The Minor Dramas. William Dean Howells
Читать онлайн книгу.
heroics and that; but I believe it’ll play the very deuce with me, Lucy,—that is to say, Miss Galbraith,—I do indeed. It’ll give me a low opinion of woman.”
Miss Galbraith, averting her face: “Oh, a very high opinion of woman you have had!”
Mr. Richards, with sentiment: “Well, there was one woman whom I thought a perfect angel.”
Miss Galbraith: “Indeed! May I ask her name?”
Mr. Richards, with a forlorn smile. “I shall be obliged to describe her somewhat formally as—Miss Galbraith.”
Miss Galbraith: “Mr. Richards!”
Mr. Richards: “Why, you’ve just forbidden me to say Lucy! You must tell me, dearest, what I have done to offend you. The worst criminals are not condemned unheard, and I’ve always thought you were merciful if not just. And now I only ask you to be just.”
Miss Galbraith, looking out of the window: “You know very well what you’ve done. You can’t expect me to humiliate myself by putting your offence into words.”
Mr. Richards: “Upon my soul, I don’t know what you mean! I don’t know what I’ve done. When you came at me, last night, with my ring and presents and other little traps, you might have knocked me down with the lightest of the lot. I was perfectly dazed; I couldn’t say anything before you were off, and all I could do was to hope that you’d be more like yourself in the morning. And in the morning, when I came round to Mrs. Philips’s, I found you were gone, and I came after you by the next train.”
Miss Galbraith: “Mr. Richards, your personal history for the last twenty-four hours is a matter of perfect indifference to me, as it shall be for the next twenty-four hundred years. I see that you are resolved to annoy me, and since you will not leave the car, I must do so.” She rises haughtily from her seat, but the imprisoned skirt of her polonaise twitches her abruptly back into her chair. She bursts into tears. “Oh, what shall I do?”
Mr. Richards, dryly: “You shall do whatever you like, Miss Galbraith, when I’ve set you free; for I see your dress is caught in the window. When it’s once out, I’ll shut the window, and you can call the porter to raise it.” He leans forward over her chair, and while she shrinks back the length of her tether, he tugs at the window-fastening. “I can’t get at it. Would you be so good as to stand up,—all you can?” Miss Galbraith stands up, droopingly, and Mr. Richards makes a movement towards her, and then falls back. “No, that won’t do. Please sit down again.” He goes round her chair and tries to get at the window from that side. “I can’t get any purchase on it. Why don’t you cut out that piece?” Miss Galbraith stares at him in dumb amazement. “Well, I don’t see what we’re to do: I’ll go and get the porter.” He goes to the end of the car, and returns. “I can’t find the porter,—he must be in one of the other cars. But”—brightening with the fortunate conception—“I’ve just thought of something. Will it unbutton?”
Miss Galbraith: “Unbutton?”
Mr. Richards: “Yes; this garment of yours.”
Miss Galbraith: “My polonaise?” Inquiringly, “Yes.”
Mr. Richards: “Well, then, it’s a very simple matter. If you will just take it off I can easily”—
Miss Galbraith, faintly: “I can’t. A polonaise isn’t like an overcoat”—
Mr. Richards, with dismay: “Oh! Well, then”—He remains thinking a moment in hopeless perplexity.
Miss Galbraith, with polite ceremony: “The porter will be back soon. Don’t trouble yourself any further about it, please. I shall do very well.”
Mr. Richards, without heeding her: “If you could kneel on that foot-cushion, and face the window”—
Miss Galbraith, kneeling promptly: “So?”
Mr. Richards: “Yes, and now”—kneeling beside her—“if you’ll allow me to—to get at the window-catch,”—he stretches both arms forward; she shrinks from his right into his left, and then back again,—“and pull while I raise the window”—
Miss Galbraith: “Yes, yes; but do hurry, please. If any one saw us, I don’t know what they would think. It’s perfectly ridiculous!”—pulling. “It’s caught in the corner of the window, between the frame and the sash, and it won’t come! Is my hair troubling you? Is it in your eyes?”
Mr. Richards: “It’s in my eyes, but it isn’t troubling me. Am I inconveniencing you?”
Miss Galbraith: “Oh, not at all.”
Mr. Richards: “Well, now then, pull hard!” He lifts the window with a great effort; the polonaise comes free with a start, and she strikes violently against him. In supporting the shock he cannot forbear catching her for an instant to his heart. She frees herself, and starts indignantly to her feet.
Miss Galbraith: “Oh, what a cowardly—subterfuge!”
Mr. Richards: “Cowardly? You’ve no idea how much courage it took.” Miss Galbraith puts her handkerchief to her face, and sobs. “Oh, don’t cry! Bless my heart,—I’m sorry I did it! But you know how dearly I love you, Lucy, though I do think you’ve been cruelly unjust. I told you I never should love any one else, and I never shall. I couldn’t help it; upon my soul, I couldn’t. Nobody could. Don’t let it vex you, my”—He approaches her.
Miss Galbraith: “Please not touch me, sir! You have no longer any right whatever to do so.”
Mr. Richards: “You misinterpret a very inoffensive gesture. I have no idea of touching you, but I hope I may be allowed, as a special favor, to—pick up my hat, which you are in the act of stepping on.” Miss Galbraith hastily turns, and strikes the hat with her whirling skirts; it rolls to the other side of the parlor, and Mr. Richards, who goes after it, utters an ironical “Thanks!” He brushes it, and puts it on, looking at her where she has again seated herself at the window with her back to him, and continues, “As for any further molestation from me”—
Miss Galbraith: “If you will talk to me”—
Mr. Richards: “Excuse me, I am not talking to you.”
Miss Galbraith: “What were you doing?”
Mr. Richards: “I was beginning to think aloud. I—I was soliloquizing. I suppose I may be allowed to soliloquize?”
Miss Galbraith, very coldly: “You can do what you like.”
Mr. Richards: “Unfortunately that’s just what I can’t do. If I could do as I liked, I should ask you a single question.”
Miss Galbraith, after a moment: “Well, sir, you may ask your question.” She remains as before, with her chin in her hand, looking tearfully out of the window; her face is turned from Mr. Richards, who hesitates a moment before he speaks.
Mr. Richards: “I wish to ask you just this, Miss Galbraith: if you couldn’t ride backwards in the other car, why do you ride backwards in this?”
Miss Galbraith, burying her face in her handkerchief, and sobbing: “Oh, oh, oh! This is too bad!”
Mr. Richards: “Oh, come now, Lucy. It breaks my heart to hear you going on so, and all for nothing. Be a little merciful to both of us, and listen to me. I’ve no doubt I can explain everything if I once understand it, but it’s pretty hard explaining a thing if you don’t understand it yourself. Do turn round. I know it makes you sick to ride in that way, and if you don’t want to face me—there!”—wheeling in his chair so as to turn his back upon her—“you needn’t. Though it’s rather trying to a fellow’s politeness, not to mention his other feelings. Now, what in the name”—
Porter, who at this moment enters with his step-ladder, and begins to light the lamps: “Going pretty slow ag’in, sah.”
Mr. Richards: “Yes; what’s the trouble?”
Porter: