A Fixed Determination...

Free Lance, Volume I, Issue 17, 27 October 1900, Page 14

A Fixed Determination ...

By Bayard Veiller.

« I^|OTHING," said Clorinda, posiIM tively, " could induce me to marry a poor man." "We had been speaking a moment before of the starvation in India. It was such a thoroughly safe topic. But lam nothing if not heroic, so I plunged headlong after the girl. Association with Clorinda is fast making me a mental contortionist. " With your many charms," I said, politely, " that can't be necessary." To this she made no reply. I think she might at least have smiled at my compliment or praised me for my mental leap from starvation to mercenary marriage. , We were sitting close to each other under a tree by the river in early June. Clorinda was looking at the river. I was looking at Clorinda. I love danger for its own sake. I know I should not have been there. It was the height of folly. " Have you settled on any special millionaire ? " I asked, after a .pause. "That," said Clorinda, airily, "is a mere matter of detail. I was speaking in a general way." " I think you are very wise, 1 said, slowly. . , , Then Clorinda looked at me instead oi at the river. It was not exactly a friendly glance. " I don't think I understand," she said, " I meant," I replied, gently, " that you are eminently unsuited for calico." I don't quite know what calico is, but it sounds poverty stricken. " I thought you liked this frock ? " she pouted. When Clorinda pouts there are two things a man can do— one is to turn his face from temptation ; the other isn't. I looked steadfastly at the river. " Ityou don't look at me I shall whistle, said Clorinda, viciously. Now this is a sore point with me. Once Clorinda whistled when I was sitting close beside her, and for a week alter that she would not speak to me at all. She said I had been a brute and that she hated me. After all, the only way to overcome some temptations is to yield to them. Anyhow, I am only human. I turned at once towards her. " I do like it," I said, enthusiastically. " It's the prettiest frock I ever saw." "This frock," she said, with great dignity, is made of calico." I said nothing at all. " I made it myself," she went on. To that there was but one possible reply. I made it. " I should have thought," I said, diplomatically, " that it came from Paris." Then Clorinda dimpled. " I hate being poor," she said. "lam not especially fond of it myself," said I. " The day might come," I went on, " when I might fall in love. Then I should want to marry." "You have two thousand dollars a year," suggested Clorinda. " A bagatelle," I said, airily. " I can see your future so clearly," I went on quietly. " You will meet some very rich old man of about forty." (Clorinda is twenty ; I am twenty-eight.) "He will, of course, fall in love with you at once." "He may not," suggested Clorinda, hopefully. " Everybody does." " Not everybody," said the dear girl, with a look of bitter reproach at me. I could see she was chagrined at the way I took the thought of her approaching marriage. " You will only be engaged a short time, and you'll have a big wedding, and you'll ha\e you're millionaire ask me to be best man because we are such old friends. I'll get a new coat for the occasion. It's time I had a new one, anyway. And then," I went on briskly, " you'll leave this poky little place and go to live in the city." " I'd love that," she interrupted. " Of course," I said, enthusiastically. " You'll have a big house and no end of ser\ ants, and horses, and carriages. And you'll go out a good deal. To dances, you know, and theatres and teas. And then, in the summer, you will go to Newport ; and you'll have so many gowns you won't know what to do with them. And youMl have everything done for you. You'll have a maid to dress you and fix your hair." '• Women don't ' fix ' their hair," interrupted Clorinda ; " they 'do ' it." •' And you won't even know what your cook looks like," I went on, ignoring her interruption, "because, you see, jou'll have a housekeeper to attend to that for you. All you'll have to do will be to

send her word how many there will be to dinner." "But, usually," said Clorinda, " there 11 be just tuy husband and myself." I laughed heartily. " Of course, during the honeymoon." I said, " for appearance's sake, you'll have to dine together, but after that you'll go your own way. Your husband will be too busy looking after his millions to bother with society much. He'll spend most of his time at the club." " But that won't be having a home at all," objected Clorinda. " You said you'd marry for money," I said. " It's a most suitable plan. I can't imagine you the wife of a poor man. You are not at all suited to a life of that sort." " I'd like to know why not," said she, angrily . " I'd have you know there isn't anything about a house I can't do. I can make bread and— and— oh, everything! " "I know," I said, soothingly; " but you seem so much better fitted for the life of ease and comfort you have planned for yourself." Even this did not seem to please her. She frowned ominously and dug the point of her parasol into the earth. " As for myself," I went on cheerfully, " why you'll cross me off your visiting list, I suppose." " I think you are extremely rude even to think such a thing," she cried, hotly. " You know I am very much interested in your career. I feel like a a sister to you. You know how interested I've been in your book." " So good of you," I said, politely. She seemed to grow very angry at this. " You'll be glad to know," I went on, " that I know a very nice widow who is awfully rich. I did not think at the moment to say that the rich widow was my aunt. " How old is she ? " asked Clorinda. "Oh, about fifty, I should say. Of course there is nothing definitely settled yet. She seems very fond of me, though." Here I sighed gently. Clonnda's eyes blazed. " I am ashamed of you," she cried, scornfully — " you, a great big man, young, attractive " I waved my hand deprecatingly. " Yes, you are attractive," she stormed. From her tone, she might have been accusing me of murder or arson. " You have your whole life before you. You will be a very successful man, and you sit there and placidly talk of selling yourself to some horrible old woman." " She is quite popular," I said, meekly. " She is really a most estimable old lady." " She is nothing of the sort," said Clorinda. " She is some horrid old thing pretending to be young. Suppose you are poor now, what does that matter ? Money isn't e\ erything. Why, any girl would be proud and glad to marry such a man." I think that just at this point I forgot to be placid. " Would you," I asked, anxiously. " Yes," said Clorinda, meekly. After a few minutes I said, regretfully, " Then I can't be best man." " You will be that always," said Clorinda, positively.