England -- Fiction; Magic -- Fiction; South Africa -- Fiction
“I tell you what it is, Jeremy,” said Ernest, when he had finished
groaning at the vision of his successful rival as painted by Jeremy;
“you are a good fellow, and I am a selfish beast. Here have I been
kicking up all this devil’s delight, and you haven’t said a word. You
are a more decent chap than I am, Jeremy, by a long chalk. And I
daresay you are as fond of her as I am. No, I don’t think you can be
that, though.”
“My dear fellow, there is no parallel between our cases. I never
expected to marry her. You did, and had every right to do so. Besides,
we are differently made. You feel things three times as much as I do.”
Ernest laughed bitterly.
“I don’t think that I shall ever feel anything again,” he said. “My
capacities for suffering will be pretty nearly used up. O, what a
sublime fool is the man who gives all his life and heart to one woman!
No man would have done it; but what could you expect of a couple of
boys like we were? That is why women like boys: it is so easy to take
them in—like puppies going to be drowned, in love and faith they lick
the hand that will destroy them. It must be amusing—to the destroyers.
By Jove, Alston was right about his ideals! Do you know, I am beginning
to see all these things in quite a different light. I used to believe
in women, Jeremy—actually I used to believe in them. I thought they
were better than we are,” and he laughed hysterically. “Well, we buy
our experience; I sha’n’t make the mistake again.”
“Come, come, Ernest, don’t go on talking like that. You have got a blow
as bad as death, and the only thing to do is to meet it as you would
meet death—in silence. You will not go after that fellow, will you? It
will only make things worse, you see. You won’t have time to kill him
before he marries her, and it really would not be worth while getting
hanged about it when the mischief is done. There is literally nothing
to be done except grin and bear it. We won’t go back to England at all,
but right up to the Zambesi, and hunt elephants; and as things have
turned out, if you should get knocked on the head, why, you won’t so
much mind it, you know.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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