M LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, MMfMMhiM A KA mi^ */^^^' \Hl iWI .A ^m^h^^mm^i miKm mwmi^ ^XM^^MMftS^I^^ lPl^.a^ 'fiMf}(^-^A AAA^^V^^A^^^ iAah f\- .^^^^ aAAAai ^Aas'^iM 1 W "^'^f^''MA,i,iy^lV^' >,.%Af,"^Af ^a.'Aa,, t^:^^m mmmmmm. *AJ-A^' TWO COMEDIES, TWO COMEDIES: y?^ Ill IVint>; z/ls^c c/Jbject <:/1pology. F. DONALDSON, JR. BOSTON : CUPPLES, UPHAM & COMPANY, Z\)t ©ItJ Corner 33oaftgtorf, [887. ^^?,-ll«* Copyright, 1886, By F. DONALDSON, Jr. ^// rights reserved. RAND, AVERT 4 CO.. HLBOTROTYPERS AND PRINTERS, ^tnor tenet omnia: ilHutat cortits intima; ©uaerit amor Uebta: jFrtgiHus et calttius et tepititis; {laughing). Yes, dear; but that's exactly what Rousseau said a love-letter should be. {Both are silent for some minutes. Miss Sturgis rises, and walks up and down nervously y stops, looks out tearfully upon the ocean, and sits down at Miss Howard's feet) Miss Sturgis {seriously). Emily, I be- believe most women, when they become en- gaged, never think that it means marriage. Miss Howard. Then it's a great pity, for that's the serious part of it; though the thought must be an alloy. Some one said, Marriage is the death of senti- ment, the grave of romance. 34 An III Wind. Miss Sturgis {woefully). I should hate to think that. Miss Howard. Well, my dear, I don't wish to 'disgruntle' you; but you know my opinion. Miss Sturgis. You'll fall in love yourself, some of these days. Miss Howard. Perhaps so. These men we meet in society are all very nice, very swell, very au faitj but, like Vol- taire's trees, they ought to be; they've got nothing else to do. I could care only for an earnest man. Miss Sturgis. That's what I'm trou- bling about. I don't think {shaking her head) he is in earnest; and yet, he's a lovely fellow. {Firmly) I'm going to have a perfectly frank talk with him. He shall not compromise me by his attentions to Marion Day. If she had the right spirit she wouldn't let — Miss Howard {laughing). Oh, oh! you expect too much of her. She's a woman, and likes to feel her power : she'd rather make another woman suffer than not. An III Wind. 35 Miss Sturgis. Well, I can't bear her, and I don't think she loves me. Miss Howard. You may be sure of that. Miss Sturgis {thoughtfully). What troubles me is, what I shall say to Mr. Whyte. »ril have it out with him, and tell him just what I think. Oh, it's miserable of him to treat me so ! Emmie, I believe men begin to fall out of love as soon as a woman says yes. Their interest flags as soon as the game is bagged. {After a pause) What grounds do you think a girl ought to have for breaking an engage- ment? Miss Howard {smiling). Grounds more relative than you have, dear. Miss Sturgis. Yes; but how much coldness and inattention should I allow? {Dolefully) You've told me I might expect it after I was married, but I'm experi- encing it already. Miss Howard. But what can you do ? You can't break an engagement so lightly. Miss Sturgis {tearfully). I don't 36 An III Wind. want to break my engagement, Emmie, but — but I fear he'll force me to do it. Oh, I'm very unhappy! I wish Marion had staid away ! Bob's head's completely turned since she arrived. {She gets up, and sits beside her compa7iion.) I won- der if he was ever engaged to her. Miss Howard. I'm sure I don't know. Miss Sturgis. He always avoids my questions. Miss Howard. My dear, you should never have asked him. A woman is not supposed to know what a man's done be- fore he is her's. If you question them, you just make them mad, and ten to one you don't get a truthful answer. Miss Sturgis (jrt:^/^). Oh, my! Miss Howard. A man holds him- self accountable to a woman only for his actions after marriage : in our world not even then, I fear. Miss Sturgis. I'm afraid he does not love me — that he's tired of me already I Well, if every thing goes wrong, no one shall ever know my feelings. {Putting A?t III Wind. 37 her ar7n round her companion) I don't count you, dear. I hope we shall always be friends. Miss Howard. We shall, dear {kiss- ing her). I hope it will all be right. I can't think Mr. Whyte would purposely neglect you — would tire of you so soon. It's all a mistake. Now, come, don't trouble any more. {Getting up) Let's go into lunch. {Miss Sturgis rises, takes her friend ''s arm, and they walk across the lawn towards the housed Miss Sturgis {shaking herself). I don't know w^hy I feel so wretchedly. {After a panse) Emmie, something dread- ful's coming out of all this I'm sure. {As they near the house. Miss Howard notices apiece of white paper lying on the grass ahead of them >j Miss Howard. Oh, how careless in the servants to leave things lying about so ! It ruins the whole look of the green. (Miss Howard stoops down and picks up Whyte's letter, which lay with the written side to the ground. She turns it over, and the words, My dear Marion, 38 An III Wind. I must see you. You know how miser- able I am, are read by her involun- tarily. A ftighteiied look cojnes over her face. She makes a inotio7i to crujjipie the paper in her hand, hoping to hide it from her co7npanion. It is too late, for she feels her friend''s grasp tighten on her ar7n, and turns to see her pale, and tre7n' bli>ig with e7notio7u) Miss Sturgis {quietly). Give that to me, Emmie. Miss Howard. Oh, no, Helen ! Miss Sturgis. But I must have it. (Miss Howard ha7ids her the paper. She takes it calmly, folds it, a7id puts it i7i her pocket. They walk 07i i7i sile7ice to the hottse. As they co77ie up the steps, Whyte hears the7n, and rousi7ig hi7nself, gets out of the ha77imock. He watches the two girls go i7tto the house, biit does 7iot see the little shudder which passes over both of the7n as they see him, nor the tears which are t7'ickling dow7i the cheeks ofo7ie, nor does he hear the 7'e77iark, — " Oh, how could he have done it ! " — (Whyte turns, and sits down at the W7'iti7ig-table, a7id An III Wind. 39 addresses an envelope) I'll send it anyhow. {He picks up a sheet of folded note-paper^ to find it blanky and looks nervously over his desk) I wonder where in the deuce that note is. Could it have blown out of the window 1 {He picks up paper after Paper^ which the wind had blow?t about, but to no purpose) What under the sun has become of it. {He goes through his pockets, in vain) I wouldn't have mis- placed that note for any money. It must be found. It must be here. What a fool I was to write, to put any thing on paper. If that note's found, I'm done for. {Getting up in evident alarm) If that comes to Helen's eyes, I'll never, never be able to explain. I love her really, after all, I believe. Of course, she'll never let me speak to her again. I'll get the credit of having been jilted, of having been bounced. Every one will be laugh- ing at me, and {dropping into a large chair) I'll never be able to open my mouth in my own defence. {After a pause) By Heaven ! I don't know that I've got any. I was all right until Marion 40 An III Wind. came here. I had almost forgotten her. Confound her ! She seems destined to make my life miserable. {Desperately) I wish I had never met her. {After a pause) No, I don't. I wonder what has become of that note. The wind must have spir- ited it away. At this moment, a servant appears, and hands Mr. Whyte two notes. He drops the smaller one in his hurry, and with " Til bet it's come now," opens that in his hand, out of which a ri?ig drops, and reads, — Dear Mr. Whyte, — I enclose a note which I found lying on the lawn this morning. The few words which caught my eye proved what I had already suspected. And this ends forever all be- tween us. Yours, HELEN STURGIS. (Whyte stops, and stares vacatitly be- fore him.) Great Heavens ! I wonder if Marion would speak to me if she knew the truth. {After a long silence, he perceives the second 7iote, atid smiles complacently as he recognizes the handwriting j he opens it slowly, and reads, — Aft III Wind. 41 My dear Bob, — You are such an old friend, that I feel you should be one of the first to know of my engagement to {he viumbles the rest.) Yours, MARION DAY.) AN ABJECT APOLOGY. Scene. — The hallway of a handsome house. A ball is gomg on. Flowers and growing plants Jill every nook and corner. Music is heard in the distance^ while many ladies and gentlemen in full dress cross and re-cross the scene. Presently a couple appear^ and walk rather listlessly to the upper end of the hall, and take their seat upon a sofa, which is almost entirely screened by large plafits. The ge7itle7nan looks thirty five : a thoughtful, earnest face is, perhaps, his most marked physical characteristic. His co77ipanion is about two and twenty, tall rather, with a graceful, well-rounded fgure. Striking looking she certainly is, her steel-gray 43 44 ^^ Abject Apology. eyes contrasting st?'ongly with her brown hair and eyelashes. She sits iji silence for a few seconds, and then, languid- Miss Grace Elliot. What is the matter with you this evening? I thought you said you wished to talk to me. Mr. Julian Reeves. I did ; but I feel so stupid. I've — Miss Elliot {fattning herself slowly). Follow Sydney Smith : begin with plain talk, and trust to something coming out of it. Mr. Reeves {pointedly, and in deep bass). I trust something may come out of it when I have spoken. Miss Elliot {with a shudder). Ugh ! Don't be so funereal. You speak as if your hour had almost come. Mr. Reeves. It has : like a walking shadow, I — Miss Elliot {interrupting, and itn- patiently). What are you driving at ? I suppose when you can't talk sense, you talk metaphor. Afi Abject Apology, 45 Mr. Reeves {with dignity). Miss El- liot, I was thinking that — Miss Elliot. Language was given you to disguise your thoughts — I agree with you. Mr. Reeves. I was thinking — I was about to say — {Just at this moment a pleasant-looking young fellow walking by sees Miss Elliot. He ?nakes straight for the chair by her, and, with a pleasant, " Good-evening, Miss EUiot," and a " Hel- lo, Reeves," sits down. Reeves stops in the middle of his sentence, and moves sulle7ily to the end of the sofa. The new- comer siniles at this exhibition, and turns to the young lady) Miss Elliot. Well, Mr. Davis, I'm glad to see you. What have you been doing with yourself lately ? Mr. Davis. Getting a friend married. Miss Elliot. Poor fellow ! Mr. Davis {smiling). It wasn't a fel- low : it was a female. Miss Elliot, Poor thing ! Mr. Reeves {from the end of the sofa). Why do you call the man a poor fellow, 46 An Abject Apology. and the woman a poor thing, I'd like to know ? Miss Elliot. They call her " a thing," I suppose, because, having married, she's no longer a thinking being. Mr. Davis {laughing).' You don't mean to say that a woman stops thinking when she gives herself up to one man. Miss Elliot. No. She generally stops thinking when she falls in love. Mr. Reeves. Pity 'tis ! For after all it's what you women thmk most about. Miss Elliot. About what ? Men, or love in the abstract. Mr. Reeves {sa?'castically). That woman remains to be born who is capable of interesting herself in an abstract idea. Some brilliant individual remarked that. Miss Elliot. You needn't have told us that, it doesn't sound original. (Reeves looks rather savagely at her, and relapses into silence. Miss Elliot, turning to Davis) The town's mad on the subject of marriage. Mr. Davis. The women, you mean! There have been a great many. An Abject Apology. 47 Miss Elliot {throwing herself back, and with a sweep of her fan). I don't think woman is put into this world solely to marry, and be given in marriage. There ought to be something else open to us — woman's sphere is very limited. Mr. Davis. Yes, it is. But I'm not so sure it isn't as well. Miss Elliot. Perhaps so. {And laugh- ing It does seem as if we could not do without you. For, after all, most of us go out to marry, and — Mr. Davis {rising). The rest marry to go out. Good-by. {He bows himself off ^ Mr. Reeves. Thank Heaven, that little chap's gone ! It seems to me you're very polite to him. He's as stupid — Miss Elliot. He isn't stupid at all. He's a very nice fellow. Mr. Reeves {angrily). You are very polite to such insufferable men. Miss Elliot {carelessly). Certainly ! I've been polite \.o you this evening. Mr. Reeves. Thanks. You're in a happy frame of mind. Miss Elliot. That's more than I can 48 An Abject Apology. say for you. {Both are silent for a few minutes) Mr. Reeves {wnki7ig from his brow7i study). I'm going back home to-morrow night, Miss Elhot. Miss Elliot {htimming snatches from « The Mikado "). Well ! Mr. Reeves {evidently piqued at her ?nanner). Well, I'm going home. Aren't you sorry ? Miss Elliot {raising her eyebrows). I ! dear me, why should I be 1 Mr. Reeves. I — I don't know. I thought you might dislike saying good-by to a friend {pointedly). Miss Elliot {naively). Oh, that way ! why, yes, indeed. Mr. Reeves {coming closer to her). You know I've gotten to look upon you as a great friend, and I hate to say good- by to you. I dreaded for this time to come. These last three weeks have been the happiest I ever spent {looking ear- nestly at her)., thanks to you. Miss Elliot {with a shrug of her shoulders). Oh, you've changed ! Two An Abject Apology. 49 weeks ago you told me I treated you out- rageously. If I remember rightly, you even called me a flirt ; and, by the way, that reminds me — Mr. Vandewater tells me you consider me something of a fiend in that line. Mr. Reeves {with a frown). Did he ? I never said so to hiin. When I said you treated me outrageously, I merely meant — Miss Elliott. You shouldn't use such strong language. Mr. Reeves. I merely meant — that you worried me like — Miss Elliot. It's a pity. If you didn't like it, you had the remedy in your own hands. Mr. Reeves. Oh, you know well enough what I mean ! It's a second na- ture with you Southern women. I re- member a Savannah girl I met once, who had four men on the string at once. Up to the time they met her, they were good friends. After one week, they were dis- tant to each other; in two weeks, they didn't speak; in three, they desired each other's gore. This delectable young wo- 50 An Abject Apology. man threw all four over in twenty-four hours. Such wrecks were never seen. Later they saw the joke of it, and became friends again. That girl is still unmar- ried. So take care. Miss Elliot. I like your impudence. You speak as if marriage was the sole end of woman. Mr. Reeves. Well, it is mostly. Miss Elliot. Pa ! the conceit of you men [laughing) ! I wish we were not so dependent upon you. If women would only devote themselves to sometliing else besides falling in love. {With sarcasm) Propinquity — propinquity's what does it. They become a possibility for each other, because there's no other available person about. {Positively) I should hate to think I had fallen in love, simply because the man was the only one possible. Mr. Reeves. Then there is one pos- sible ? Miss Elliot {firmly). I was only supposing. There's no reason why we shouldn't put a little reason into the mat- ter. Is there.'' An Abject Apology, 51 Mr. Reeves iinterruptijig). None, ex- cept that you're a woman. Miss Elliot {looking at him). I'll work it out yet. Mr. Reeves. To his salvation, you mean. Miss Elliot. No ; to my own. Mr. Reeves {with a sigh). I hope it'll be to his. {After a silence, aiid seriously) Miss EHiot, I'm afraid I'm not a very joy- ful companion this evening. You see — Miss Elliot. The dejected 'havior of your visage, I do. Mr. Reeves {impatiently). You see, I'm depressed to death about leaving you. {After a pause) I don't know whether I'm glad or sorry I met you, anyway. Miss Elliot {opening her eyes very wide). Why not, pray ? Mr. Reeves. Well, this sort of thing's all very fine ; but it can't last. You've affected me most deeply. Miss Elliot. Effected you ! How ? Mr. Reeves. Well, you've changed my whole self, — my way of looking at things. Haven't men told you what a hold you had on them .? 52 An Abject Apology. Miss Elliot. No. Mr. Reeves {laughing). I know what that " no " means. Miss Elliot. I congratulate you. I've seen men who didn't know " no " when they heard it. Mr. Reeves. Well, you've taken a deep hold on me. You've been a strong, and, if the truth must be told, a disturb- ing element in my life. Miss Elliot {laughing). Your life must be wretched, at that rate. If every woman you're devoted to is a disturbing element, that's — let's see — shall we say fifty in the last year? {And rather seri- ously) Mr. Reeves, I don't put the slight- est belief in what you say. You say the same to every woman you meet. Mr. Reeves {as he changes his seat, and warmly). Bless it. Miss Elliot ! Can't you see I'm in earnest? Why wonH you see I'm serious? I sometimes think, if you knew how much influence you women have over us, — how great power for good, — you'd treat us men differently. Miss Elliot. What on earth do you mean by " treat us differently ? " An Abject Apology. 53 Mr. Reeves. Well, you wouldn't trifle with us so. Miss Elliot. Trifle with you, indeed! I believe you think we should take it for granted every man who seems to be at- tracted by us is in love with us. Mr. Reeves {pomtedly). They mostly are with you. Miss Elliot. Nonsense ! Just so sure as we make ourselves agreeable, you say we are flirting. {Positively) Mr. Reeves, a woman has no right to believe a man's in love with her, until he tells her so. Mr. Reeves {with sarcasm). I've heard these sentiments before. Miss Elliot. It's perfectly true, and right too. Mr. Reeves. It's a flattering unction, doubtless. Miss Elliot {quickly). I really believe you men think we should go about as a sort of a sandwich, — " Susceptible young men, beware ! This female's dangerous." Mr. Reeves. It would save us poor devils many a heartburn. 54 Afi Abject Apology, Miss Elliot. I suppose men's hearts «r^ near the surface. {After a pause) On your sleeve almost — for women to peck at. Mr. Reeves {impatiently). Do you really mean to tell me you don't know when a man's in love with you ? Miss Elliot. No. Mr. Reeves {laughing, but evidently irritated). That's refreshing. You don't want to know — there's the trouble. A man's attentions flatter you, and you don't like to break with him. Miss Elliot. How, pra}^ cajt we take action until the man speaks ? Mr. Reeves. Very often you won't take action when he does. Miss Elliot {laughing). I've known action taken, and rapidly too. It all de- pends. {They are silent for a time. Reeves turns restlessly in his chair, p7ills a couple of leaves off the plant nearest him^ and moves back to his seat upon the sofa.) Mr. Reeves {earnestly). Why won't you talk seriously to me ? why won't you believe what I say to you? You must know how I hate to say good-by. An Abject Apology. 55 Miss Elliot {nervotisly). Come, let's go back to the parlor: we've been here long enough. Mr. Reeves {plaintively). No, not yet, Miss EHiot. This is the last chance I'll have, and I want to say something to you. (Miss Elliot throws herself back with a wearied air. Reeves noticing her appar- ent indifference) For Heaven's sake look a little interested. Miss Elliot {carelessly). I am ! I deeply sympathize ! Mr. Reeves {warmly). I don't want sympathy. I simply want you to listen to me. Miss Elliot {sjfziling). What do you want to do ? philosophize 1 Mr. Reeves {hopelessly). Hang phi- losophy ! Miss Elliot. What do you wish then ? To talk about yourself } Mr. Reeves {brightening up). Yes, that's it. Miss Elliot {letting her haiids drop in her lap). Well, go on. Oh, piteous pre- dicament I 56 An Abject Apology. Mr. Reeves. If you'll just be serious for a few minutes — can't you see when a man's in earnest. Miss Elliot. I don't know — what are the symptoms ? Mr. Reeves. Please be serious. I'm not a child. You know how deeply you've touched me. You've changed my whole life. I've done some work worth while since I met you a year ago. My whole thought has been {lie looks at her^ and see- ing she's listening — has been you. {She gives a slight start.) If perchance my work should please you — that's been my aim — I felt as if I'd do any thing — make any effort — to make you glad you knew me ; glad to have me as a friend. Miss Elliot {After a pause). I am your friend ! {Slowly, and looking full at him) I'm glad we were thrown together. Mr. Reeves. Oh ! thanks, Miss Elliot. I'm happy to know that. You've made a different and a happier man out of me. Miss Elliot {with rising inflection), I? Mr. Reeves {passionately). Yes : you, An Abject Apology. 57 you, Miss Elliot. {He leans towards her, about to speak ; she hesitates a jnoment, and is about to rise, when they both per- ceive a gentleman coining towards them. He is a spry-looking party, who might be any age from forty to seventy j would pass muster very well, if it were not for the '•''old'''' expression about the knees. He speaks rather rapidly, with an attempt at the man-ofthe-world style.) Mr. John Lane. Ah! er — er, Miss Elliot, good-evening. Miss Elliot. Good-evening, Mr. Lane. {Turning to Mr. Reeves) May I intro- duce my friend Mr. Reeves. {A7td sotto voce) Speak loud, he's a little deaf. Mr. Lane {turning his best ear on Mr. Reeves). Mr. what did you — er — say .-* Mr. Reeves {putting out his hand). Mr. Reeves. Mr. Lane. Oh, er — er — happy — er to meet er — you, Mr. Reeves! Lovely ball — er, isn't it ? Mr. Reeves and Miss Elliot. Lovely. 58 An Abject Apology, Mr. Lane. How long — er — you been in — er town, Mr. Reeves ? Mr. Reeves. Few weeks only. Mr. Lane. Lovely girls here — er — beautiful ball this. Miss Elliot. Beautiful. Mr. Reeves {sotto voce). Don't ask him to sit down. Miss Elliot {with a smile). Won't you sit down, Mr. Lane. (Reeves looks daggers^ and Mr. Lane sits down.) Mr. Lane. I was — er — saying to Miss Smith. You — er — know Miss Smith — er — lovely girl. Miss Smith — I was — er — saying that the house was — er — lovely — er — beautiful this evening. Miss Elliot. Yes ; the flowers espe- cially. (Mr. Lane turns to examine the plant beside him.) Mr. Reeves. What did you ask him to sit down for ? Miss Elliot. He'll go to sleep in a minute. Mr. Reeves. I told you I wanted to say something special to you. Why didn't you let the old fool go ? An Abject Apology. 59 Miss Elliot. Because he's very nice to me always. (Reeves looks disgusted^ but bt'ightens as he sees old Lane soicnd asleep) Mr. Reeves {pointing to Lane). How extraordinary! Does he always do that? Miss Elliot. Always. Mr. Reeves. The lean and slippered pantaloon ! Why don't they lock the doors on him? Miss Elliot. Oh ! he enjoys himself. Mr. Reeves {relapsijig into his former sober state). I suppose I can finish what I have to say. Miss Elliot. I don't know. I think we'd better go. Mr. Reeves {angrily). Well, the next time I talk seriously to a woman, I'll be whipped for it. Can't you see I'm in love ? Miss Elliot {looki7ig him over., and with a flourish). You in love ? Never ! Mr. Reeves. I don't look it? Miss Elliot. No. Mr. Reeves. I don't? Well, that shows how much perception you women have. Philipps informed me yesterday 6o An Abject Apology, that any fool could see that I was in love. {After a pause) Every one recognizes you're in love, except the one you wish to perceive it. Miss Elliot. That's all very fine; but I've had — let me see — well, fifty men swear they were in love ; and I never saw two who were affected in the same way. There's one symptom, however, which all such idiots have in common. Mr. Reeves. What's that.? Miss Elliot. .They assume a certain right of direction, as it were, and get in- sulted if you won't give up all your time to thein, — if you won't do any thing and every thing they may demand. It's decid- edly annoying. Mr. Reeves. Why, of course it is. A man's a fool to behave that way. It just piques a woman, and tires her. {And^ after a pause) Will you go to the german with me to-morrow night.'* I can leave after it. Miss Elliot {an amused look passes over her face). I don't know. Mr. Reeves. Why not? Aren't you going? An Abject Apology, 6i Miss Elliot. I don't know. Mr. Reeves. Oh! -Miss Elliot! come and go. Miss Elliot. Well, perhaps I shall. Mr. Reeves. All right. I'll call for you at — Miss Elliot {carelessly). Oh, no, you needn't ! (Reeves looks annoyed. Miss Elliot perceives it) My going is really so uncertain. Mr. Reeves {impatiently). Now, there's no reason in the world why you should not go. Miss Elliot {interrupti^tg). How do you know, pray ? Mr. Reeves. Well, you know perfectly well you've got nothing to do this evening. Every one is going. Miss Elliot. Well, I'm not. Mr. Reeves {much annoyed). Now, what on earth is the use of taking such a stand as this ? You just spoil your own evening, and — Mi^s ¥.1.1.101: {laughing). Ah! you flat- ter yourself. Mr. Reeves. And mine, too. 62 An Abject Apology. Miss Elliot. I've no doubt of that. Mr. Reeves {iinpaticiitly). Now, Miss Elliot, do be reasonable. I've got to go back to-morrow night, and I shall not see you for a long time. I have so looked forward to dancing to-morrow with you ! {Plaintively) I think you might. Miss Elliot. Now, see here, Mr. Reeves, you've been with me too much already, — people are beginning to talk. I don't care to have my name so con- stantly mentioned with yours. Mr. Reeves. Dear me, it's nothing new, I'm sure. It's been mentioned with a half a dozen this summer. Miss Elliot {quickly). Mr. Reeves, you forget yourself. What right have you to set yourself up as my keeper, I'd like to know. {She rises from her seat) Mr. Reeves. Where are you going? (Miss Elliot looks at him., but does 7zoi answer.) Mr. Reeves. Going home ? {No reply.) Are you going to the german to-morrow ? {No reply.) Will you go with me ? Miss Elliot {curtly and positively). No. Aft Abject Apology. 63 Mr. Reeves. Will you wear some of my flowers ? Miss Elliot. No. Mr. Reeves {doggedly). Has any one else asked you to go ? {No answer; she starts to move away j Reeves follows her.) May I go with you ? Miss Elliot. No. Mr. Reeves {evidently angry., and walking in front of her). Now, see here, Miss Elliot, this is no way to treat a man. Why, confound it, I never heard any thing so unreasonable in my life ! What under the sun is the sense of behaving like this ! I simply asked you to dance with me, to walk with me, to wear my flowers, and you reply " I won't," without any reason. Pretty treatment this ; I won't stand it. Miss Elliot {laughing). Well, I wouldn't. Mr. Reeves {angrily). I won't. I sup- pose you'll go with that Vande water. Miss Elliot {slowly). I should not be surprised if I did. Mr. Reeves {with a sneer). He's a nice kind of a man for you to go with, — a 64 An Abject Apology. vulgar, dissipated cad. The first thing you know, they'll have you in love with and engaged to him. Miss Elliot {drawing herself uP). Mr. Reeves, what do you mean by speaking to me in this way ? Pray let me remind you, that it is none of your business. Mr. Reeves {desperately). I merely spoke as a friend. I thought it would be well to tell you what Mrs. Grundy was saying about you in connection with that man. Miss Elliot. Mrs. Grundy can mind her own business. Mr. Vandewater's a friend of mine. Mr. Reeves. " Is he, indeed. I'm sorry to hear it. He's a poor specimen, and no associate for a lovely wornan like you. The idea of your being familiar with him. Miss Elliot {very angrily^ and with risifig inflection). Oh ! familiar with him ? I? You forget yourself, indeed. You'll please remember you are nothing to me — a mere stranger. I familiar with him ? — I in love with him ? Oh, it's too bad ! {She drops back into her seat. It is evi- An Abject Apology. 65 dently by great self-co7itrol only that she keeps from crying. Reeves stands mute^ the picture of despair^ Miss Elliot {looking tip coldly and haughtily). Mr. Reeves, you'll please leave me. I little expected such vi^ords from you. Mr. Reeves. Oh ! Miss Elliot. I beg pardon — I did not mean — I would not for the world say any thing to pain you, but {coming closer to her) — but you don't know how I — Miss Elliot {avoiding hii7i). Mr. Reeves, you'll please not speak to me. If you won't leave me I — (Reeves moves off:) Mr. Reeves. Oh, Miss EUiot ! please don't be so hard on me — let me explain. {Sitting down beside her) I — I — Grace dear, I love — Miss Elliot {drawing herself back, and very coldly). Mr. Reeves, please don't speak to me again. Mr. Reeves {after a pause, and as if resigned to the inevitable). Good-by, Miss Elliot. {And then earnestly) Oh, can I 66 An Abject Apology, do nothing to make you hear me? {She shakes her head) Well, good-by. {He rises.) I shall leave to-morrow morning. And {in deep bass) you'll not be troubled with me again. {Desperately) I hope yoii'll be happy. You've flirted with me brutally; that's what you've done — good-by, good-by. {He walks rapidly down the hall, and disappears in the dancing-room. Miss Elliot looks sadly after hi?n; makes an involuntary ges- ture as if to detain him, dives violently into her pocket, and wipes away two large tears. In a few minutes she is composed again; and seeing Mr. Lane still asleep, with a soft " Mr. Lane," she wakes that gentleman, who, delightfully oblivious of whafs been going on, starts up, and, — Mr. Lane. Yes — er — I was saying to Miss Smith — er. Miss Elliot {nervously). Yes, yes; but would you kindly take me to my chaperon. Mr. Lane. Certainly — er — certainly, with pleasure. {He offers his arm; she takes if, and they walk on into the con- servatory.) An Adject Apology. 67 Scene. — T/ie cosily furnished room of a club. Two men in dress-coats are draw7i up befo'e a large fire, sm.oking; Yio^^wx glasses^etc.^071 a s?nall table near by. One is puffing away, regardless of the rate at which a delicious cigar is being used up. His co?npanion rises, and stands with his back to the fire. Mr. Jack Philipps. Julian, old fel- low, you are dreadfully gloomy this even- ing. What's the matter. Didn't you have it out with Grace Elliot ? Mr. Reeves {gloomily). I should think I did have it out with her. It's put out, and she's put out, and I'm put out ; and it's all off, and I'm glad of it. I hope I'll have a httle peace now. Thank Heaven ! I'm going back to-morrow. I'll never trou- ble her again. {After a pause) Jack, you know how much I've stood from her al- ready. (Philipps nods his head.) She's been flirting with me, and half a dozen others for that matter, for the last year. Now you know I stole off, and came down to settle the thing one way or the other ; 68 An Abject Apology. and do you know she won't let me come to the point. Mr. Philipps. Why not .? How can she help it? Mr. Reeves {with much emphasis). How can she help it ? You know what women are. Well, I've borne It all with- out a murmur ; but this last is too much. I'll be hanged, if I ever speak to her again, unless she makes an abject apology. Mr. Philipps. I've no doubt you're right {knocking the ashes off his cigar). She's the worst flirt! But what's she done now ? Mr. Reeves. What's she done now? {Sitting up) ril tell you. {As he lights a fresh cigar) You know, Jack, she's been simply angelic these last two weeks since I came. I met her at the Dunlap's ball this evening. She was lovely until I told her I wanted to talk to her, and asked her to come out near the conservatory there. Then the racket began. She would not be serious, would not let me get ahead at all ; and finally having worried me into a state only short of madness, when I An Abject Apology. 69 happened to ask her to go to the german with me to-morrow night, she said she didn't think she'd go. I told her she might as well, for every one would be there, and that I'd call for her. And then, do you know, she said I needn't, and that she wouldn't go with me. Now, what in the Devil do you suppose she did it for ? Well, I became angry. I told her I never dreamed of any thing so un- reasonable. I asked her if she'd wear some of my flowers. No : she wouldn't either wear my flowers, or go with me. She said I'd been with her continually, and she didn't care to have her name mentioned so constantly with mine. Finally, she said she was going with Vandewater. That was too much. I called him a cad ; declared him no associ- ate for her ; that people would have her engaged to him, the first thing she knew; and altogether lost my head, and made a fool of myself. She got very angry ; told me it was none of my business ; to go, and not to speak to her again, and so on and so on {throwing himself back in his 70 An Abject Apology. chair). Oh, it's a mess! (Philipps smiles complacently^ Mr. Philipps. What a devil of a time you lovers have ! Mr. Reeves. Then, like a fool, I put myself in the wrong by begging her par- don, when it was all her fault. Of course, she wouldn't listen to me. But it's all over now. Blest if I ever speak to her again, unless she apologizes — apologizes most abjectly. What do you think about it? Mr. Philipps. I think you are right, perfectly. I never heard of such non- sense. Thank Heaven, I'm not in any of it! Mr. Reeves {soliloquising). She didn't give any reason ; simply said, I won't. Mr. Philipps. Now, Julian, old fel- low, do stop thinking about her. Mr. Reeves. I would if I could ; but it's no use. I fell in love with her the first time I ever saw her, and it's for good and all with me. But, suffer as I may, I'll never speak to her again, unless she apologizes most abjectly. An Abject Apology. 71 Mr. Philipps {looking at his watch). Come, old chap, I must be off; it's half- past one. I'll see you at the german to- morrow. Mr. Reeves. No, you won't. Mr. Philipps. Well, I'll see you after- wards here, before you leave. Mr. Reeves. All right. (Philipps walks oict.) Good-night ! Mr. Philipps. Good-night! (^j Phil- ipps leaves the roo?n, he hears Reeves muinbling somethijtg about " the con- founded contrariness of these females, anyway.") ♦ Scene. — A small room off a large dan- cing-hall. Miss Elliot is seated with her partner; as Philipps approaches^ he rises, and bows hiinself off. After the customary salutatio7ts, — Mr. Philipps. I thought you weren't coming to-night. Miss Elliot {quickly). Who told you so? Mr. Philipps. Reeves. 72 An Abject Apology. Miss Elliot {with a slight sigh). Oh ! did he ? Mr. Philipps. He's going back to Boston to-night. Miss Elliot. Really? Mr. Philipps. Yes. I saw him after the ball last night. He was all broken up about something. Have you been treating him badly again } Miss Elliot {raising her eyebrows). I ? No ; I never treated any one badly in my life. Mr. Philipps. Whew! You women are — well, I was going to say — cheeky. {She looks surp7'ised. Philipps turns rounds and, facing her) See here, Miss Elliot, you and I, and Reeves and I, are old friends. I'm devoted to him, and you and I may as well talk plainly about this matter. You know as well as I do he's very much in love with you, and terribly in earnest; and you've treated the poor devil none too well. It's gone on long enough. Why don't you settle it, one way or the other ? Miss Elliot {naively). Because I An Abject Apology. 73 don't want to settle it one way or the other. It's having it neither one way nor the other that's so dehghtful. Mr. Philipps. Well, that is frank; but why did you worry him so last night ? Miss Elliot. I worry him so ? What do you mean "i Mr. Philipps. Oh, you know perfect- ly well ! Miss Elliot. I did nothing for him to take on so about. He's so dreadfully unreasonable : Pve allowed him to be with me constantly during the last two weeks , and I had a perfect right {with emphasis) to say I would not go to this german with him ; and, after that, he got furious with me for laughing when he said, " I simply ask you to dance with, to walk with me, and to wear my flowers, and you say you won't, without any reason on earth." Now, isn't that delicious? Isn't that just like a man ? He gets in- sulted because I won't "talk with him, walk with him, dance with him, and wear his flowers." Well, I got angry, when he began to talk like that, and I told him to 74 A7i Abject Apology. go. Then he spoke outrageously to me and of my friends. I'd rather not tell you the rest. But he can go. I am sure I don't care. Why doesn't he marry Miss Hearst, anyway? Mr. Philipps. You know very well why he don't. Miss Elliot {decisively). Well, that's all. He may go back to Boston. Mr. Philipps {seriously). He's very angry, — says you've treated him out- rageously ; and that he'll never speak to you again unless you make an abject apology. Miss Elliot {laughing — rather bit- terly, perhaps). Abject apology, indeed. I have nothing to apologize for. I tell you this is the end of it. I certainly shall not speak to him unless he begs my ^zx- don ?nost humbly. {At this inoment her partner comes up and takes her off. Philipps rises, walks slowly round the room, and exit.) An Abject Apology. 75 Scene. — Room in cluh-house as before; enter Philipps. Reeves is seated be- fore the fire, deep in thouglitj he looks up as his friefid comes in. Mr. Reeves {gloomily). Well. Mr. Philipps. Well, I saw her {lie sits down). Mr. Reeves {with a grunt). Did you ? Mr. Philipps. I did, — the fair, the inexpressive she, — and she declares she'll never have any thing more to do with you until you beg her pardon most humbly. Mr. Reeves. Did she? I hke that. {Getting up and facing Philipps) Did she seem to care ? Mr. Philipps. To tell the truth, I couldn't make out ; I think she does. I told her she'd better stop this kind of thing, as I didn't believe you'd stand it any longer. Mr. Reeves. What did she say to that .? Mr. Philipps. Nothing; but I think she remembered it. Mr. Reeves {positively'). I suppose 76 Ajt Abject Apology. she thought I'd go to see her to-day, but I didn't. I don't intend to be trifled with any longer. {Looking at his watch) By Jove ! I'll miss that train. Well, I'll say good-by, Jack. I'm awfully obliged for all your kindness. Write me, if any thing turns up. Mr. Philipps. I will. Good-by. Mr. Reeves. Good-by. {They shake hands cordially^ and exit Reeves.) Scene. — The parlor of Miss Elliot's house, a couple of months later. It is a gloomy afternooii in February. Reeves enters^ drops with a deep sigh into a large chair, and takes out a letter which he reads. "My Dear Julian, — Our fair friend seemed to get along finely for some weeks after you left. Later, however, she showed signs of drooping, seemed always very glad to meet your humble ser- vant, asked for you and your health, and went so far, a few days ago, as to say that she would like to see you. I do now honestly think that she re- pents. Do come down; and, if you keep your An Abject Apology. 77 head about you (though you lose your heart), you may carry off this fair penitent in triumph. All luck to you, old fellow ! I leave town to-morrow, so I shall not see you. " Sincerely your friend, "JACK PHILIPPS." As he finishes he gets up, and walks to the mantel^ on which there are several pictures of his sweetheart. He picks one up, and is looking intently at it, when^ hearing the rustle of a dress, he turns, and finds himself face to face with Miss Grace Elliot. That you7tg lady looks somewhat pale, and by no means so bloojjt- ing as a couple of fnonths back. Reeves takes all this in at a glance. The girl comes forward, and extends her hand frankly to him. He takes it, looks at her for an instant, and they sit down 7iear the window, Mr. Reeves. I've come to beg your pardon most humbly, Miss Elliot. Miss Elliot. Yes ? Mr. Reeves. I know it was very un- gentlemanly — very rude ; but you can't 78 An Abject Apology. think I would intentionally hurt your feel- ings, do you ? Miss Elliot. No. Mr. Reeves. You don't know how dreadfully I've felt, how much I've suf- fered, all these weeks, because of this foolish misunderstanding. Miss Elliot {dolefully). So have I. Mr. Reeves. But I've come to say {slie looks up calmly in his face), to say that I love you ; that I've loved you all along; that you've taken entire possession of me. It was all very well to fight against it ; but I cannot live in peace or accom- plish any thing without you. Miss Elliot. Yes.? Mr. Reeves {coming closer to her, and almost in a whisper). I've come to tell you so ; to ask if you love me. Do you love me enough to become my wife 1 I know how much I'm asking of you, my darling girl ! I've little to offer you in a worldly way, — nothing but the true love of a man who would do and dare any thing for you. {After a pause) Don't you love me ? A?i Abject Apology. 79 Miss Elliot. Yes {as she places her hand in his). Mr. Reeves. Grace, dearest {he catches her hand in both his own, and reverently and fondly kisses it. As he looks up, his eyes 7?zeet hers. A calm, peaceful smile answers his appealing look. Neither speaks for so?ne 7nin utes) — Grace, dear, will you kindly tell me why you behaved so to me that evening two months ago ? Miss Elliot {demurely). Because I knew what you were going to say, and I wasn't ready to %2iy yes then, and {catching his hand in hers) yet I didn't want to say no. {Laughing) But I never made An Ab- ject Apology. THE END. BELLES-LETTRES. THACKERAY'S LONDON : His Haunts and the Scenes of his Novels. 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