A Voyage of Consolation by Sara Jeannette Duncan (top 10 most read books in the world .txt) 📖
- Author: Sara Jeannette Duncan
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"Not more that five seconds then," I said, for nothing is more trying to the nerves than to wait for a train which is due in a few minutes and a man who is buying cigars at the same time.
Dicky left the door open, and that was how I heard a strangely familiar voice, with an inflexion of enforced calm and repression, suddenly address him from behind it.
"_Good evening, Dod!_"
I did not shriek, or even grasp Isabel's hand. I simply got up and stood a little nearer the door. But I have known few moments so electrical.
"My dear chap, how _are_ you?" exclaimed Dicky. "How are you? Staying in Cologne? I'm just off to Paris."
I thought I heard a heavy sigh, but it was somewhat lost in the trundling of the porters' trucks.
"Then," said Arthur Page, for I had not been deceived, "it is as I supposed."
"What did you suppose, old chap?" asked Dicky in a joyous and expansive tone.
"You do not go alone?"
The bitterness of this was not a thing that could be communicated to paper and ink.
"Why, no," said Dicky, "the fact is----"
I saw the wave--it was characteristic--with which Mr. Page stopped him. "I have been made acquainted with the facts," he said. "Do not dwell upon them. I do not, cannot, blame you, if you have really won her heart."
"So far as I know," said Dicky, with some hauteur, "there's nothing in it to give _you_ the hump."
"Why waste time in idle words?" replied Arthur. "You will lose your train. I could never forgive myself if I were the cause of that."
"You won't be," said Dicky sententiously, looking at his watch.
"But I must ask--must demand--the privilege of one parting word," said Arthur firmly. "Do not be apprehensive of any painful scene. I desire only to wish her every happiness, and to bid her farewell."
Mr. Dod, though on the eve of his wedding day, was not wholly oblivious of the love affairs of other people. I could see a new-born and overwhelming comprehension of the situation in his face as he put his head in at the door and beckoned to Isabel. Evidently he could not trust himself to speak.
"Miss Portheris," he said, with magnificent self-control, "Mr. Page. Mr. Page would like to wish you every happiness and to bid you farewell, Isabel, and I don't see why he shouldn't. We have still five minutes."
There are limits to the propriety of all practical jokes, and I walked out at once to assure Arthur that his misunderstanding was quite natural, and somewhat less exquisitely humorous than Mr. Dod appeared to find it.
"I am merely eloping too," I said, "in case anything should happen to Isabel." Realising that this was also being misinterpreted, I added, "She is not accustomed to travelling alone."
We had shaken hands, and that always makes a situation more normal, but there was still plainly an enormous amount to clear up, and painfully little time to do it in, though Dicky with great consideration immediately put Isabel into the carriage and followed her to its remotest corner, leaving me standing at the door, and Arthur holding it open. The second bell rang as I learned from Mr. Page that the Pattersons had gone to Newport this summer, and that it was extremely hot in New York when he left. As the guard came along the platform shutting up the doors of the train, Arthur's agitation increased, and I saw that his customary suffering in connection with me, was quite as great as anybody could desire. The guard had skipped our carriage, but it was already vibrating in departure--creaking--moving. I looked at Arthur in a manner--I confess it--which annihilated our two months of separation.
"Then since you're not going to marry Dod," he inquired breathlessly, walking along with the train--"I've heard various reports--whom, may I ask, _are_ you going to marry?"
"Why, nobody," I said, "unless----"
"Well, I should think so!" ejaculated Arthur, and in spite of the frightful German language used by the guard, he jumped into the carriage.
He has maintained ever since that he was obliged to do it in order to explain his presence on the platform, which was, of course, carrying the matter to its logical conclusion. It seemed that the Senator had advised him to come over and meet us accidentally in Venice, where he had intimated that reunion would be only a question of privacy and a full moon. On his arrival at Venice--it was _his_ gondola that we shared--the Senator had discouraged him for the moment, and had since constantly telegraphed him that the opportune moment had not yet arrived. Finally poppa had written to say that, though he grieved to announce that I was engaged to Dicky, and he could not guarantee any disengagement, he was still operating to that end. This, however, precipitated Mr. Page to Cologne, where observation of our movements at a distance brought him to the wrong conclusion, but fortunately to the right platform. As Isabel remarked, if such things were put in books nobody would believe them.
It seemed quite unreasonable and absurd when we talked it over that Arthur and I should travel from Cologne to Dover merely to witness the nuptials of Dicky and Isabel. As Dicky pointed out, moreover, our moral support when it came to the interview with Mrs. Portheris would be much more valuable if it were united. There would be the registrar--one registrar would do--and there would be the opportunity of making it a square party. These were Dicky's arguments; Arthur's were more personal but equally convincing, and I must admit that I thought a good deal of the diplomatic anticipation of that magnificent wedding which was to illustrate and adorn the survival of the methods of the Doge of Venice in the family of a Senator of Chicago. And thus it was that we were all married sociably together in Dover the following morning, despatching a telegram immediately afterwards to the Senator at the Cologne hotel as follows:
"We have eloped.
(Signed) R. and I. Dod.
A. and M. Page."
Later on in the day we added details, to show that we bore no malice, and announced that we were prepared to await the arrival of the rest of the party for any length of time at Dover.
We even went down to the station to meet them, where recriminations and congratulations were so mingled that it was impossible, for some time, to tell whether we were most blessed or banned. Even in the confusion of the moment, however, I noticed that Mr. Mafferton made Miss Callis's baggage his special care, and saw clearly in the cordiality of her sentiments toward me, and the firmness of her manner in ordering him about, that the future peer had reached his last alternative.
I rejoice to add that the day also showed that even Count Filgiatti had fallen, in the general ordering of fates, upon happiness with honour. I noticed that Emmeline vigorously protected him from the Customs officer who wished to confiscate his cigarettes, and I mentioned her air of proprietorship to her father.
"Why, yes," said Mr. Malt, "he offered himself as a count you see, and Emmeline seemed to think she'd like to have one, so I closed with him. There isn't anything likely to come of it for three or four years, but he's willing to wait, and she's got to grow."
I expressed my felicitations, and Mr. Malt added somewhat regretfully that it would have been better if he'd had more in his clothes, but that was what you had to expect with counts; as a rule they didn't seem to have what you might call any money use for pockets. In the meantime they were taking him home to educate him in the duties of American citizenship. Emmeline put it to me briefly, "I'm not any Daisy Miller," she said, "and I prefer to live out of Rome."
Once a year the present Lady Mafferton invites Mrs. Portheris to tea, and I know they discuss my theory of engagements in a critical spirit. We have never seen either Miss Nancy or Miss Cora Bingham again, and I should have forgotten the names of Mr. Pabbley and Mr. Hinkson by this time if I had not written them down in earlier chapters. Arthur and I have not yet made up our minds to another visit to England. We have several friends there, however, whom we appreciate exceedingly, in spite, as we often say to one another, of their absurd and deplorable accent.
THE END.
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Publication Date: 06-02-2010
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