immaterial things--of the rough pavements, of the shop windows, of
the gray medieval buildings. They came to a full stop in front of the
Votivkirche, and discussed gravely the twin Gothic spires and the
Benk sculptures on the facade. And there in the open square, casting
diplomacy to the winds, Peter Byrne turned to Harmony and blurted out
what was in his heart.
“Look here,” he said, “you don't care a rap about spires. I don't
believe you know anything about them. I don't. What did that idiot of a
woman doctor say to you to-day?”
“I don't know what you mean.”
“You do very well. And I'm going to set you right. She starts out with
two premises: I'm a man, and you're young and attractive. Then she draws
some sort of fool deduction. You know what I mean?”
“I don't see why we need discuss it,” said poor Harmony. “Or how you
know--”
“I know because she told me. She knew she had been a fool, and she
came to me. I don't know whether it makes any difference to you or not,
but--we'd started out so well, and then to have it spoiled! My dear
girl, you are beautiful and I know it. That's all the more reason why,
if you'll stand for it, you need some one to look after you--I'll not
say like a brother, because all the ones I ever knew were darned poor
brothers to their sisters, but some one who will keep an eye on you and
who isn't going to fall in love with you.”
“I didn't think you were falling in love with me; nor did I wish you
to.”
“Certainly not. Besides, I--” Here Peter Byrne had another inspiration,
not so good as the first--“Besides, there is somebody at home, you
understand? That makes it all right, doesn't it?”
“A girl at home?”
“A girl,” said Peter, lying manfully.
“How very nice!” said Harmony, and put out her hand. Peter, feeling all
sorts of a cheat, took it, and got his reward in a complete restoral of
their former comradely relations. From abstractions of church towers
and street paving they went, with the directness of the young, to
themselves. Thereafter, during that memorable walk, they talked
blissful personalities, Harmony's future, Peter's career, money--or
its lack--their ambitions, their hopes, even--and here was intimacy,
indeed!--their disappointments, their failures of courage, their
occasional loss of faith in themselves.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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