Well, After All--

by Frank Frankfort Moore

“My dear Agnes,” he said, “I remember all the past. Were ever any two people so unfortunate as we were? I have often wondered if we were really in love with each other. I know that I, for one, fancied that we were. If all had gone well and I had returned at the end of the year I meant to spend at the Zambesi, we—well, we might have got married. But, of course, it would be absurd to fancy that, after so many years.... as I told you when I returned, we are physically different people to-day from what we were some years ago, and in affairs of the heart nature decrees that there is a Statute of Limitations. It would be cruel, as well as unjust, for a man to hold a woman to a compact made nearly nine years before—made, be it remembered, by practically a different woman with a different man. That is why I regarded you as free from every obligation to me. If you had got married after I had been absent for two years, do you fancy that I would have blamed you? Oh no; I have too strong a sense of what is just and reasonable.”

“Will you sell your book at thirty-two shillings for the two volumes?” she asked after a long pause. “I read in some paper the other day that people will pay thirty shillings for a book, if they want it, quite as readily as they will pay ten.”

He was too startled to be able to reply to her. The inconsequence of her question was certainly startling. After the lapse of a minute, however, he had sufficiently recovered himself to be able to say:

“Yes, I believe that thirty-two shillings will be the published price. Personally I cannot understand how people should want to buy the book in such numbers as will make it pay; but I suppose Shekels & Shackles are the best judges of their own business.”

He thought that, on the whole, he had reason to be satisfied at the result of their interview. He had for some days an uneasy feeling that before he could confess to Clare that he loved her, he should make a further attempt to explain to Agnes—well, whatever there was left for him to explain. He had now and again felt that it might actually be possible that she expected him to regard the compact made between them nearly nine years before, as still binding on him. This would, of course, be rather absurd on her part; but, however absurd women and their whims might be, they were capable at times of causing men a good deal of annoyance; and thus he had come to the conclusion that it would be wise for him to have a few words of reasonable explanation with her. He had great hopes that she would be amenable to reason; she had always been a sensible woman, her only lapse being in regard to this matter of fancying—if she did fancy—that in love there is no Statute of Limitations.

Now and again, however, he thought that perhaps he was doing her an injustice in attributing to her such a theory. She might, after all, look on the matter from the same standpoint as he did; still, he thought it might be as well to define as fully as he could his views in regard to their relative positions.

Well, a very few minutes had been sufficient for his purpose, and here he was, talking with a light heart about the peculiarities of the public in the matter of book-buying.

He had not exhausted this interesting topic when Clare appeared, ready to take her instructions regarding the first of the illustrations which she was to draw. He had long ago described to her so thoroughly the characteristics of several of the wild tribes among whom he had lived, she could have no difficulty in dealing with some of the scenes pictorially. He jotted down for her the particulars of the various incidents which he thought should be illustrated, and within half an hour she was hard at work.

When he called the next day he was delighted with the progress which she had made. She worked in a bold, free style which was certainly very effective, and he was unable to suggest any alteration in her pictures of the natives. So well had she remembered his instructions that she had never once confused the head-dresses of the Subaki warriors with those of the Aponakis. He told her that in the morning she would receive from one of his secretaries the type-written copy of the chapters which he had already dictated to the shorthand writers. For the remainder of the day he would be in the hands of his cartographer, for, as a matter of course, the volumes were to contain maps of those portions of the interior which he had discovered.

Agnes watched him leaning over her lovingly as she worked at one of her drawings. She watched him and smiled. She knew that the more deeply he fell in love with the girl, the greater would be the blow that he should receive when she told him that she loved another man. Only once the thought occurred to her that perhaps Clare might be carried away by constant association with him, and by the glamour of the countless newspaper articles that appeared on the subject of his work as an explorer; so when they were going upstairs that night she said: