A Strange, Sad Comedy

by Molly Elliot Seawell

Chessingham, in consequence of the liberal salary paid him by Mr. Romaine, had agreed to remain with him by the year—and, of course, Mr. Romaine had nothing to do with Chessingham’s womankind, who elected to stay, to which Mr. Romaine very willingly agreed. Still, the chance of Miss Maywood being some day Mrs. Romaine was not without its effect upon both the young doctor and his pretty wife. But shortly after their arrival at Shrewsbury, they all became convinced that this hope was vain.

One stormy November day, when they had been in Virginia about a fortnight, Mr. Romaine shut himself up in the library as he usually did, and there he remained nearly all day, writing busily. It was too disagreeable for him to go over to Corbin Hall, which he had done with uncommon frequency. In fact, every time he went out to drive or ride he either said or hinted that he was going over there—but he did not always go. Mr. Romaine, who could pay like a prince for other people, and who treated the Chessinghams magnificently as regards money, delighted in sticking pins in the people he benefited—and it must be acknowledged that much of his attention to Letty Corbin came from a malicious pleasure he took in teasing Miss Maywood. After these announcements as to where he was going, Mr. Romaine would go off, generally on horseback, his back looking very young and trim, while his face looked white and old and bloodless; but as often as not he turned his horse’s head away from Corbin Hall as soon as he was out of sight of his own windows. He would grin sardonically at the injured air Ethel would wear upon these occasions.

But on this day he saw no one, and went nowhere. About five o’clock, when dusk had fallen, a message came. Mr. Romaine desired his compliments to Miss Maywood and Mr. Chessingham, and would they come to the library.

The message surprised them both—nevertheless they went with alacrity. Mr. Romaine was walking up and down the luxurious room with a peculiarly cheerful smile, and his black eyes glowing. A single large sheet of paper, closely written, lay on the library table.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, in his sweetest tones to Ethel. “I will detain you but a moment. I have been engaged in what is generally a lugubrious performance—making my will. It is now done, and I desire you and Chessingham to witness it.”

It gave a slight shock to both of them. Chessingham had always found Mr. Romaine firmly wedded to the idea that, although he was full of diseases, he would never die. He made plans extending onward for twenty, thirty, and even forty years, and although he was decidedly a valetudinarian, he indicated the utmost contempt for his alleged ailments when it came to a serious question. Miss Maywood felt that all her hopes were dashed to the ground. A man who is thinking about getting married does not make his will before that event. She paled a little, but being a philosophic girl, and not being in love with Mr. Romaine, she maintained her composure fairly well. “I wish to read it to you,” said he, and then, placing a chair for Ethel, and toying with his pince-nez, he continued, with a smile:

“It may astonish you—wills generally do surprise people. But, after all, mine will be found not so extraordinary. I make a few bequests, and then I—make—Miss—Letty—Corbin—my—residuary—legatee.”

Mr. Romaine said this very slowly, so as not to miss its dramatic effect. He achieved all he wanted. Ethel flushed violently, and fell back in her chair. Chessingham half rose and sat down again. None of this was lost on Mr. Romaine, who could not wholly conceal his enjoyment of it. He began, in his clear, well-modulated voice, to read the will. It was just as he said. He gave a thousand dollars here, and a thousand dollars there, he left Chessingham five hundred dollars to buy a memento, and then Letty Corbin was to have the rest.

“And now,” said he, gracefully handing a pen to Miss Maywood, “will you kindly attest it?”

In the midst of Chessingham’s natural disappointment and disgust, he could scarcely refrain from laughing. The whole thing was so characteristic of Mr. Romaine. Ethel felt like flinging the pen in his face, but she was obliged to sign her name, biting her lips as she did so, with vexation. Chessingham’s signature followed. Then both of them went out, leaving Mr. Romaine apparently in a very jovial humor.