Love, The Fiddler | Page 2

a cargo boat running to South American ports. He was a fine-looking
man with earnest grey eyes; a reader, a student, an observer; self-taught
in Spanish, Latin, and French; a grave, quiet gentlemanly man, whose
rare smile seemed to light his whole face, and who in his voyages
South had caught something of Spanish grace and courtliness. He
returned as regularly to Bridgeport as his ship did to New York; and

when he stepped off the train his eager steps took him first to the
Fenacres' house, his hands never empty of some little present for his
sweetheart.
On the occasion of our story his step was more buoyant than ever and
his heart beat high with hope, for she had cried the last time he went
away, and though no word of love had yet been spoken between them,
he was conscious of her increasing inclination for him and her
increasing dependence. Having already won so much it seemed as
though his passionate devotion could not fail to turn the scale and bring
her to that admission he felt it was on her lips to make. So he strode
through the narrow streets, telling himself a fairy story of how it all
might be, with a little house of their own and she waiting for him on the
wharf when his ship made fast; a story that never grew stale in the
repetition, but which, please God, would come true in the end, with
Florence his wife, and all his doubtings and heart-aches over.
Florence opened the door for him herself and gave a little cry of
surprise and welcome as they shook hands, for in all their acquaintance
there had never been a kiss between them. It was all he could do not to
catch her in his arms, for as she smiled up at him, so radiant and
beautiful and happy, it seemed as if it were his right and that he had
been a fool to have ever questioned her love for him. He followed her
into the sitting-room, laughing like a child with pleasure and thrilled
through and through with the sound of her voice and the touch of her
hand and the vague, subtle perfume of her whole being. His laughter
died away, however, as he saw what the room contained. Over the
chairs, over the sofa, over the table, in the stacked and open pasteboard
boxes on the floor, were dresses and evening gowns outspread with the
profusion of a splendid shop, and even to his unpractised eyes, costly
and magnificent beyond anything he had ever seen before. Florence
swept an opera cloak from a chair and made him sit down, watching
him the while with a charming gaiety and excitement. At such a
moment it seemed to him positively heartless.
"Florence," he said, almost with a gasp, "does this mean that you are
going to be--" He stopped short. He could not say that word.
"I'm never going to marry anybody," she returned.
"But--" he began again.
"Then you haven't heard!" she cried, clasping her hands. "Oh, Frank,

you haven't heard!"
"I have only just got back," he said.
"I've been left heaps of money," she exclaimed, "from my uncle, you
know, the one that treated father so badly and tricked him out of the old
manor farm. I hardly knew he existed till he died. And it's not only a lot,
Frank, but it's millions!"
He repeated the word with a kind of groan.
"They are probating the will for six," she went on, not noticing his
agitation, "but I'm sure the lawyers are making it as low as they can for
the taxes. And it's the most splendid kind of property--rows of houses
in the heart of New York and big Broadway shops and skyscrapers!
Frank, do you realise I own two office buildings twenty stories high?"
Frank tried to congratulate her on her wonderful good fortune, but it
was like a voice from the grave and he could not affect to be glad at the
death-knell of all his hopes.
"That lets me out," he said.
"My poor Frank, you never were in," she said, regarding him with great
kindness and compassion. "I know you are disappointed, but you are
too much a man to be unjust to me."
"Oh, I haven't the right to say a word!" he exclaimed quickly. "On your
side it was friends and nothing more. I always understood that,
Florence."
He was shocked at her almost imperceptible sigh of relief.
"Of course, this changes everything," she said.
"Yet it would have come if it hadn't been for this," he said. "You were
getting to like me better and better. You cried when I last went away.
Yes, it would have come, Florence," he repeated, looking at