"We shall see wot we shall see," went on Elizabeth, "there aint no knowin" an" there aint no tellin". But wot I ses is, if this "ere propogal don"t come orf this evenin", I gotta plan. Of course, one marries accordin" to Fate, but sometimes it doesn"t do no "arm to give Fate an "elpin" "and, like."
Nodding darkly, she melted out. I did not at the time attach any significance to her final words. How was I to guess at those schemes which were even then fermenting in her mind and ended by involving not only Marion and Another, but the entire family?
CHAPTER V
Marion gave me what the newspapers term "a verbatim report" of the interview which took place between her and George Harbinger. She omitted no detail. As far as I understand, when I left them he was standing with his right foot on the fender and the other on the rug, and his elbow on the mantelpiece. She was sitting in the easy chair to the left of the fireplace, in the full glow of the shaded lamp, knitting a jumper. There was a pause and then he began, "You never seem idle for a minute. How nimble your fingers are!"
Marion knitted a little harder.
"I have always hoped," he went on, "that the woman I married would be fond of her needle. There is something so restful in the idea of coming home in the evening to see one"s companion sitting at the fireside engaged in such womanly tasks."
Marion said that, no doubt, after a hard day at a.s.sessing, such a sight would be soothing to a man.
He now came and sat beside her. "I want to ask you something rather important," he said, "but I wonder if I have known you long enough to warrant it."
She paused in her knitting for a moment to remind him--very earnestly--that real friendship and understanding is more a matter of affinity than actual length of acquaintance.
"You"re right," he said, pondering, "and, of course, you"re so . . . so sensible."
Women hate to be told they are sensible by any one but their mothers-in-law. But how could an a.s.sessor know that? He continued to regard her earnestly. "I feel sure, too, that you"re so much older than you look."
To this day Marion says she"s not sure whether this was intended as a compliment or a deadly insult.
"Do you think," he went on, "that a man should ask a woman to marry him only when she has reached maturity?"
Marion, moving well into the glow of the pink-shaded lamp, said it depended on the stage of maturity. Nowadays, when women so often look younger than they really are, it is difficult to tell.
He seemed relieved. "That"s exactly what I feel about it. But supposing my mother shouldn"t approve of my choice? I hate family squabbles above everything. I have always maintained that I would only marry the woman that my mother really liked."
"Isn"t that rather a handicap for your future wife?" asked Marion gently. "But why not ask your mother"s opinion of her?"
"That"s just what I want to speak to you about," he put in eagerly. "I . . . I want to ask you if I can introduce you to my mother?"
The knitting fell from Marion"s nerveless fingers. She can show you the uneven row on the jumper where she dropped fifteen st.i.tches at that moment.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Marion dropped fifteen st.i.tches.]
"I shall be most happy to meet your mother," she murmured.
"This is really good of you," he said eagerly. "You see, you"re the very one she would take to in an instant. I knew it directly I met you. I don"t know any one else she would listen to so willingly, if you will consent to intervene."
"Intervene!" echoed Marion. Somehow she did not like the word. Not at that moment, I mean.
"Yes, intervene," he repeated. There was no mistaking it--what could be clearer. Latin, _inter_, between; _venio_, I come. Marion may have translated it differently, but she had served in the capacity of buffer too often to misinterpret its meaning.
"I am to understand that you wish for my aid in a love affair?" she said.
"That"s just about it. You see, I always hoped I should fall in love with a quiet, homely, staid sort of girl, but dash it all, you can"t govern these things, can you?"
"Sometimes one has to," said Marion, picking up dropped st.i.tches.
"So I"ve completely lost my heart to a girl who--well, she"s an actress. She"s second from the left in the front row chorus of "Whizz-Bang" at the Hilarity Theatre; I tell you she"s wonderful."
"No doubt," said Marion, bending lower over her knitting.
"Lottie"s quite a good little girl, you know, but she"s so young--barely twenty--and she can"t cook or sew or housekeep or do any of those things which my mother approves. But she dances wonderfully and kicks higher than anyone else in the chorus----"
"And you want me to make your mother appreciate the . . . the . . .
high kicks?" broke in Marion rather bitterly.
"Well, not exactly, but you know what mothers are--about the stage, I mean. So don"t you understand that if some sensible little woman like you were to speak to her about it, she might reconstruct her views----"
He paused, staring in a puzzled way at Marion. Beneath her gentle exterior she has a decided temper which she is apt to deplore and, she affirms, must instantly be held in check. This, however, was an occasion when she did not seem to think the check action need be applied. She faced George with flashing eyes.
"If you were anything of a man," she declared, "you would manage an affair like that alone without asking help from your woman friends.
Good evening."
"Good evening," responded George, not, I suppose, at the moment thinking of anything more original to say. He departed in a pensive mood.
"And that," said Marion, concluding the narrative, "is all there is to be told."
She sat before me with her eyes downcast, her lips quivering, and a fierce anger rose within me against George Harbinger and mankind in general who could be so blind to Marion"s excellent qualities. As I took her in my arms and comforted her, kissing her soft cheeks and fluffy hair, I felt that if I were a man she would be the one woman above all others that I would desire to have and to hold henceforth and for evermore. "Never mind," I said tenderly, "some day you"ll meet another who will----"
"No, no, I never shall," interposed Marion, now openly weeping on my shoulder. "I shall never interest any one; I know that now. You can"t understand, Netta, for men are attracted towards you. If Henry died tomorrow, you"d have half a dozen offers of marriage at once."
I was rather startled at this suggestion, which somehow hinted disregard for the unconscious Henry.
"I think I must lack charm," went on Marion in a choked voice. "Who was it described charm as a--a--sort of a bloom on a woman, and said if she had that she didn"t need anything else?"
"It was Barrie," I said, stroking her hair, "but don"t take any notice of him, dear."
"It"s just what a man would say. Oh, Netta, why is life so hard to a woman? Why must she always be the one to stifle her feelings, repress her natural instincts, wait for man to take the lead? Why can"t she be the leading spirit if she wishes, without being humiliated? Why shouldn"t women propose?"
"That"s just what I"ve been writing about," I said involuntarily.
She raised her head from my shoulder. "And what did you say about it?"
"I held that a woman can--er--oh, hang it all, never mind what I _wrote_ about it. What I _say_ is that of course they ought to propose if they want to. There should be perfect equality of the s.e.xes."
"Well, if there was," put in Marion, her practical common sense coming to her aid, "it wouldn"t after all make a man want to marry me just because it was I who put the question. It"s no use, Netta. I"m a born old maid. I"ve got to go through life heart-hungry, loving other people"s babies instead of my own, and stepping aside to let all the fair things go past me."
Poor little Marion! She looked very wistful and pathetic at that moment. A lump rose in my throat as I strove to dry her eyes and find words of comfort.
She sobbed on unrestrainedly, however, and nothing I could say would soothe her. "Marion, darling," I whispered, my own eyes growing moist, "don"t cry any more. Isn"t there anything I can say to cheer you up?
Can"t I suggest anything----?"