The Wife of his Youth | Page 7

Charles Waddell Chesnutt
had come to me for advice; and I
argued the case with him. I tried to discuss it impartially. After we had
looked upon the matter from every point of view, I said to him, in
words that we all know:----
"'This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the
night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.'
"Then, finally, I put the question to him, 'Shall you acknowledge her?'
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, friends and companions, I ask you,
what should he have done?"
There was something in Mr. Ryder's voice that stirred the hearts of
those who sat around him. It suggested more than mere sympathy with
an imaginary situation; it seemed rather in the nature of a personal
appeal. It was observed, too, that his look rested more especially upon
Mrs. Dixon, with a mingled expression of renunciation and inquiry.
She had listened, with parted lips and streaming eyes. She was the first
to speak: "He should have acknowledged her."
"Yes," they all echoed, "he should have acknowledged her."

"My friends and companions," responded Mr. Ryder, "I thank you, one
and all. It is the answer I expected, for I knew your hearts."
He turned and walked toward the closed door of an adjoining room,
while every eye followed him in wondering curiosity. He came back in
a moment, leading by the hand his visitor of the afternoon, who stood
startled and trembling at the sudden plunge into this scene of brilliant
gayety. She was neatly dressed in gray, and wore the white cap of an
elderly woman.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "this is the woman, and I am the man,
whose story I have told you. Permit me to introduce to you the wife of
my youth."

Her Virginia Mammy

I
The pianist had struck up a lively two-step, and soon the floor was
covered with couples, each turning on its own axis, and all revolving
around a common centre, in obedience perhaps to the same law of
motion that governs the planetary systems. The dancing-hall was a long
room, with a waxed floor that glistened with the reflection of the lights
from the chandeliers. The walls were hung in paper of blue and white,
above a varnished hard wood wainscoting; the monotony of surface
being broken by numerous windows draped with curtains of dotted
muslin, and by occasional engravings and colored pictures representing
the dances of various nations, judiciously selected. The rows of chairs
along the two sides of the room were left unoccupied by the time the
music was well under way, for the pianist, a tall colored woman with
long fingers and a muscular wrist, played with a verve and a swing that
set the feet of the listeners involuntarily in motion.
The dance was sure to occupy the class for a quarter of an hour at least,
and the little dancing-mistress took the opportunity to slip away to her

own sitting-room, which was on the same floor of the block, for a few
minutes of rest. Her day had been a hard one. There had been a matinee
at two o'clock, a children's class at four, and at eight o'clock the class
now on the floor had assembled.
When she reached the sitting-room she gave a start of pleasure. A
young man rose at her entrance, and advanced with both hands
extended--a tall, broad-shouldered, fair-haired young man, with a frank
and kindly countenance, now lit up with the animation of pleasure. He
seemed about twenty-six or twenty-seven years old. His face was of the
type one instinctively associates with intellect and character, and it
gave the impression, besides, of that intangible something which we
call race. He was neatly and carefully dressed, though his clothing was
not without indications that he found it necessary or expedient to
practice economy.
"Good-evening, Clara," he said, taking her hands in his; "I 've been
waiting for you five minutes. I supposed you would be in, but if you
had been a moment later I was going to the hall to look you up. You
seem tired to-night," he added, drawing her nearer to him and scanning
her features at short range. "This work is too hard; you are not fitted for
it. When are you going to give it up?"
"The season is almost over," she answered, "and then I shall stop for
the summer."
He drew her closer still and kissed her lovingly. "Tell me, Clara," he
said, looking down into her face,--he was at least a foot taller than
she,--"when I am to have my answer."
"Will you take the answer you can get to-night?" she asked with a wan
smile.
"I will take but one answer, Clara. But do not
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