Lucile | Page 7

them bankrupt. I preach. She obeys. She goes out in
the world; takes to dancing once more-- A pleasure she rarely indulged
in before. I go back to my post, and collect (I must own 'Tis a taste I
had never before, my dear John) Antiques and small Elzevirs. Heigho!
now, Jack, You know all.
JOHN (after a pause).
You are really resolved to go. back?
ALFRED.
Eh, where?
JOHN.
To that worst of all places--the past. You remember Lot's wife?

ALFRED.
'Twas a promise when last We parted. My honor is pledged to it.
JOHN.
Well, What is it you wish me to do?
ALFRED.
You must tell Matilda, I meant to have call'd--to leave word-- To
explain--but the time was so pressing--
JOHN.
My lord, Your lordship's obedient! I really can't do . . .
ALFRED.
You wish then to break off my marriage?
JOHN.
No, no! But indeed I can't see why yourself you need take These letters.
ALFRED.
Not see? would you have me, then, break A promise my honor is
pledged to?
JOHN (humming).
"Off, off And away! said the stranger" . . .
ALFRED.
Oh, good! oh, you scoff!
JOHN.

At what, my dear Alfred?
ALFRED.
At all things! JOHN. Indeed?
ALFRED.
Yes; I see that your heart is as dry as a reed: That the dew of your youth
is rubb'd off you: I see You have no feeling left in you, even for me! At
honor you jest; you are cold as a stone To the warm voice of friendship.
Belief you have none; You have lost faith in all things. You carry a
blight About with you everywhere. Yes, at the sight Of such callous
indifference, who could be calm? I must leave you at once, Jack, or else
the last balm That is left me in Gilead you'll turn into gall. Heartless,
cold, unconcern'd . . .
JOHN.
Have you done? Is that all? Well, then, listen to me! I presume when
you made up your mind to propose to Miss Darcy, you weigh'd All the
drawbacks against the equivalent gains, Ere you finally settled the point.
What remains But to stick to your choice? You want money: 'tis here.
A settled position: 'tis yours. A career: You secure it. A wife, young,
and pretty as rich, Whom all men will envy you. Why must you itch To
be running away, on the eve of all this, To a woman whom never for
once did you miss All these years since you left her? Who knows what
may hap? This letter--to ME--is a palpable trap. The woman has
changed since you knew her. Perchance She yet seeks to renew her
youth's broken romance. When women begin to feel youth and their
beauty Slip from them, they count it a sort of a duty To let nothing else
slip away unsecured Which these, while they lasted, might once have
procured. Lucile's a coquette to the end of her fingers, I will stake my
last farthing. Perhaps the wish lingers To recall the once reckless,
indifferent lover To the feet he has left; let intrigue now recover What
truth could not keep. 'Twere a vengeance, no doubt-- A triumph;--but
why must YOU bring it about? You are risking the substance of all that
you schemed To obtain; and for what? some mad dream you have

dream'd.
ALFRED.
But there's nothing to risk. You exaggerate, Jack, You mistake. In three
days, at the most, I am back.
JOHN.
Ay, but how? . . . discontented, unsettled, upset, Bearing with you a
comfortless twinge of regret. Preoccupied, sulky, and likely enough To
make your betroth'd break off all in a huff. Three days, do you say? But
in three days who knows What may happen? I don't, nor do you, I
suppose.
V.
Of all the good things in this good world around us, The one most
abundantly furnish'd and found us, And which, for that reason, we least
care about, And can best spare our friends, is good counsel, no doubt.
But advice, when 'tis sought from a friend (though civility May forbid
to avow it), means mere liability In the bill we already have drawn on
Remorse, Which we deem that a true friend is bound to indorse. A mere
lecture on debt from that friend is a bore. Thus, the better his cousin's
advice was, the more Alfred Vargrave with angry resentment opposed
it. And, having the worst of the contest, he closed it With so firm a
resolve his bad ground to maintain, That, sadly perceiving resistance
was vain, And argument fruitless, the amiable Jack Came to terms and
assisted his cousin to pack A slender valise (the one small
condescension Which his final remonstrance obtain'd), whose
dimension Excluded large outfits; and, cursing