‘m still so weak and poor and silly.”
“We don’t think so; and I know you ‘ll be all he hopes to find you,
for he ‘s just the husband you ought to have.”
“Thank you all the more, then, for not keeping him yourself,” said
Fanny, laughing the old blithe laugh again.
“That was only a slight aberration of his; he knew better all the
time. It was your white cloak and my idiotic behavior the night we
went to the opera that put the idea into his head,” said Polly,
feeling as if the events of that evening had happened some twenty
years ago, when she was a giddy young thing, fond of gay bonnets
and girlish pranks.
“I ‘m not going to tell Tom a word about it, but keep it for a
surprise till he comes. He will be here next week, and then we ‘ll
have a grand clearing up of mysteries,” said Fan, evidently feeling
that the millennium was at hand.
“Perhaps,” said Polly, as her heart fluttered and then sunk, for this
was a case where she could do nothing but hope, and keep her
hands busy with Will’s new set of shirts.
There is a good deal more of this sort of silent suffering than the
world suspects, for the “women who dare” are few, the women
who “stand and wait” are many. But if work-baskets were gifted
with powers of speech, they could tell stories more true and tender
than any we read. For women often sew the tragedy or comedy of
life into their work as they sit apparently safe and serene at home,
yet are thinking deeply, living whole heart-histories, and praying
fervent prayers while they embroider pretty trifles or do the weekly
mending.
CHAPTER XIX TOM’S SUCCESS
“Come, Philander, let us be a marching, Every one his true love a
searching,”
WOULD be the most appropriate motto for this chapter, because,
intimidated by the threats, denunciations, and complaints
showered upon me in consequence of taking the liberty to end a
certain story as I liked, I now yield to the amiable desire of giving
satisfaction, and, at the risk of outraging all the unities, intend to
pair off everybody I can lay my hands on.
Occasionally a matrimonial epidemic appears, especially toward
spring, devastating society, thinning the ranks of bachelordom, and
leaving mothers lamenting for their fairest daughters. That spring
the disease broke out with great violence in the Shaw circle,
causing paternal heads much bewilderment, as one case after
another appeared with alarming rapidity. Fanny, as we have seen,
was stricken first, and hardly had she been carried safely through
the crisis, when Tom returned to swell the list of victims. As Fanny
was out a good deal with her Arthur, who was sure that exercise
was necessary for the convalescent, Polly went every day to see
Mrs. Shaw, who found herself lonely, though much better than
usual, for the engagement had a finer effect upon her constitution
than any tonic she ever tried. Some three days after Fan’s joyful
call Polly was startled on entering the Shaws’ door, by Maud, who
came tumbling down stairs, sending an avalanche of words before
her, “He ‘s come before he said he should to surprise us! He ‘s up in
mamma’s room, and was just saying, ‘How ‘s Polly?’ when I heard
you come, in your creep-mouse way, and you must go right up. He
looks so funny with whiskers, but he ‘s ever so nice, real big and
brown, and he swung me right up when he kissed me. Never mind
your bonnet, I can’t wait.”
And pouncing upon Polly, Maud dragged her away like a captured
ship towed by a noisy little steam-tug.
“The sooner it ‘s over the better for me,” was the only thought Polly
had time for before she plunged into the room above, propelled by
Maud, who cried triumphantly, “There he is! Ain’t he splendid?”
For a minute, everything danced before Polly’s eyes, as a hand
shook hers warmly, and a gruffish voice said heartily, “How are
you, Polly?” Then she slipped into a chair beside Mrs. Shaw,
hoping that her reply had been all right and proper, for she had not