The Minor Dramas. William Dean Howells
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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