Or rather, '_We are married: when, the rite?_'

That brought on the collector's next-day qualm At counting acquisition's cost. There lay My marvel, there my purse more light by much Because of its late lie-expenditure: Ill-judged such moment to make fresh demand-- To cage as well as catch my rarity!

So, I began explaining. At first word Outbroke the horror. '_Then, my truths were lies!_'

I tell you, such an outbreak, such new strange All-unsuspected revelation--soul As supernaturally grand as face Was fair beyond example--that at once Either I lost--or, if it please you, found My senses,--stammered somehow--'_Jest! and now, Earnest! Forget all else but--heart has loved, Does love, shall love you ever! take the hand!_'

Not she! no marriage for superb disdain, Contempt incarnate!"

"Yes, it's different,-- It's only like in being four years since.

I see now!"

"Well, what did disdain do next, Think you?"

"That's past me: did not marry you!-- That's the main thing I care for, I suppose.

Turned nun, or what?"

"Why, married in a month Some parson, some smug crop-haired smooth-chinned sort Of curate-creature, I suspect,--dived down, Down, deeper still, and came up somewhere else-- I don't know where--I've not tried much to know,-- In short, she's happy: what the clodpoles call 'Countrified' with a vengeance! leads the life Respectable and all that drives you mad: Still--where, I don't know, and that's best for both."

"Well, that she did not like you, I conceive.

But why should you hate her, I want to know?"

"My good young friend,--because or her or else Malicious Providence I have to hate.

For, what I tell you proved the turning-point Of my whole life and fortune toward success Or failure. If I drown, I lay the fault Much on myself who caught at reed not rope, But more on reed which, with a packthread's pith, Had buoyed me till the minute's cramp could thaw And I strike out afresh and so be saved.

It's easy saying--I had sunk before, Disqualified myself by idle days And busy nights, long since, from holding hard On cable, even, had fate cast me such!

You boys don't know how many times men fail Perforce o' the little to succeed i' the large, Husband their strength, let slip the petty prey, Collect the whole power for the final pounce.

My fault was the mistaking man's main prize For intermediate boy's diversion; clap Of boyish hands here frightened game away Which, once gone, goes forever. Oh, at first I took the anger easily, nor much Minded the anguish--having learned that storms Subside, and teapot-tempests are akin.

Time would arrange things, mend whate'er might be Somewhat amiss; precipitation, eh?

Reason and rhyme prompt--reparation! Tiffs End properly in marriage and a dance!

I said 'We'll marry, make the past a blank'-- And never was such d.a.m.nable mistake!

That interview, that laying bare my soul, As it was first, so was it last chance--one And only. Did I write? Back letter came Unopened as it went. Inexorable She fled, I don't know where, consoled herself With the smug curate-creature: chop and change!

Sure am I, when she told her shaveling all His Magdalen's adventure, tears were shed, Forgiveness evangelically shown, 'Loose hair and lifted eye,'--as some one says.

And now, he's worshipped for his pains, the sneak!"

"Well, but your turning-point of life,--what's here To hinder you contesting Finsbury With Orton, next election? I don't see...."

"Not you! But _I_ see. Slowly, surely, creeps Day by day o'er me the conviction--here Was life's prize grasped at, gained, and then let go!

--That with her--may be, for her--I had felt Ice in me melt, grow steam, drive to effect Any or all the fancies sluggish here I' the head that needs the hand she would not take And I shall never lift now. Lo, your wood-- Its turnings which I likened life to! Well,-- There she stands, ending every avenue, Her visionary presence on each goal I might have gained had we kept side by side!

Still string nerve and strike foot? Her frown forbids: The steam congeals once more: I'm old again!

Therefore I hate myself--but how much worse Do not I hate who would not understand, Let me repair things--no, but sent a-slide My folly falteringly, stumblingly Down, down and deeper down until I drop Upon--the need of your ten thousand pounds And consequently loss of mine! I lose Character, cash, nay, common-sense itself Recounting such a lengthy c.o.c.k-and-bull Adventure--lose my temper in the act...."

"And lose beside,--if I may supplement The list of losses,--train and ten-o'clock!

Hark, pant and puff, there travels the swart sign!

So much the better! You're my captive now!

I'm glad you trust a fellow: friends grow thick This way--that's twice said; we were thickish, though, Even last night, and, ere night comes again, I prophesy good luck to both of us!

For see now!--back to '_balmy eminence_'

Or '_calm acclivity_,' or what's the word!

Bestow you there an hour, concoct at ease A sonnet for the Alb.u.m, while I put Bold face on, best foot forward, make for house, March in to aunt and niece, and tell the truth-- (Even white-lying goes against my taste After your little story). Oh, the niece Is rationality itself! The aunt-- If she's amenable to reason too-- Why, you stooped short to pay her due respect, And let the Duke wait (I'll work well the Duke).

If she grows gracious, I return for you; If thunder's in the air, why--bear your doom, Dine on rump-steaks and port, and shake the dust Of aunty from your shoes as off you go By evening-train, nor give the thing a thought How you shall pay me--that's as sure as fate, Old fellow! Off with you, face left about!

Yonder's the path I have to pad. You see, I'm in good spirits, G.o.d knows why! Perhaps Because the woman did not marry you --Who look so hard at me,--and have the right, One must be fair and own."

The two stand still Under an oak.

"Look here!" resumes the youth.

"I never quite knew how I came to like You--so much--whom I ought not court at all; Nor how you had a leaning just to me Who am a.s.suredly not worth your pains.

For there must needs be plenty such as you Somewhere about,--although I can't say where,-- Able and willing to teach all you know; While--how can you have missed a score like me With money and no wit, precisely each A pupil for your purpose, were it--ease Fool's poke of tutor's _honorarium_-fee?

And yet, howe'er it came about, I felt At once my master: you as prompt descried Your man, I warrant, so was bargain struck.

Now, these same lines of liking, loving, run Sometimes so close together they converge-- Life's great adventures--you know what I mean-- In people. Do you know, as you advanced, It got to be uncommonly like fact We two had fallen in with--liked and loved Just the same woman in our different ways?

I began life--poor groundling as I prove-- Winged and ambitious to fly high: why not?

There's something in 'Don Quixote' to the point, My shrewd old father used to quote and praise-- '_Am I born man?_' asks Sancho: '_being man, By possibility I may be Pope!_'

So, Pope I meant to make myself, by step And step, whereof the first should be to find A perfect woman; and I tell you this-- If what I fixed on, in the order due Of undertakings, as next step, had first Of all disposed itself to suit my tread, And I had been, the day I came of age, Returned at head of poll for Westminster --Nay, and moreover summoned by the Queen At week's end, when my maiden-speech bore fruit, To form and head a Tory ministry-- It would not have seemed stranger, no, nor been More strange to me, as now I estimate, Than what did happen--sober truth, no dream.

I saw my wonder of a woman,--laugh, I'm past that!--in Commemoration-week.

A plenty have I seen since, fair and foul,-- With eyes, too, helped by your sagacious wink; But one to match that marvel--no least trace, Least touch of kinship and community!

The end was--I did somehow state the fact, Did, with no matter what imperfect words, One way or other give to understand That woman, soul and body were her slave Would she but take, but try them--any test Of will, and some poor test of power beside: So did the strings within my brain grow tense And capable of ... hang similitudes!

She answered kindly but beyond appeal.

'_No sort of hope for me, who came too late.

She was another's. Love went--mine to her, Hers just as loyally to some one else._'

Of course! I might expect it! Nature's law-- Given the peerless woman, certainly Somewhere shall be the peerless man to match!

I acquiesced at once, submitted me In something of a stupor, went my way.

I fancy there had been some talk before Of somebody--her father or the like-- To coach me in the holidays,--that's how I came to get the sight and speech of her,-- But I had sense enough to break off sharp, Save both of us the pain."

"Quite right there!"

"Eh?

Quite wrong, it happens! Now comes worst of all!

Yes, I did sulk aloof and let alone The lovers--_I_ disturb the angel-mates?"

"Seraph paired off with cherub!"

"Thank you! While I never plucked up courage to inquire Who he was, even,--certain-sure of this, That n.o.body I knew of had blue wings And wore a star-crown as he needs must do,-- Some little lady,--plainish, pock-marked girl,-- Finds out my secret in my woful face, Comes up to me at the Apollo Ball, And pityingly pours her wine and oil This way into the wound: '_Dear f-f-friend, Why waste affection thus on--must I say, A somewhat worthless object? Who's her choice-- Irrevocable as deliberate-- Out of the wide world? I shall name no names-- But there's a person in society, Who, blessed with rank and talent, has grown gray In idleness and sin of every sort Except hypocrisy: he's thrice her age, A by-word for "successes with the s.e.x"

As the French say--and, as we ought to say, Consummately a liar and a rogue, Since--show me where's the woman won without The help of this one lie which she believes-- That--never mind how things have come to pa.s.s, And let who loves have loved a thousand times-- All the same he now loves her only, loves Her ever! if by "won" you just mean "sold,"

That's quite another compact. Well, this scamp, Continuing descent from bad to worse, Must leave his fine and fashionable prey (Who--fathered, brothered, husbanded,--are hedged About with th.o.r.n.y danger) and apply His arts to this poor country ignorance Who sees forthwith in the first rag of man Her model hero! Why continue waste On such a woman treasures of a heart Would yet find solace,--yes, my f-f-friend-- In some congenial_--fiddle-diddle-dee?'"

"Pray, is the pleasant gentleman described Exact the portrait which my '_f-f-friends_'

Recognize as so like? 'T is evident You half surmised the sweet original Could be no other than myself, just now!

Your stop and start were flattering!"

"Of course Caricature's allowed for in a sketch!

The longish nose becomes a foot in length, The swarthy cheek gets copper-colored,--still, Prominent beak and dark-hued skin are facts: And '_parson's daughter_'--'_young man coachable_'-- '_Elderly party_'--'_four years since_'--were facts To fasten on, a moment! Marriage, though-- That made the difference, I hope."

"All right!

I never married; wish I had--and then Unwish it: people kill their wives, sometimes!

I hate my mistress, but I'm murder-free.

In your case, where's the grievance? You came last, The earlier bird picked up the worm. Suppose You, in the glory of your twenty-one, Had happened to precede myself! 't is odds But this gigantic juvenility, This offering of a big arm's bony hand-- I'd rather shake than feel shake me, I know-- Had moved _my_ dainty mistress to admire An altogether new Ideal--deem Idolatry less due to life's decline Productive of experience, powers mature By dint of usage, the made man--no boy That's all to make! I was the earlier bird-- And what I found, I let fall: what you missed Who is the fool that blames you for?"

They become so deeply interested in this talk that the train is missed, and, in the meantime, the lady who now lives in the neighborhood as the wife of the hard-working country parson meets the young girl at the inn.

They are great friends and have come there, at the girl's invitation, to talk over her prospective husband. She desires her friend to come to her home and meet her fiance, but the lady, who is in constant fear of meeting "Iago," never goes anywhere, and proposes a meeting with him at the inn. While she waits, "Iago" comes in upon her. There is a terrible scene of recrimination between these two, the man again daring to prefer his love. The lady scorns him. Horror is added to horror when the young man appears at the door, and recognizes the woman he really loves. His faith in her and his love are shaken for a moment, but return immediately and he stands her true friend and lover. The complete despicableness of "Iago's" nature finally reveals itself in the lines he writes in the alb.u.m and gives to the lady to read. The poem is too long to quote in full. The closing scene, however, will give the reader a good idea of the poet's handling of this nineteenth-century tragedy.

The true n.o.bility of soul of the younger man links him with Mertoun among Browning's heroes and represents the Englishman or the man of any country for that matter at his highest. Whether redemption for the older man would have been possible had the lady believed him in the inn parlor is doubtful. Such natures are like Ibsen's "Peer Gynt." They need to be put into a b.u.t.ton mould and moulded over again.

"Here's the lady back!

So, Madam, you have conned the Alb.u.m-page And come to thank its last contributor?

How kind and condescending! I retire A moment, lest I spoil the interview, And mar my own endeavor to make friends-- You with him, him with you, and both with me!

If I succeed--permit me to inquire Five minutes hence! Friends bid good-by, you know."