"----if you find the man who loves you," continued Laura, "and whom you--you admire and respect--whom you love.What would you say, honey, if--if your sister, if I should be married some of these days?"Page wheeled about in her chair.
"Oh, Laura, tell me," she cried, "are you joking? Are you going to be married? Who to? I hadn't an idea, but I thought--I suspected""Well," observed Laura, slowly, "I might as well tell you--some one will if I don't--Mr.Jadwin _wants_ me to marry him.""And what did you say? What did you say? Oh, I'll never tell.Oh, Laura, tell me all about it.""Well, why shouldn't I marry him? Yes--I promised.Isaid yes.Why shouldn't I? He loves me, and he is rich.Isn't that enough?""Oh, no.It isn't.You must love--you do love him?""I? Love? Pooh!" cried Laura."Indeed not.I love nobody.""Oh, Laura," protested Page earnestly."Don't, don't talk that way.You mustn't.It's wicked."Laura put her head in the air.
"I wouldn't give any man that much satisfaction.Ithink that is the way it ought to be.A man ought to love a woman more than she loves him.It ought to be enough for him if she lets him give her everything she wants in the world.He ought to serve her like the old knights--give up his whole life to satisfy some whim of hers; and it's her part, if she likes, to be cold and distant.That's my idea of love.""Yes, but they weren't cold and proud to their knights after they'd promised to marry them," urged Page.
"They loved them in the end, and married them for love.""Oh, 'love'!" mocked Laura."I don't believe in love.
You only get your ideas of it from trashy novels and matinees.Girlie," cried Laura, "I am going to have the most beautiful gowns.They're the last things that Miss Dearborn shall buy for herself, and"--she fetched a long breath--"I tell you they are going to be creations."When at length the lunch bell rang Laura jumped to her feet, adjusting her coiffure with thrusts of her long, white hands, the fingers extended, and ran from the room exclaiming that the whole morning had gone and that half her bureau drawers were still in disarray.
Page, left alone, sat for a long time lost in thought, sighing deeply at intervals, then at last she wrote in her journal:
"A world without Love--oh, what an awful thing that would be.Oh, love is so beautiful--so beautiful, that it makes me sad.When I think of love in all its beauty I am sad, sad like Romola in George Eliot's well-known novel of the same name."She locked up her journal in the desk drawer, and wiped her pen point until it shone, upon a little square of chamois skin.Her writing-desk was a miracle of neatness, everything in its precise place, the writing-paper in geometrical parallelograms, the pen tray neatly polished.
On the hearth rug, where Laura had sat, Page's searching eye discovered traces of her occupancy--a glove button, a white thread, a hairpin.Page was at great pains to gather them up carefully and drop them into the waste basket.
"Laura is so fly-away," she observed, soberly.
When Laura told the news to Aunt Wess' the little old lady showed no surprise.
"I've been expecting it of late," she remarked."Well, Laura, Mr.Jadwin is a man of parts.Though, to tell the truth, I thought at first it was to be that Mr.
Corthell.He always seemed so distinguished-looking and elegant.I suppose now that that young Mr.Court will have a regular conniption fit.""Oh, Landry," murmured Laura.
"Where are you going to live, Laura? Here? My word, child, don't be afraid to tell me I must pack.Why, bless you""No, no," exclaimed Laura, energetically, "you are to stay right here.We'll talk it all over just as soon as I know more decidedly what our plans are to be.No, we won't live here.Mr.Jadwin is going to buy a new house--on the corner of North Avenue and State Street.
It faces Lincoln Park--you know it, the Farnsworth place.""Why, my word, Laura," cried Aunt Wess' amazed, "why, it's a palace! Of course I know it.Why, it takes in the whole block, child, and there's a conservatory pretty near as big as this house._Well!_""Yes, I know," answered Laura, shaking her head."It takes my breath away sometimes.Mr.Jadwin tells me there's an art gallery, too, with an organ in it--a full-sized church organ.Think of it.Isn't it beautiful, beautiful? Isn't it a happiness? And I'll have my own carriage and coupe, and oh, Aunt Wess', a saddle horse if I want to, and a box at the opera, and a country place--that is to be bought day after to-morrow.It's at Geneva Lake.We're to go there after we are married, and Mr.Jadwin has bought the dearest, loveliest, daintiest little steam yacht.He showed the photograph of her yesterday.Oh, honey, honey! It all comes over me sometimes.Think, only a year ago, less than that, I was vegetating there at Barrington, among those wretched old blue-noses, helping Martha with the preserves and all and all; and now"--she threw her arms wide--"I'm just going to live.Think of it, that beautiful house, and servants, and carriages, and paintings, and, oh, honey, how I will dress the part!""But I wouldn't think of those things so much, Laura,"answered Aunt Wess', rather seriously."Child, you are not marrying him for carriages and organs and saddle horses and such.You're marrying this Mr.Jadwin because you love him.Aren't you?""Oh," cried Laura, "I would marry a ragamuffin if he gave me all these things--gave them to me because he loved me."Aunt Wess' stared."I wouldn't talk that way, Laura,"she remarked."Even in fun.At least not before Page."That same evening Jadwin came to dinner with the two sisters and their aunt.The usual evening drive with Laura was foregone for this occasion.Jadwin had stayed very late at his office, and from there was to come direct to the Dearborns.Besides that, Nip--the trotters were named Nip and Tuck--was lame.
