Delphi complete works of.., p.1099
Delphi Complete Works of William Dean Howells, page 1099
Mr. Richards, over his shoulder: “Shall I come back?”
Miss Galbraith: “I have no right to drive you from the car.”
Mr. Richards, coming back, and sitting down in the chair nearest her: “Lucy, dearest, tell me what’s the matter.”
Miss Galbraith: “O Allen! your not knowing makes it all the more hopeless and killing. It shows me that we must part; that you would go on, breaking my heart, and grinding me into the dust as long as we lived.” She sobs. “It shows me that you never understood me, and you never will. I know you’re good and kind and all that, but that only makes your not understanding me so much the worse. I do it quite as much for your sake as my own, Allen.”
Mr. Richards: “I’d much rather you wouldn’t put yourself out on my account.”
Miss Galbraith, without regarding him: “If you could mortify me before a whole roomful of people, as you did last night, what could I expect after marriage but continual insult?”
Mr. Richards, in amazement: “How did I mortify you? I thought that I treated you with all the tenderness and affection that a decent regard for the feelings of others would allow. I was ashamed to find I couldn’t keep away from you.”
Miss Galbraith: “Oh, you were attentive enough, Allen; nobody denies that. Attentive enough in non-essentials. Oh, yes!”
Mr. Richards: “Well, what vital matters did I fail in? I’m sure I can’t remember.”
Miss Galbraith: “I dare say! I dare say they won’t appear vital to you, Allen. Nothing does. And if I had told you, I should have been met with ridicule, I suppose. But I knew better than to tell; I respected myself too much.”
Mr. Richards: “But now you mustn’t respect yourself quite so much, dearest. And I promise you I won’t laugh at the most serious thing. I’m in no humor for it. If it were a matter of life and death, even, I can assure you that it wouldn’t bring a smile to my countenance. No, indeed! If you expect me to laugh, now, you must say something particularly funny.”
Miss Galbraith: “I was not going to say anything funny, as you call it, and I will say nothing at all, if you talk in that way.”
Mr. Richards: “Well, I won’t, then. But do you know what I suspect, Lucy? I wouldn’t mention it to everybody, but I will to you — in strict confidence: I suspect that you’re rather ashamed of your grievance, if you have any. I suspect it’s nothing at all.”
Miss Galbraith, very sternly at first, with a rising hysterical inflection: “Nothing, Allen! Do you call it nothing, to have Mrs. Dawes come out with all that about your accident on your way up the river, and ask me if it didn’t frighten me terribly to hear of it, even after it was all over; and I had to say you hadn’t told me a word of it? ‘Why, Lucy!’” — angrily mimicking Mrs. Dawes,—”’you must teach him better than that. I make Mr. Dawes tell me everything.’ Little simpleton! And then to have them all laugh — Oh, dear, it’s too much!”
Mr. Richards: “Why, my dear Lucy” —
Miss Galbraith, interrupting him: “I saw just how it was going to be, and I’m thankful, thankful that it happened. I saw that you didn’t care enough for me to take me into your whole life; that you despised and distrusted me, and that it would get worse and worse to the end of our days; that we should grow farther and farther apart, and I should be left moping at home, while you ran about making confidantes of other women whom you considered worthy of your confidence. It all flashed upon me in an instant; and I resolved to break with you, then and there; and I did, just as soon as ever I could go to my room for your things, and I’m glad, — yes, — Oh, hu, hu, hu, hu, hu! — so glad I did it!”
Mr. Richards, grimly: “Your joy is obvious. May I ask” —
Miss Galbraith: “Oh, it wasn’t the first proof you had given me how little you really cared for me, but I was determined it should be the last. I dare say you’ve forgotten them! I dare say you don’t remember telling Mamie Morris that you didn’t like embroidered cigar-cases, when you’d just told me that you did, and let me be such a fool as to commence one for you; but I’m thankful to say that went into the fire, — oh, yes, instantly! And I dare say you’ve forgotten that you didn’t tell me your brother’s engagement was to be kept, and let me come out with it that night at the Rudges’, and then looked perfectly aghast, so that everybody thought I had been blabbing! Time and again, Allen, you have made me suffer agonies, yes, agonies; but your power to do so is at an end. I am free and happy at last.” She weeps bitterly.
Mr. Richards, quietly: “Yes, I had forgotten those crimes, and I suppose many similar atrocities. I own it, I am forgetful and careless. I was wrong about those things. I ought to have told you why I said that to Miss Morris: I was afraid she was going to work me one. As to that accident I told Mrs. Dawes of, it wasn’t worth mentioning. Our boat simply walked over a sloop in the night, and nobody was hurt. I shouldn’t have thought twice about it, if she hadn’t happened to brag of their passing close to an iceberg on their way home from Europe; then I trotted out my pretty-near disaster as a match for hers, — confound her! I wish the iceberg had sunk them! Only it wouldn’t have sunk her, — she’s so light; she’d have gone bobbing about all over the Atlantic Ocean, like a cork; she’s got a perfect life-preserver in that mind of hers.” Miss Galbraith gives a little laugh, and then a little moan. “But since you are happy, I will not repine, Miss Galbraith. I don’t pretend to be very happy myself, but then, I don’t deserve it. Since you are ready to let an absolutely unconscious offence on my part cancel all the past; since you let my devoted love weigh as nothing against the momentary pique that a malicious little rattle-pate — she was vexed at my leaving her — could make you feel, and choose to gratify a wicked resentment at the cost of any suffering to me, why, I can be glad and happy too.” With rising anger, “Yes, Miss Galbraith. All is over between us. You can go! I renounce you!”
Miss Galbraith, springing fiercely to her feet: “Go, indeed! Renounce me! Be so good as to remember that you haven’t got me to renounce!”
Mr. Richards: “Well, it’s all the same thing. I’d renounce you if I had. Good-evening, Miss Galbraith. I will send back your presents as soon as I get to town; it won’t be necessary to acknowledge them. I hope we may never meet again.” He goes out of the door towards the front of the ear, but returns directly, and glances uneasily at Miss Galbraith, who remains with her handkerchief pressed to her eyes. “Ah — a — that is — I shall be obliged to intrude upon you again. The fact is” —
Miss Galbraith, anxiously: “Why, the cars have stopped! Are we at Schenectady?”
Mr. Richards: “Well, no; not exactly; not stopped exactly at Schenectady” —
Miss Galbraith: “Then what station is this? Have they carried me by?” Observing his embarrassment, “Allen, what is the matter? What has happened? Tell me instantly! Are we off the track? Have we run into another train? Have we broken through a bridge? Shall we be burnt alive? Tell me, Allen, tell me, — I can bear it! — are we telescoped?” She wrings her hands in terror.
Mr. Richards, unsympathetically: “Nothing of the kind has happened. This car has simply come uncoupled, and the rest of the train has gone on ahead, and left us standing on the track, nowhere in particular.” He leans back in his chair, and wheels it round from her.
Miss Galbraith, mortified, yet anxious: “Well?”
Mr. Richards: “Well, until they miss us, and run back to pick us up, I shall be obliged to ask your indulgence. I will try not to disturb you; I would go out and stand on the platform, but it’s raining.”
Miss Galbraith, listening to the rain-fall on the roof: “Why, so it is!” Timidly, “Did you notice when the car stopped?”
Mr. Richards: “No.” He rises and goes out at the rear door, comes back, and sits down again.
Miss Galbraith, rises, and goes to the large mirror to wipe away her tears. She glances at Mr. Richards, who does not move. She sits down in a seat nearer him than the chair she has left. After some faint murmurs and hesitations, she asks, “Will you please tell me why you went out just now?”
Mr. Richards, with indifference: “Yes. I went to see if the rear signal was out.”
Miss Galbraith, after another hesitation: “Why?”
Mr. Richards: “Because, if it wasn’t out, some train might run into us from that direction.”
Miss Galbraith, tremulously: “Oh! And was it?”
Mr. Richards, dryly: “Yes.”
Miss Galbraith returns to her former place, with a wounded air, and for a moment neither speaks. Finally she asks very meekly, “And there’s no danger from the front?”
Mr. Richards, coldly: “No.”
Miss Galbraith, after some little noises and movements meant to catch Mr. Richards’s attention: “Of course, I never meant to imply that you were intentionally careless or forgetful.”
Mr. Richards, still very coldly: “Thank you.”
Miss Galbraith: “I always did justice to your good-heartedness, Allen; you’re perfectly lovely that way; and I know that you would be sorry if you knew you had wounded my feelings, however accidentally.” She droops her head so as to catch a sidelong glimpse of his face, and sighs, while she nervously pinches the top of her parasol, resting the point on the floor. Mr. Richards makes no answer. “That about the cigar-case might have been a mistake; I saw that myself, and, as you explain it, why, it was certainly very kind and very creditable to — to your thoughtfulness. It was thoughtful!”
Mr. Richards: “I am grateful for your good opinion.”
Miss Galbraith: “But do you think it was exactly — it was quite — nice, not to tell me that your brother’s engagement was to be kept, when you know, Allen, I can’t bear to blunder in such things?” Tenderly, “Do you? You can’t say it was?”
Mr. Richards: “I never said it was.”
Miss Galbraith, plaintively: “No, Allen. That’s what I always admired in your character. You always owned up. Don’t you think it’s easier for men to own up than it is for women?”
Mr. Richards: “I don’t know. I never knew any woman to do it.”
Miss Galbraith: “Oh, yes, Allen! You know I often own up.”
Mr. Richards: “No, I don’t.”
Miss Galbraith: “Oh, how can you bear to say so? When I’m rash, or anything of that kind, you know I acknowledge it.”
Mr. Richards: “Do you acknowledge it now?”
Miss Galbraith: “Why, how can I, when I haven’t been rash? What have I been rash” —
Mr. Richards: “About the cigar-case, for example.”
Miss Galbraith: “Oh! that! That was a great while ago! I thought you meant something quite recent.” A sound as of the approaching tram is heard in the distance. She gives a start, and then leaves her chair again for one a little nearer his. “I thought perhaps you meant about — last night.”
Mr. Richards: “Well.”
Miss Galbraith, very judicially: “I don’t think it was rash, exactly. No, not rash. It might not have been very kind not to — to — trust you more, when I knew that you didn’t mean anything; but — No, I took the only course I could. Nobody could have done differently under the circumstances. But if I caused you any pain, I’m very sorry; oh, yes, very sorry indeed. But I was not precipitate, and I know I did right. At least I tried to act for the best. Don’t you believe I did?”
Mr. Richards: “Why, if you have no doubt upon the subject, my opinion is of no consequence.”
Miss Galbraith: “Yes. But what do you think? If you think differently, and can make me see it differently, oughtn’t you to do so?”
Mr. Richards: “I don’t see why. As you say, all is over between us.”
Miss Galbraith: “Yes.” After a pause, “I should suppose you would care enough for yourself to wish me to look at the matter from the right point of view.”
Mr. Richards: “I don’t.”
Miss Galbraith, becoming more and more uneasy as the noise of the approaching train grows louder: “I think you have been very quick with me at times, quite as quick as I could have been with you last night.” The noise is more distinctly heard. “I’m sure that if I could once see it as you do, no one would be more willing to do anything in their power to atone for their rashness. Of course I know that everything is over.”
Mr. Richards: “As to that, I have your word; and, in view of the fact, perhaps this analysis of motive, of character, however interesting on general grounds, is a little” —
Miss Galbraith, with sudden violence: “Say it, and take your revenge! I have put myself at your feet, and you do right to trample on me! Oh, this is what women may expect when they trust to men’s generosity! Well, it is over now, and I’m thankful, thankful! Cruel, suspicious, vindictive, you’re all alike, and I’m glad that I’m no longer subject to your heartless caprices. And I don’t care what happens after this, I shall always — Oh! You’re sure it’s from the front, Allen? Are you sure the rear signal is out?”
Mr. Richards, relenting: “Yes, but if it will ease your mind, I’ll go and look again.” He rises, and starts towards the rear door.
Miss Galbraith, quickly: “Oh, no! Don’t go! I can’t bear to be left alone!” The sound of the approaching train continually increases in volume. “Oh, isn’t it coming very, very, very fast?”
Mr. Richards: “No, no! Don’t be frightened.”
Miss Galbraith, running towards the rear door. “Oh, I must get out! It will kill me, I know it will. Come with me! Do, do!” He runs after her, and her voice is heard at the rear of the car. “Oh, the outside door is locked, and we are trapped, trapped, trapped! Oh, quick! Let’s try the door at the other end.” They re-enter the parlor, and the roar of the train announces that it is upon them. “No, no! It’s too late, it’s too late! I’m a wicked, wicked girl, and this is all to punish me! Oh, it’s coming, it’s coming at full speed!” He remains bewildered, confronting her. She utters a wild cry, and as the train strikes the car with a violent concussion, she flings herself into his arms. “There, there! Forgive me, Allen! Let us die together, my own, own love!” She hangs fainting on his breast. Voices are heard without, and after a little delay The Porter comes in with a lantern.
Porter: “Rather more of a jah than we meant to give you, sah! We had to run down pretty quick after we missed you, and the rain made the track a little slippery. Lady much frightened?”
Miss Galbraith, disengaging herself: “Oh, not at all! Not in the least. We thought it was a train coming from behind, and going to run into us, and so — we — I” —
Porter: “Not quite so bad as that. We’ll be into Schenectady in a few minutes, miss. I’ll come for your things.” He goes out at the other door.
Miss Galbraith, in a fearful whisper: “Allen! What will he ever think of us? I’m sure he saw us!”
Mr. Richards: “I don’t know what he’ll think now. He did think you were frightened; but you told him you were not. However, it isn’t important what he thinks. Probably he thinks I’m your long-lost brother. It had a kind of family look.”
Miss Galbraith: “Ridiculous!”
Mr. Richards: “Why, he’d never suppose that I was a jilted lover of yours!”
Miss Galbraith, ruefully: “No.”
Mr. Richards: “Come, Lucy,” — taking her hand,— “you wished to die with me, a moment ago. Don’t you think you can make one more effort to live with me? I won’t take advantage of words spoken in mortal peril, but I suppose you were in earnest when you called me your own — own” — Her head droops; he folds her in his arms a moment, then she starts away from him, as if something had suddenly occurred to her.
Miss Galbraith: “Allen, where are you going?”
Mr. Richards: “Going? Upon my soul, I haven’t the least idea.”
Miss Galbraith: “Where were you going?”
Mr. Richards: “Oh, I was going to Albany.”
Miss Galbraith: “Well, don’t! Aunt Mary is expecting me here at Schenectady, — I telegraphed her, — and I want you to stop here, too, and we’ll refer the whole matter to her. She’s such a wise old head. I’m not sure” —
Mr. Richards: “What?”
Miss Galbraith, demurely: “That I’m good enough for you.”
Mr. Richards, starting, in burlesque of her movement, as if a thought had struck him: “Lucy! how came you on this train when you left Syracuse on the morning express?”
Miss Galbraith, faintly: “I waited over a train at Utica.” She sinks into a chair, and averts her face.
Mr. Richards: “May I ask why?”
Miss Galbraith, more faintly still: “I don’t like to tell. I” —
Mr. Richards, coming and standing in front of her, with his hands in his pockets: “Look me in the eye, Lucy!” She drops her veil over her face, and looks up at him. “Did you — did you expect to find me on this train?”
Miss Galbraith: “I was afraid it never would get along, — it was so late!”
Mr. Richards: “Don’t — tergiversate.”
Miss Galbraith: “Don’t what?”
Mr. Richards: “Fib.”
Miss Galbraith: “Not for worlds!”
Mr. Richards: “How did you know I was in this car?”
Miss Galbraith: “Must I? I thought I saw you through the window; and then I made sure it was you when I went to pin my veil on, — I saw you in the mirror.”
Mr. Richards, after a little silence: “Miss Galbraith, do you want to know what you are?”
Miss Galbraith, softly: “Yes, Allen.”
Mr. Richards: “You’re a humbug!”
Miss Galbraith, springing from her seat, and confronting him. “So are you! You pretended to be asleep!”
Mr. Richards: “I — I — I was taken by surprise. I had to take time to think.”
Miss Galbraith: “So did I.”
Mr. Richards: “And you thought it would be a good plan to get your polonaise caught in the window?”
Miss Galbraith, hiding her face on his shoulder: “No, no, Allen! That I never will admit. No woman would!”
Mr. Richards: “Oh, I dare say!” After a pause: “Well, I am a poor, weak, helpless man, with no one to advise me or counsel me, and I have been cruelly deceived. How could you, Lucy, how could you? I can never get over this.” He drops his head upon her shoulder.
