“But I don't understand,” said my mother; “you told me when you came to me that you were going to be married in a few weeks.”
“Oh, that one!” Her tone suggested that an unfair strain was being put upon her memory. “I didn't feel I wanted him as much as I thought I did when it came to the point.”
“You had meantime met the other one?” suggested my mother, with a smile.
“Well, we can't help our feelings, can we, mum?” admitted Amy, frankly, “and what I always say is”—she spoke as one with experience even then—“better change your mind before it's too late afterwards.”
Amiable, sweet-faced, broad-hearted Amy! most faithful of friends, but oh! most faithless of lovers. Age has not withered nor custom staled her liking for infinite variety. Butchers, bakers, soldiers, sailors, Jacks of all trades! Does the sighing procession never pass before you, Amy, pointing ghostly fingers of reproach! Still Amy is engaged. To whom at the particular moment I cannot say, but I fancy to an early one who has lately become a widower. After more exact knowledge I do not care to enquire; for to confess ignorance on the subject, implying that one has treated as a triviality and has forgotten the most important detail of a matter that to her is of vital importance, is to hurt her feelings; while to angle for information is but to entangle oneself. To speak of Him as “Tom,” when Tom has belonged for weeks to the dead and buried past, to hastily correct oneself to “Dick” when there hasn't been a Dick for years, clearly not to know that he is now Harry, annoys her even more. In my mother's time we always referred to him as “Dearest.” It was the title with which she herself distinguished them all, and it avoided confusion.
“Well, and how's Dearest?” my mother would enquire, opening the door to Amy on the Sunday evening.
“Oh, very well indeed, mum, thank you, and he sends you his respects,” or, “Well, not so nicely as I could wish. I'm a little anxious about him, poor dear!”
“When you are married you will be able to take good care of him.”
“That's really what he wants—some one to take care of him. It's what they all want, the poor dears.”
“And when is it coming off?”