THE CRUELTY OF LOVE
What might be the result of such a match as that of May Calthorpe and Jack Neligage must inevitably depend largely upon the feelings of one or the other to another love. If either were constant to a former flame, only disaster could come of the mariage de convenance which Mrs. Neligage had adroitly patched up. If both left behind forgotten the foolish flares of youthful passion, the married pair might arrange their feelings upon a basis of mutual liking comfortable if not inspiring. What happened to Jack in regard to Alice and to May's silly attraction toward the unknown Christopher Calumus was therefore of much importance in influencing the future.
Since Alice Endicott knew of the engagement of May and Jack it was not to be supposed that the malicious fates would fail to bring her face to face with her former lover. The meeting happened a couple of days after. Jack was walking down Beacon street, and Alice came out of May's just in front of him. He quickened his steps and overtook her.
"Good-morning," he said; "you've been in to May's, I see. How is she to-day?"
The tone was careless and full of good-nature, and his face as sunny as the bright sky overhead. Alice did not look up at him, but kept her eyes fixed on the distance. To one given to minute observation it might have occurred that as she did not glance at him when he spoke she must have been aware of his approach, and must have seen him when she came out from the house. That she had not shown her knowledge of his nearness was to be looked upon as an indication of something which was not indifference.
"Good-morning," she answered. "May didn't seem to be in particularly good spirits."
"Didn't she? I must try to find time to run in and cheer her up. I'm not used to being engaged, you see, and I'm not up in my part."
He spoke with a sort of swagger which was obviously intended to tease her, and the heightened color in her cheeks told that it had not missed the mark.
"I have no doubt that you will soon learn it," she returned. "You were always so good in amateur theatricals."
He laughed boisterously, perhaps a little nervously.
"'Praise from Sir Hubert,'" he quoted. "And speaking of engagements, is it proper to offer congratulations on yours?"
She turned to him with a look of indignant severity.
"You know I am not engaged, and that I don't mean to be."
"Oh, that's nothing. I didn't mean to be the other day."
"I am not in the market," she said cuttingly.
"Neither am I any more," Jack retorted coolly. "I've sold myself. That's what they mean, I suppose, by saying a girl has made her market."
Alice had grown more and more stern in her carriage as this talk proceeded. Jack's tone was as flippant as ever, and he carried his handsome head as jauntily as if they were talking of the merriest themes. His brown eyes were full of a saucy light, and he switched his walking-stick as if he were light-heartedly snapping off the heads of daisies in a country lane. The more severe Alice became the more his spirits seemed to rise.
As they halted at a corner to let a carriage pass Alice turned and looked at her companion, the hot blood flushing into her smooth cheek.
"There is nothing in the world more despicable than a fortune-hunter!" she declared with emphasis.
"Oh, quite so," Jack returned, apparently full of inward laughter. "Theoretically I agree with you entirely. Practically of course there are allowances to be made. The Count has been brought up so, and you mustn't be too hard on him."
"You know what I mean," she said, unmoved by the cunning of his speech.
"Yes, of course I can make allowances for you. You mean, I suppose, that as long as you know he's really after you and not your money you can despise public opinion; but naturally it must vex you to have the Count misjudged. Everybody will think Miss Wentstile hired him to marry you."
She parted her lips to speak, then restrained herself, and altered her manner. She turned at bay, but she adopted Jack's own tactics.
"You are right," she said. "I understand that the Count is only acting according to the standards he's been brought up to. May hasn't that consolation. I'm sure I don't see, if you don't mind my saying so, on what ground she is going to contrive any sort of an excuse for her husband."
"She'll undoubtedly be so fond of him," Jack retorted with unabashed good-nature, "that it won't occur to her that he needs an excuse. May hasn't your Puritanical notions, you know. Really, I might be afraid of her if she had."
It was a game in which the man is always the superior of the woman. Women will more cleverly and readily dissemble to the world, but to the loved one they are less easily mocking and insincere than men. Alice, however, was plucky, and she made one attempt more.
"Of course May might admire you on the score of filial obedience. It isn't every son who would allow his mother to arrange his marriage for him."
"No," Jack responded with a chuckle, "you're right there. I am a model son."
She stopped suddenly, and turned on the sidewalk in quick vehemence.
"Oh, stop talking to me!" she cried. "I will go into the first house I know if you keep on this way! You've no right to torment me so!"
The angry tears were in her eyes, and her face was drawn with her effort to sustain the self-control which had so nearly broken down. His expression lost its roguishness, and in his turn he became grave.
"No," he said half-bitterly, "perhaps not. Of course I haven't; but it is something of a temptation when you are so determined to believe the worst of me."
She regarded him in bewilderment.
"Determined to believe the worst?" she echoed. "Aren't you engaged to May Calthorpe?"
He took off his hat, and made her a profound and mocking bow.
"I apparently have that honor," he said.
"Then why am I not to believe it?"
He looked at her a moment as if about to explain, then with the air of finding it hopeless he set his lips together.
"If you will tell me what you mean," Alice went on, "I may understand. As it is I have your own word that you are engaged; you certainly do not pretend that you care for May; and you know that your mother made the match. You may be sure, Jack," she added, her voice softening a little only to harden again, "that if there were any way of excusing you I should have found it out. I'm still foolish enough to cling to old friendship."
His glance softened, and he regarded her with a look under which she changed color and drew away from him.
"Dear Alice," he said, "you always were a brick."
She answered only by a startled look. Then before he could be aware of her intention she had run lightly up the steps of a house and rung the bell. He looked after her in amazement, then followed.
"Alice," he said, "what are you darting off in that way for?"
"I have talked with you as long as I care to," she responded, the color in her cheeks, and her head held high. "I am going in here to see Mrs. West. You had better go and cheer up May."
Before he could reply a servant had opened the door. Jack lifted his hat.
"Good-by," said he. "Remember what I said about believing the worst."
Then the door closed behind her, and he went on his way down the street.
That the course of true love never ran smooth has been said on such a multitude of occasions that it is time for some expert in the affections to declare whether all love which runs roughly is necessarily genuine. The supreme prerogative of young folk who are fond is of course to tease and torment each other. Alice and Jack had that morning been a spectacle of much significance to any student in the characteristics of love-making. Youth indulges in the bitter of disagreement as a piquant contrast to the sweets of the springtime of life. True love does not run smooth because love cannot really take deep hold upon youth unless it fixes attention by its disappointments and woes. Smooth and sweet drink quickly cloys; while the cup in which is judiciously mingled an apt proportion of acid stimulates the thirst it gratifies. If Jack was to marry May it was a pity that he and Alice should continue thus to hurt each other.