Arms and the Woman | Page 5

remark to concern her
good looks."
"Your insight is truly remarkable," she said, the dimple continuing its
elusive manoeuvres. "Hush; here comes Carmen."
And our voices grew faint in the swell of melody. Mrs. Wentworth was
entranced; her daughter was fondly gazing at the back of her fiancé's
head; Phyllis had turned her face from me to the stage. As for myself, I
was not particularly interested in the cigarette girl. It was running
through my head that the hour had arrived. I patted my gloves for a
moment, then I drew a long breath.
"Phyllis!" said I. There was a quaver in my voice. Perhaps I had not
spoken loud enough. "Phyllis!" said I again.
She turned quickly and gave me an inquiring and at the same time
nervous glance.
"What is it?"
"I want to tell you something I have never dared to tell you till now," I
said earnestly. The voice on the stage soared heavenward. "I love you.
Will you be my wife?"
Ah, me! where were those drooping eyelids, that flush, that shy, sweet
glance of which I had so often dreamt? Phyllis was frowning.
"Jack, I have been afraid of this," she said. "I am so sorry, but it cannot
be."
"Oh, do not say that now," I cried, crushing my gloves. "Wait awhile;
perhaps you may learn to love me."
"Jack, I have always been frank to you because I like you. Do you
suppose it will take me five years to find out what my heart says to any

man? No. Had I loved you I should not have asked you to wait; I
should have said yes. I do not love you in the way you wish. Indeed, I
like you better than any man I know, but that is all I can offer you. I
should be unkind if I held out any false hopes. I have often asked
myself why I do not love you, but there is something lacking in you,
something I cannot define. Some other woman will find what I have
failed to find in you to love."
I was twisting my gloves out of all recognition. There was a singing in
my ears which did not come from the stage.
"Look at it as I do, Jack. There is a man in this world whom I shall love,
and who will love me. We may never meet. Then he shall be an ideal to
me, and I to him. You believe you love me, but the love you offer is not
complete."
"Not complete?" I echoed.
"No. It would be if I returned it. Do you understand? There is in this
world a woman you will truly love and who will return your love in its
fulness. Will you meet? That is in the hands of your destinies. Shall I
meet my ideal? Who knows? But till I do, I shall remain an old maid."
I nodded wearily. A dissertation on affinities seemed ill-timed.
"And now," she said, "this beautiful friendship of ours must come to an
end." And there were tears in her eyes.
"Yes," said I, twisting and untwisting the shreds of my gloves. It
seemed as though the world had slipped from under my feet and I was
whirling into nothingness. "My heart is very heavy."
"Jack, if you talk like that," hastily, "you will have me crying before all
these people."
Unfortunately Ethel turned and saw the tears in her cousin's eyes.
"Mercy! what is the matter?" she asked.

"Jack has been telling me a very pathetic story," said Phyllis, with a
pity in her eyes.
"Yes; something that happened to-night," said I, staring at the
programme, but seeing nothing, nothing.
"Well," said Ethel, "this is not the place for them," turning her eyes to
the stage again.
The concluding acts of the opera were a jangle of chords and discords,
and the hum of voices was like the murmur of a far-off sea. My eyes
remained fixed upon the stage. It was like looking through a broken
kaleidoscope. I wanted to be alone, alone with my pipe. I was glad
when we at last entered the carriage. Mrs. Wentworth immediately
began to extol the singers, and Phyllis, with that tact which is given
only to kind-hearted women, answered most of the indirect questions
put to me. She was giving me time to recover. The direct questions I
could not avoid. Occasionally I looked out of the window. It had begun
to rain again. It was very dreary.
"And what a finale, Mr. Winthrop!" cried Mrs. Wentworth,
"Yes, indeed," I replied. To have loved and lost, and such a woman,
was my thought.
"The new tenor is an improvement. Do you not think so?"
"Yes, indeed." No more to touch her hand, to