It Happened in Japan

by Baroness Albert d' Anethan

De Güldenfeldt was, she was well aware, a clever and a good man; a man of a certain present and of a brilliant future; a man that any woman might be proud to call husband; and here he stood, offering her--a poor waif and stray in society--his love and his name. And yet she felt that it was beyond her to accept these gifts offered thus generously. Why? she hardly asked herself. Was it because she still loved Martinworth?--Perhaps--she could not tell. But of one thing she felt convinced, she did not love, could never love, Stanislas de Güldenfeldt. She admired and respected and liked him more than she admired or liked most men. She delighted in his society and in his conversation, which was full of piquant anecdote, intellect and charm. She felt absolutely contented, thoroughly at ease in his companionship, which acted as a stimulant in her otherwise somewhat monotonous life. She did not disguise from herself for a moment the many advantages she was renouncing in setting aside this offer, and yet Pearl felt that it was absolutely impossible for her to accept him, for if she did she would she knew, be true neither to de Güldenfeldt, whom she liked so well, nor, above all, true to herself.

By this time the two were seated on a little bamboo bench, and de Güldenfeldt, waiting and watching with anxiety the expressive face, half guessed and wholly feared the struggle that was being fought within. He rose hurriedly.

"Don't say anything, don't speak now," he exclaimed, "Wait, Pearl. Take your time to consider, but remember, my darling--I may call you so this once?--that my whole life's future, my whole life's happiness, depends on your answer."

Pearl felt greatly tempted to abide by this advice and to delay. As he gave her this chance, why commit herself by answering at once? But her hesitation lasted only a minute. Her natural candour and frankness of disposition warned her it would be more than cowardly to postpone her refusal. She turned towards him and said in her low voice:

"Monsieur de Güldenfeldt, it is best you should know at once that which always must be known, for I know my decision can never change. I fear it is--it must be--'No.' I can never marry you. For your own sake it must be so, for I do not love you as you should--as you deserve to be loved. My liking, my respect, my admiration is unbounded, but love--forgive me for paining you--such as I have known the word, is not, can never be mine to give you."

De Güldenfeldt let his keen blue eyes rest for a minute on Pearl's flushed face, then without a single word in reply--with a quick, impatient shrug of the shoulders--without a moment's hesitation he turned and strode abruptly away.

Left by herself on the bench, Mrs. Nugent watched this precipitate departure with considerable dismay. She had seen and known the Swedish Minister in many moods. Ironical, pensive, bubbling over with good spirits one day, melancholy and depressed the next, but, so far, she never remembered having been a witness to his anger. She gazed after him now with genuine consternation, as he paced the little path with his head thrown back, and his hands thrust well down into the pockets of his riding breeches. Her spirits sank as the minutes passed, and he finally disappeared from view. Eventually the sentiment of trepidation that had at first seized her changed to that of irritation and considerable annoyance. After all, she thought, she had answered him as gently as surely, in the circumstances, it was possible to reply, and the more she considered the question, the more did a feeling of extreme vexation and surprise overcome her at her refusal being received in this apparently intensely angry and rebellious spirit.

Women at best are but unreasonable creatures, and Mrs. Nugent was no exception to the rule, forgetting to make allowances for the necessary blow that such a prompt refusal must certainly inflict on a man of Stanislas de Güldenfeldt's proud and rather unyielding disposition. On his side he was fully aware of the many and great advantages of his offer, and of the sacrifices on his part that such a marriage would entail. It had by no means been fear of failure alone that had prevented him from suggesting a connection of a possibly too unbinding or temporary nature. Since his final determination to make this marriage, he had learnt that the great love he bore Pearl would in itself, independent of any other reason, be sufficient to cause him to reject the former idea with promptitude and distaste. He did not however, disguise from himself that, situated as she was, nine men out of ten would have hesitated before offering her their name. He himself had deliberated and paused before taking this step, but having once, with complete disregard of his future, proposed to give up all for her, he found it impossible to recover from the mortification that her abrupt rejection of his offer, and the refusal for one moment even to consider his proposal, had caused him.

Stanislas, greatly angered and deep in thought, strode on and on. It was only the fact of unexpectedly finding himself once more at the tea-house that roused him from his vexatious thoughts, recalling to him the fact of his hasty departure, and unceremonious desertion of Pearl.

He then and there retraced his steps, and found her where he had left her on the bench, with a heightened colour, and a look of decided reproach in her eyes. He was very pale as he lifted his hat to her.