THE MARRIED MAN'S ADVANTAGE.
Personally I think too much respect is paid to age. There is nothing clever in being old—nothing at all. On the other hand, youth has a charm of its own. Besides, twenty-two is not young; you wouldn't think me so if you really knew me. The doubt arises, I suppose, from a certain innate light-heartedness. It is really rather pathetic.
Daphne chooses to see humour in the situation, which is very absurd of her, and, as I point out, merely reflects on herself. Surely she doesn't wish to admit that it is foolish to love her.
And that, to make a clean breast of it, is exactly what I do, and do madly.
I follow her about, reverently watching her every movement, hanging on her every word—no light task. And my reward? A scant unceremonious "Hallo!" when we meet; a scanter "Night" or "Morning," according to the circumstances, when we part. A brave smile from me and she is gone, an unwitting spectator of a real tragedy.
Up to a few days ago I was content to bear with my lot, but last week I rebelled. It was at a dance, after supper. Daphne had certainly shown a sort of affection for me, motherly rather than otherwise, I think; nevertheless an affection. But then, and not for the first time, I had seen her flirting with another.
I decided to lose my temper. I went into the smoke-room and deliberated very close to the fire. In five minutes I left the room heated.
I found Daphne at once.
"Our dance," I said. "We will sit out."
My manner must have been rather terrifying. At any rate we sat out.
"Daphne," I began, "I am in a mood that brooks no trifling. For weeks I have loved you. You spurn me."
"Oh, Billy, do be sensible," Daphne murmured.
I moderated my tone. "Well, look here," I said, "why are you so cold to me and yet flirt with my cousin? I saw you putting his tie straight and patting his arm just now; and you won't let me even hold your hand. It's pretty hard, Daphne."
She laughed. "My dear Billy—"
"Many thanks for yours of yesterday. I am having a very good time and it is really kind of me to write."
"If you won't be sensible—"
"I am. It's just because I'm so serious that I jest. All the wittiest men are broken-hearted. Go on."
"Well, my dear Billy, you mustn't be foolish. I'm very fond of you, but you're so ridiculously young."
"You haven't a revolver about you?" I enquired.
Daphne sighed. "Billy, you're quite hopeless. Do let me try to explain. You see, I can't—well—flirt with you, because I don't really flirt, of course, and besides your cousin's different—he's married."
I got up quickly. "Good-bye," I said. "You must excuse my leaving you."
Daphne looked surprised. "Where are you going?" she enquired.
"To get married." I walked away with my head in the air.
A week later I wrote Daphne a letter. It ran as follows:—
"MY DEAR DAPHNE,—I am going to get married. Tina is nineteen, the same as you, and is in the chorus of a musical comedy. She has real jet black hair, so I am quite lucky. I hope you are fonder of me already.
Yours devotedly, BILLY."
In reply, and by return of post, I received an invitation to tea at Daphne's. Daphne, looking beautiful, was awaiting me.
"How d'you do?" I said gravely.
"Billy," Daphne began, "will you be really serious with me?"
I immediately assumed a business manner and coughed.
"Well?" I said.
The word was sharp and incisive, a regular lawyer's question.
"Of course, you're joking about this chorus girl?"
"Joking! Daphne, you know I'd do anything for you."
Daphne smiled. "But, Billy, I shan't like you any better if you marry her."
I bit a piece of cake coldly. "I don't understand you, Daphne," I said. "When I ask you to show me a little affection, only just what you show others, you tell me I'm young and married men are different. I arrange to be different at considerable personal sacrifice, and you tell me you won't like me any better." I swallowed convulsively.
"But, Billy—dear—you're not actually engaged?"
"I'm not so sure," I replied. "These girls are wonderfully sharp; and then, of course, I'm so young." (A good touch.)
There was a silence.
"I shall hate you if you marry a chorus girl," said Daphne.
"Then why did you tell me married men were different?"
"Because most of them are." Daphne smiled slowly. "I think I might like you better if you were married to some really nice girl."
I laughed bitterly. "To you, for instance?"
"Yes, to me," said Daphne very sweetly.
