A Strange, Sad Comedy

by Molly Elliot Seawell

But then Letty heard the Colonel’s voice, and tripped down the steps, leaving Sir Archy moodily chewing his mustache, and wondering at the depravity of American girls.

The day was bright and beautiful, and there was an autumn crispness in the blue air. Letty leaned back in her own corner of the big easy landau, shading her pretty, thoughtful face with her red parasol. She had on a little black gown, and a large black hat, which suited well her dainty type. Farebrother thought so, sitting opposite her, and watching the look of calm delight in her eyes as they drove along the leafy roads, and stopped in the bosky dells of the park.

There were not many people out—the “carriage people” had not yet returned to town, and there was a charming air of peace and quiet over the scene. The leaves were beginning to turn, and the caretakers were busy gathering up piles of those that had dropped. Occasionally the carriage stopped in the shade, and the voices of the little party fell in unison with the faint rustling of the leaves and the sylvan stillness. Sometimes they could almost forget that they were near the throbbing heart of a mighty city.

At one part of the drive, in the very loneliest spot they had yet seen, Farebrother proposed to Letty to get out and take a little stroll. Letty agreed very promptly, and the Colonel and Miss Jemima concluded they would stay where they were. So Letty and her friend strolled away down to the banks of a little stream, where the dry leaves of the young trees rustled to the whispering of the wind. It was high noon then, but so retired was this spot that the glare was utterly shut out. Whenever Letty found herself alone with Farebrother she felt a very acute sympathy between them. She felt this now, more than usual. Farebrother did not make love to her in the least with seriousness. Indeed, he had never done so, and his most suggestive compliments were paid when they were laughing and joking most familiarly. When they were alone, his tone was one of tender friendship and respect, which was very captivating to Letty. She was used to the overflowing sentiment of Southern men, and the calm and sane admiration of a man like Farebrother pleased her with its novelty, and flattered her by its respect.

They stood there a long time, Letty idly throwing pebbles into the stream. They said but little, and that in the low tone to which the voice naturally drops in the woods, and presently, a silence that was full of sweet companionship fell between them. They might have stayed there all day, so charming was it, had not Letty suddenly remembered herself.

“Oh, we must be going,” she said.

“Yes,” answered Farebrother, with a little sigh, “we must be going.”

When they caught sight of the carriage, the Colonel was just about getting out in order to go in search of them. Letty’s face grew scarlet, and she was unusually silent on their way home and wished she had not stayed so long alone with Farebrother.

Farebrother had arranged to take the Colonel and Letty to the theater that evening; Miss Jemima had declined. Letty spent the afternoon in her room, resting. At dinner she came out radiant in a white gown, a charming white hat, with white fan and gloves. This, she fondly imagined, was the correct wear for the theater, in orchestra seats. Farebrother had got those seats with a wary design. If he had taken a box, Sir Archy might have found out where they were going, and it is possible to pay visits in a box, and Farebrother determined to have Letty free from the claims of any other man except the Colonel on that one evening. He saw in a moment that Letty had got altogether the wrong ideas about costume, but she looked so fresh and fair that, with masculine indifference to conventionality, he was glad she had put on her white gown.

When dinner was over, and they were waiting in the reception-room for their carriage, the Chessinghams, Ethel Maywood and Mr. Romaine appeared, also bound for the theater, and for the same play that Farebrother had selected. It was the first appearance of a celebrated artist in a play new in this country, and Farebrother had given more attention to the artist than the piece. It was the first meeting of the whole party since they had parted on the boat that morning. Mr. Romaine, when he found that they were all bound for the same performance, grinned suggestively, and said to Farebrother: