An Old Meerschaum | Page 2

home. Go to Lloyd's office and
take places for this evening's boat to Constantinople. Wait a bit. Let me
see what the fare is. There you are. Pack up and get everything down to
the boat and wait there until I come.'
The man disappeared, and Barndale joined his friend. He had scarce
seated himself when a feminine rustling was heard outside. The door
opened, a voice of singular sweetness cried, 'Jimmy, dear!' and a young
lady entered. It was the young lady who blushed and started when she
saw Barndale asleep in front of the restaurant. She blushed again, but
held her hand frankly out to him. He rose and took it with more
tenderness than he knew of. The eyes of the third person twinkled, and
he winked at his own reflection in a mirror.
'This,' Barndale said, 'is not an expected pleasure, and is all the greater
on that account. By a curious coincidence I find we are travelling
together to Constantinople.'
Her hand still lingered in his whilst he said this, and as he ceased to
speak he gave it a little farewell pressure. Her sweet hazel eyes quite
beamed upon him, and she returned the pressure cordially. But she
answered only--
'Papa will be very pleased,'
'Isn't it singular,' said the guilty Barndale with an air of commonplace
upon him, 'that we should all be making this journey together?'
'Very singular indeed,' said pretty Miss Le-land, with so bright a

sparkle of mirth in those demure hazel eyes that Barndale, without
knowing why, felt himself confounded.
Mr. James Leland winked once more at his reflection in the mirror, and
was discovered in the act by Barndale, who became signally
disconcerted in manner.
Miss Leland relieved his embarrassment by taking away her brother for
a conference respecting the package of certain treasures purchased a
day or two before in Venice. The lone one smoked, and lounged, and
waited. He tried to read, and gave it up. He strayed down to the harbour,
and, finding his servant solemnly mounting guard over his luggage on
board the boat, he himself went aboard and in-spected his berth, and
chatted with the steward, in whom he discovered an old acquaintance.
But the time went drearily; and Barndale, who was naturally a man to
be happy under all sorts of circumstances, suffered all the restlessness,
chagrin, and envy with which love in certain of its stages has power to
disturb the spirit. He had made up a most heroic mind on this question
of Miss Leland some three months ago, and had quite decided that she
did not care for him. He wasn't going to break his heart for a woman
who didn't care for him. Not he.
If she be not fair for me, What care I how fair she be?
She had made fun of him in her own demure way. He ventured once on
a little touch of sentiment, which she never neglected to repeat, when
opportunity offered, in his presence. She repeated it with so serious an
air, so precisely as if it were an original notion which had just then
occurred to her, that Barndale winced under it every time she used it.
His mind was quite made up on this matter. He would go away and
forget her. He believed she liked him, in a friendly sisterly sort of way,
and that made him feel more hopeless. There were evidences enough to
convince you or me, had we been there to watch them, that this young
lady was caught in the toils of love quite as inextricably as this young
gentleman; but, with the pigheaded obstinacy and stupidity incident to
his condition, he declined to see it, and voluntarily betook himself to
misery, after the manner of young men in love from time immemorial.

A maiden who can be caught without chasing is pretty generally not
worth catching; and cynics have been known to say that the pleasure of
stalking your bride is perhaps the best part of matrimony. This our
young Barndale would not have believed. He believed, rather, that the
tender hopes and chilling fears of love were among the chief pains of
life, and would have laughed grimly if anyone had prophesied that he
would ever look back to them with longing regret. We, who are wiser,
will not commiserate but envy this young gentleman, remembering the
time when those tender hopes and chilling fears were ours--when we
were happier in our miseries than we have now the power to be in our
joys.
The Lelands came at last, and Barndale had got the particular form of
love's misery which he most coveted. The old gentleman was cordial,
the old lady was effusive, the awakener was what he had always been,
and Lilian was