But to do him justice his love wavered not for one instant. If the setting be tarnished, will that fact diminish the lustre of the diamond? He knew that his jewel was of the purest; why should the setting trouble him? But all was not yet plain to him. He remembered that night under the maples; when she had refused him marriage—not love. Love she had given then as freely as now. He saw it then, he knew it now. But now again she makes the same refusal. “You understand now,” she wrote, “why it is that I cannot marry you.”
His noble manhood was all alert now. Does she think so meanly, so basely of him as to suppose that he would add to the burden that had so many years been resting upon those slender shoulders, by withdrawing his proposal? If that is what she thinks, her opinion of him is not so exalted as he could wish and—he must seek her—must see her tonight. With him to think was to act, and a few minutes later finds him on the way to the woman of his choice. It was with a dazed feeling that he stood upon the marble steps awaiting an answer to his ring. What would be the outcome of this night’s quest?
His card again found her at the bedside of the patient preparing for another long night watch by herself. Her heart beat high when the little bit of pasteboard was placed in her hand. Mrs. Boswell had not yet retired. She saw the flush steal over the fair brow and an understanding came intuitively to her as to what it meant. It was not so many years ago that she too had received a lover’s visit, and she knew so well that since the illness of Mrs. Westcot the young girl had no time to spend on friends or lovers. So she kindly said:
“Go and see your friend. I am not tired tonight and can well remain several hours longer.” With an appreciative “Thank you” Imelda accepted the kind offer and descended to the drawing room, where but one jet of gas was burning which but dimly lit the room.
Scarcely had she entered when she felt herself folded with strong arms to a wildly beating heart. Lips that whispered, “My own love,” were pressed firmly to hers. Her heart was full, her bosom heaving. That he held her thus was ample proof that to him she was just as lovable now as before he knew her wretched story. Brushing the soft dusky waves of hair from the flushed temples, he asked:
“Will my girl have a little while to spare for me tonight? I would have you walk with me under the maples. Will you come?” Without a word she turned to the hallway and taking a soft white scarf from a rack, threw it over her shoulders and said:
“Now, I am ready.” Together they wended their way to the silver leaved trees where once more they paced back and forth, his arm about the graceful form, his head bent until it rested against hers. Every attitude betokened the love they bore each other. O, how he talked, how he plead. But the slender girl at his side was strong and firm. She understood the ground she was treading upon. She met him at every turn.
He loved her, and as he listened to her arguments, as he watched the sparkle of her eye, as he got a better insight into her life, he felt that here was indeed a woman of superior qualities, a woman possessed of rare intellect. And as she met him, point after point, he began to see things in a different light. Dim and hazy at first yet still he saw a difference. Not that he showed an inclination to acknowledge the truth of any of the pictures she painted. O, no! not quite so easy are deep-rooted superstitions and prejudices uprooted. Yet she gave him food for thought.
She pointed out to him conditions as they exist throughout the country, She showed him how one vexed question is entangled with another. She drew his attention to the masses of workers who with their dollar a day,—sometimes a little more, sometimes even less,—have no time for self-improvement, no time for healthful recreation. That recreation which is of an elevating character, is quite unattainable and that which is within their reach is of the most demoralizing kind. The swilling of vile drinks, with vile companions in dens still more vile.
She spoke of the overburdened wife and mother, wearing away her life in drudgery and loneliness. At the close of his day’s toil the husband brings no love to the cheerless home. That which he had named and believed love on their wedding day has long since fled; yet of this union springs unwishedfor children; children gestated in an atmosphere of hate; idiots and criminals ushered into being to fill our prisons and insane asylums. The employer class, on the other hand, feast upon the wealth these unfortunates produce, and by their excesses sow the seeds of crime in their offspring.