Poppea of the Post-Office

by Mabel Osgood Wright

Bradish Winslow left the Hooper's as soon after Poppea as he might without having the two departures coupled. Not for the first time in his life had he been repelled and enraged by the absolute lack of social sincerity on the part of the group of women who, in their day, were the cohesive element of society. Yet he never realized the responsibility in the matter of men of his stamp who condone nearly everything in a woman so long as she is modish and amusing. Lighting a cigar and leaving his top-coat open that he might feel the vigor of the night air, Winslow strolled slowly from Gramercy Park westward to the Loiterers' Club. Contrary to his usual gregarious habits, he made his way to one of the least brilliantly lighted retiring-rooms, and ordering some club soda and Scotch, a kind of whiskey that was considered a marked eccentricity in the era of Rye and Bourbon, stretched himself on a sofa, hands behind head, and gave himself up wholly to steadying his nerves.

An hour later he entered his own bachelor home, a substantial and conservative house in one of the wide streets that cross lower Fifth Avenue, a little north of Washington Square. The house was neither his birthplace nor the home of his childhood, but a legacy from a great-aunt, the last of the Bradish name. It was twelve years since a woman other than a caretaker or housemaid had lived in it; the first six it had remained virtually closed, while during the second half of the period, Winslow had developed the two first floors as suited the fancy of a man who entertained elegantly and conservatively, not choosing to establish a carousing Bohemia at too close range. If he had some or any of the vices of his class and position, he chose to pursue them away from his normal surroundings and at his own pace, where at any moment he might either outdistance them or drop behind without clamor.

Hence the house, as he entered it with his latch-key, had the subdued and grave air of any family residence in the same quarter. Turning out the lights in the lower rooms, he went to his personal suite on the second floor, lighted some gas-jets in the three rooms, rang for his man, and gave directions that he was to be wakened at half-past nine, breakfast in his room, and would under no consideration see any one before eleven o'clock. Then as the valet, but half awake, stumbled out, steadying himself by the portières as he drew them to, Winslow gave a sigh of relief, and flinging himself into a chair before the hearth, as Poppea had done, he stirred the embers and kindled a fire that was not for warmth but like summoning a sympathetic yet reticent friend.

Winslow's feeling during the two hours since he had, as he considered, rushed to Poppea's rescue was dual; he congratulated himself not a little that for once in his life he had let himself be swayed by a generous impulse and his own emotion. Also his curiosity was very expectant as to the stir that would be made by the announcement of his engagement to Poppea on the morrow and the consternation it would for various reasons cause. He could see the pallor come to the unprotected portion of his cousin Hortense's cheeks as she wondered if "Brad" would ever tell that baby-faced girl how desperately she had worked to enmesh him, and how deliberately and cleverly he had forced her to show a trumpless hand. Then there were others, and the thoughts of them were here and there tinged with regret. He had never been unscrupulous in his pleasures; he had simply lived life to the full as he saw it. As he was in a somewhat exalted and generous mood, why do things by halves?

Going to a large mahogany secretary in the corner, he unlocked a deep drawer that was hidden by a panel and took therefrom several bundles of letters and some photographs; to these he added a picture from a silver frame on the mantle, of a very charming dark woman, well-groomed and poised, but with an air of not belonging exactly to his world. He held the bundle to his chest a moment as he stood looking into the fire; opening a pit in the middle of the molten coals, he cast the letters into it, not even glancing at the superscriptions, and only separating them sufficiently to be sure that they would ignite, sat and watched them until they were consumed.

From their ashes came a more natural mood. The house was at best rather gloomy; how Poppea's coming would brighten it, and her voice echo up and down those great rooms when she laughed; for he meant that she should laugh and have no time for tears. The idea was very soothing; he wondered why he had never seriously contemplated marrying before.

Jove! but she was beautiful and unusual; he would have a miniature painted of her in the green muslin with the poppies in her hair. Then he would take her everywhere that people might envy him her loveliness.

No, he would not! Formulating the thought brought a sharp revulsion. He would take her abroad, away from the carpers and fawners alike, where they two should be alone; for, after all contributing motives, what he had said was true, he had loved Poppea at first sight, and as far as the better side of his nature was concerned, he loved her finally.

What a splendid ring he would buy her to-morrow, no to-day! a ruby held in a setting of poppy leaves to form the flower. Ah! but she already held the spell of oblivion over him. He liked to feel this. Of course they would be married in a month; there was no reason for delay. The old man Gilbert? That was easily fixed: an annuity as a parting gift from Poppea and some tears, of course. It would be strange if she did not show some feeling, and besides, ingratitude was one of the traits he most detested in a woman.

So when Winslow at last settled himself in his bed, severe almost as a hospital cot, that stood in an alcove curtained from the luxurious room to which it formed a sharp contrast, there was a smile on his lips, and closing his eyes, he brought his finger-tips together, touched them fervently, and flung a message into the dark. He well knew how to play the lover, but it was only this night that he realized what it was to be entirely in love with some one other than himself.