Dr Heidenhoffs Process | Page 5

I wonder if poor
George will be at the picnic?"
"I doubt it," said Henry. "You know he never goes to any sort of party.
The last time I saw him at such a place was at Mr. Bradford's. He was
playing whist, and they were joking about cheating. Somebody
said--Mr. Bradford it was--'I can trust my wife's honesty. She doesn't
know enough to cheat, but I don't know about George.' George was her
partner. Bradford didn't mean any harm; he forgot, you see. He'd have
bitten his tongue off otherwise sooner than have said it. But everybody
saw the application, and there was a dead silence. George got red as fire,
and then pale as death. I don't know how they finished the hand, but
presently somebody made an excuse, and the game was broken off."
"Oh, dear! dear! That was cruel! cruel! How could Mr. Bradford do it?
I should think he would never forgive himself! never!" exclaimed
Madeline, with an accent of poignant sympathy, involuntarily pressing
Henry's arm, and thereby causing him instantly to forget all about
George and his misfortunes, and setting his heart to beating so
tumultuously that he was afraid she would notice it and be offended.
But she did not seem to be conscious of the intoxicating effluence she
was giving forth, and presently added, in a tone of sweetest pity--

"He used to be so frank and dashing in his manner, and now when he
meets one of us girls on the street he seems so embarrassed, and looks
away or at the ground, as if he thought we should not like to bow to
him, or meant to cut him. I'm sure we'd cut our heads off sooner. It's
enough to make one cry, such times, to see how wretched he is, and so
sensitive that no one can say a word to cheer him. Did you notice what
he said about leaving town? I hadn't heard anything about it before, had
you?"
"No," said Henry, "not a word. Wonder where he's going. Perhaps he
thinks it will be easier for him in some place where they don't know
him."
They walked on in silence a few moments, and then Madeline said, in a
musing tone--
"How strange it would seem if one really could have unpleasant things
blotted out of their memories! What dreadful thing would you forget
now, if you could? Confess."
"I would blot out the recollection that you went boat-riding with Will
Taylor last Wednesday afternoon, and what I've felt about it ever
since."
"Dear me, Mr. Henry Burr," said Madeline, with an air of excessive
disdain, "how long is it since I authorized you to concern yourself with
my affairs? If it wouldn't please you too much, I'd certainly box your
ears.
"I think you're rather unreasonable," he protested, in a hurt tone. "You
said a minute ago that you wouldn't permit me to be jealous of you, and
just because I'm so anxious to obey you that I want to forget that I ever
was, you are vexed."
A small noise, expressive of scorn, and not to be represented by letters
of the alphabet, was all the reply she deigned to this more ingenious
than ingenuous plea.

"I've made my confession, and it's only fair you should make yours," he
said next. "What remorseful deed have you done that you'd like to
forget?"
"You needn't speak in that babying tone. I fancy I could commit sins as
well as you, with all your big moustache, if I wanted to. I don't believe
you'd hurt a fly, although you do look so like a pirate. You've probably
got a goody little conscience, so white and soft that you'd die of shame
to have people see it."
"Excuse me, Lady Macbeth," he said, laughing; "I don't wish to
underrate your powers of depravity, but which of your soul-destroying
sins would you prefer to forget, if indeed any of them are shocking
enough to trouble your excessively hardened conscience?
"Well, I must admit," said Madeline, seriously, "that I wouldn't care to
forget anything I've done, not even my faults and follies. I should be
afraid if they were taken away that I shouldn't have any character left."
"Don't put it on that ground," said Henry, "it's sheer vanity that makes
you say so. You know your faults are just big enough to be
beauty-spots, and that's why you'd rather keep 'em."
She reflected a moment, and then said, decisively--
"That's a compliment. I don't believe I like 'em from you. Don't make
me any more."
Perhaps she did not take the trouble to analyse the sentiment that
prompted her words. Had she done so, she would doubtless have found
it in a consciousness when in his presence of being surrounded