Not Like Other Girls

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

“Oh, how good you are!” she said, softly. “Do you know, the world seems full of good people to me now; and yet once it appeared too bad a place for any one to live in. We create our own atmosphere,—at least so Herbert tells me. But you are looking thin, Mr. Drummond,—thin and pale. You must be working too hard.”

“Oh, as to that, hard work never hurts any one,” he replied, carelessly; but there was something forced in his tone.

Phillis, who had been sitting apart quite silently, raised her eyes involuntarily from her work. Was it her fancy, or had some undefinable change passed over him? They had seen him so little of late. Since all this had happened at the White House he had called once or twice; and once Nan had been there, and he had spoken to her much as usual. No one would have detected any difference in his manner, except that he was a little 267 grave and preoccupied. Nan had not noticed anything; but then she was singularly blind in such matters. Had she not vaguely hinted that his visits were on Phillis’s account?—that mere hint conveying exquisite pain to Phillis.

Now, as she stole a glance at him, the conviction was strong within her that the arrow had gone deep. He certainly looked a little thin and care-worn, and something of a young man’s vigor and hopefulness seemed temporarily impaired. But, as it happened, that girlish scrutiny was not unperceived by Archie. In a moment he was on the alert. His eyes challenged hers boldly, and it was Phillis who flushed and looked conscious.

It was as though he said to her, “Ah! you think you know all about it. But you need not trouble yourself to be sorry for me; you do not know what a man’s strength can do. And I am determined to bear this by myself, and to myself; for in silence there is power.”

It certainly seemed as though a new strength had come to Archie. He had been a man who was prone to speak much of his feelings. Irritable and sensitive, he had demanded much sympathy from his womankind. His was a nature that craved support in his work; but now, not even to Grace, could he speak of this trouble that had befallen him.

Was it a trouble, after all, this vague shadow that lay about his path? No one but he himself knew the sweetness and graciousness of the dream that had come to him. It had only been a dream, after all; and now he was awake. The vision he had conjured up to himself had faded into unreality. She was not his second self: never by look or word had he wooed her; she was only the woman he could have loved. This was how he put it; and now he would bury this faint hope that was still-born,—that had never had breathed into it the breath of life. And if for a little while his future should be cloudy and bereft of its sunshine, was he the only one to whom “some days must be dark and dreary”?

Phillis’s unspoken sympathy drooped under this stern repression; and yet in her heart she reverenced him all the more for this moral strength,—for there is nothing a true woman abhors more than weakness in a man. After this silent rebuff, Archie took himself well in hand, and began to speak of other things: he told Mrs. Cheyne, being certain now of her interest, of his sister’s intended marriage, and how he and Mattie were going down to the wedding.

“He is a very good fellow, this intended brother-in-law of mine,—a sort of rough diamond; but hardly good enough for Isabel,” he said. “Oh, yes, he is very rich. My poor little sister will have her head turned by all her magnificence; for his parents are so generous: they quite load her with gifts.” And he smiled to himself at the notion of the little sister, just fresh from her narrow school-room life, rejoicing over her trousseau 268 and her handsome house, and driving away from the church in her own carriage. No wonder his father and mother were pleased. As for the bridegroom-elect, Archie spoke of him with half-contemptuous amusement: “Oh, he was a good fellow,—no one wished to deny that;” but there was a want of culture and polish that grated upon the susceptibilities of the Oxford fellow.

Phillis listened with undivided interest—especially when he mentioned Grace.