“Don’t be a goose, Jack!” suggested Katharine, by way of good advice. “Of course, I understand what a dear old silly idiot you are, you know. But don’t talk such nonsense to other people. They’ll laugh at you.”
“No, I’m not going to. I let Griggs do the talking, and people laugh at him. But there’s nothing silly in it, as a matter of fact. Everybody loves you — except some of the people who should. And I must say, with the exception of Crowdie, we were a very presentable lot the other night. And even Crowdie — well, he’s a celebrity, if he’s nothing else, and that counts for something with some women. I say, Katharine — are you and Hester going to quarrel for the rest of your lives?”
“I’m afraid so, — at least, we shan’t quarrel exactly. But we can never be just as we were.”
“I’m rather glad,” said Ralston. “I never believed much in that friendship between you two.”
“Oh, Jack! We loved each other so dearly! And it was so nice — we told each other everything, you know.”
“Yes — but you’ve outgrown each other.”
Katharine looked at him quickly, in surprise.
“That’s exactly what Hester said to-day,” she answered. “It seemed to me to be such nonsense.”
“Well — you have, and she’s quite right if she says so. That sort of school-girlish friendship doesn’t amount to anything when you begin to grow up. I’ve seen lots of them in society. They always break up as soon as one of the two marries and has other things to think about. Besides, between you and Hester, there’s Crowdie. It’s perfectly clear from what you’ve told me that she’s jealous. If you’re not careful she’ll try and do you some mischief or other. She’s jealous, and she has a streak of cruelty in her. She’ll make you suffer somehow — trust the ingenuity of a woman like that! She’d burn her most intimate friend at a slow fire for Crowdie any day.”
“Well — isn’t she right?” asked Katharine. “I would, for you, I’m sure — if it would do you any good.”
“It wouldn’t,” laughed Ralston. “Those cases don’t arise nowadays. Sometimes one wishes they might. We’ve all got a lot of cruelty and romance in us somewhere. We all believe in the immutability of the affections, more or less.”
“Don’t laugh, Jack!” said Katharine. “Love has nothing to do with friendship. Besides, you and I aren’t like other people. We’re always going to care — just as we always have. We’re faithful people, you and I.”
“Yes. I think we are.” He spoke quietly, as though from a long and familiar conviction.
A short silence followed, and they walked along side by side in the soft evening air, so close that their elbows touched, as they kept step together — a mode of courtship not usually practised by their kind, and which they would have been ashamed of in a more frequented quarter of the city. They would probably have noticed it unfavourably in another couple, and would have set the pair down as a dry-goods clerk and a shopgirl. But when the ‘stiff and proud’ Four Hundred are very much in love, and when they are quite sure that none of the remaining Three Hundred and Ninety-eight are looking, they behave precisely like human beings, which is really to their credit, though they would be so much ashamed to have it generally known.
“But then, we’re married, you know,” said Katharine, as though she had solved a difficult problem.
Ralston glanced at the face he loved and smiled happily.
“There’s a good deal besides that,” he said. “There are a great many things that tie us together. You’ve made a man of me. That’s one thing. But for you, I don’t know where I should have been now — in a bad way, I fancy.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” protested Katharine. “A man who can do the things you’ve done doesn’t come to grief.”
“It isn’t anything I’ve done,” Ralston answered. “It’s what you’ve made me feel. If I’ve done anything at all, it’s been for your sake. You know that as well as I do. And if there were big things to be done, it would be the same.”
“You’ve done the biggest thing that any man can do. You don’t need to have me tell you that.”
“Oh — about reforming my ways, you mean?” He affected to laugh. “That wasn’t anything. You made it nice and easy.”
“Especially when I didn’t believe in you, and treated you like a brute,” said Katharine, with an expression of pain at the recollection. “Don’t talk about it, Jack. I’ve never forgiven myself — I never shall.”
“But it was so nice when it was over!” This time the little laugh was genuine. “I’d go through it all again, just to see your face when you found out that you’d been mistaken — and afterwards, when we sat behind the piano at the Van De Waters’ — do you remember? Oh, yes! I’d like to have it all over again.”
“Jack — you’re an angel, dear! But don’t talk about that night. I suppose, though, that those things have helped to bind us together and make us more each other’s. Yes — of course they have. And then — we’re such good friends, you know. Doesn’t that make a difference? I’m sure there are people who care very much, but who are never good friends. Look at papa and my mother. They’re like that. They’re not at all good friends. They never tell each other anything if they can help it. But they care all the same. We could never be like that together, could we? Jack — where does friendship end and love begin?”
“What a beautiful question!” exclaimed Ralston, very much amused. “Of all the impossible ones to answer!”
“I know it is. I’ve often wondered about it. You know, I can’t at all remember when I began to care for you in this way. Can you? It must have been ever so long ago, before we ever said anything — because, when we did, it seemed quite natural, you know. And it always grows. It goes on growing like a thing that’s planted in good earth and that has lots of life in it and is going to last forever. But it really does grow. I know that I’m ever so much more glad to see you when we meet now than I was a month ago. If it goes on like this I don’t know where it’s going to end. Hester and her husband won’t be anywhere, compared with us, will they?”
“They’re not, as it is. They’re quite different. When they’re old, they’ll quarrel — if not sooner.”
“Oh, Jack — I don’t believe it’s quite fair to say that!”
“Well — wait and see. We’re warranted to wear, you and I. They’re not. There’s no staying power in that sort of thing. Not but what they’re in earnest. Even Crowdie is, though he’s half in love with you, at the same time.”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep saying that,” said Katharine. “It makes me feel so uncomfortable when we meet. Besides, it’s absurd, as I told you. A man can’t be madly in love with his wife and care for any one else at the same time.”
“That depends on the man — and the way of caring,” answered Ralston. “Crowdie’s a brute. I hate him. The only thing I can’t understand about Griggs is his liking for the man. It’s incomprehensible to me.”
“I don’t think Mr. Griggs really likes him,” said Katharine. “There’s a mystery about it. But I’m almost sure he doesn’t really like him. I believe he thinks he’s responsible for Crowdie in some way. They knew each other long ago.”
“Nobody knows much about Crowdie’s antecedents, anyway. I never could understand the match.”
“Oh — it’s easily understood. They fell in love with each other. Of course he would have been delighted to marry her, if he hadn’t cared a straw for her, for the sake of the social position and all that. Then he had a sister — at least, people said so, but nobody ever saw her that I know of — somewhere in New Jersey. She didn’t come to the wedding, I know, for I was Hester’s bridesmaid. Charlotte and I were the only two.”
“She didn’t come to the wedding because she was dead,” said Ralston. “That’s an awfully good reason.”
“I didn’t know. I’ve often wondered about her, but I didn’t like to ask questions. One doesn’t you know, about people who don’t turn up. They always are dead, or something
— and then one feels so uncomfortable.”
“Yes,” answered Ralston, as though meditating on the fact. “At all events,” he continued, “nobody ever knew much about Crowdie, nor where he came from. So I don’t exactly see how Griggs could be responsible for him. But, as you say, there’s a mystery about it all — so there is about Griggs, for that matter.”
“Oh, no! Mr. Griggs is all right. There’s nothing mysterious about him. He was born abroad, that’s all, and I believe he was awfully poor as a boy — a sort of orphan lying about loose on the world, you know. But he’s got a lot of tremendously proper relations in Rhode Island. He goes to see some of them now and then. He’s told me.”
“Well — it’s very queer about Crowdie, anyhow,” said Ralston, thoughtfully. “But there’s something I wanted to talk to you about, dear,” he continued after a little pause. “It’s about our marriage certificate. You know we’re living in danger of an explosion at any moment. That thing is tucked away somewhere amongst poor uncle Robert’s papers. We’ve spoken of it once or twice, you know. They’re going through everything, and sooner or later it’s sure to turn up. It’s just as well to be prepared beforehand. I don’t know what will happen if we tell your father now, but he’s got to be told, and it’s my place to do it.”
“No, Jack,” answered Katharine. “It’s my place. I made you do it — I’ve never made up my mind whether it was the wisest thing we could do, or whether it was a piece of egregious folly. Suppose that we had quarrelled after it was done. We should have been bound all our lives by a mere ceremony.”
“But we knew we shouldn’t,” protested Ralston.
“Nobody knows anything,” said Katharine, wisely. “We know now, because we know each other so much better. But I made you take a tremendous risk, and you didn’t want to do it at all—”
“It wasn’t on account of the risk—”
“No — of course it wasn’t. But you’re quite right now. That thing may turn up any day. I shall go to papa this very evening and tell him that we’re married. It’s the only sensible thing to do.”
“Indeed, you shan’t do that!” cried Ralston, anxiously. “You know him—”
“Shan’t?” repeated Katharine, looking up into his face and smiling. “I will if I please,” she said with a little laugh.
“Will you?” asked John, meeting her eyes with an expression of determination, but smiling, too, in spite of himself.
“Of course!” answered Katharine, promptly. “Especially as I think it’s a matter of duty. Of course I’ll do it — this very evening!”
“Don’t!” said Ralston. “There’ll be a row.”
“Not half such a row as if you try to do it,” observed Katharine. “You’ll have each other by the throat in five minutes.”
“Oh, no, we shan’t. We’re very good friends now. I don’t see why there should be any trouble at all. He wants us to marry. He said so in his letter, and he’s taken a sort of paternal air of late, when I come to the house. Besides, haven’t you noticed the way in which he turns his back on us when we sit down to talk? If that doesn’t mean consent — well, he won’t have the trouble of a wedding, that’s all, nor the expense, either. He ought to be glad, if he’s logical.”
“I don’t think he’d mind the expense so much now,” said Katharine, with perfect gravity. “I think he’s getting used to the idea of spending a little more, now that we’re to be so rich. He was talking about having a butler, last night. Fancy! But I do wish those administrators, or whatever you call them, would hurry up and give us something. We’re awfully hard up, my mother and I. We’ve had to get such a lot of clothes, and I’m frightened to death about it. I’m sure the bills will come in before the estate’s settled, and then papa will take the roof off, as you always say — he’ll be so angry! But I don’t think he’ll make such a fuss about our marriage.”
“No — that’s just what I say. That’s why I want to tell him myself.”
“Jack!” cried Katharine, reproachfully. “You just said there’d be a row if I went to him about it.”
“Well — I think I can manage him better,” said Ralston. “You and he are used to fighting every day as a matter of habit, so that you’re sure to go at each other on the smallest provocation. But with him and me, it’s been a sort of rare amusement — the kind of thing one keeps for Sundays, and we don’t like it so much. Besides, since you say that he won’t be so angry after all, why shouldn’t I?”
“Exactly. And I say, why shouldn’t I? — for the same reason. I shall just say that we got married because we were afraid we should never get his consent, but that since he’s given it frankly, — he did in that letter, — we’ve agreed to tell.”
“That’s just what I should say,” answered Ralston. “Those are the very words I had in my mind.”
“Of course they are. Don’t we always think alike? But I want to tell him. I’d much rather.”
“So would I — much rather. It will end in our going together. That’s probably the most sensible thing we can do. There’ll be a certain grim surprise, and then the correct paternal blessing, and the luncheon or dinner, according to the time of day.”
“It will be dinner, if we go home and do it now,” said Katharine, thoughtfully.
“Come on! Let’s go!” answered Ralston. “There’s no time like the present for doing this sort of thing. Where are we? Oh — South Fifth Avenue’s over there to the left. That’s the shortest way, round that corner and then straight up.”
They turned and walked in the direction he indicated, both silent for a while as they thought of what was before them, and the final telling of the secret they had kept so long.
“You don’t know how glad I shall be when everybody knows,” said Katharine after a time, as they paused at a crossing to let a van pass by.
“Not half so glad as I shall be,” answered Ralston. “But it couldn’t be helped. I know it’s been hateful to have this secret — well, not exactly hanging over us, but to have it a part of us all this time. Still — I don’t see when we could have announced it. There’s been one thing after another to make it impossible, and somehow we’ve got used to it. They say there’s nothing like having a secret in common to make two people fall in love with each other. It seems to me it’s true.”
“We didn’t need it, dear,” said Katharine, softly, as they began to cross the street.
“No — not exactly.” Ralston laughed. “But it hasn’t made it any worse, at all events. But what moments we’ve had. Do you remember when they began to talk about secret marriages that night?”
“Don’t I!” laughed Katharine. “I thought I should have gone through the floor! How well you behaved, Jack! I expected that you’d break out every minute and fall upon poor cousin Ham. But you didn’t. As for me, I got scarlet, and I don’t often blush, do I? Dark people don’t. Well — it’s all over now.”
“Not till we’ve had our talk out with your father. We can’t be quite sure of what will happen till then.”
“No — but he can’t unmarry us, can he? So what can he do? He can say that he’ll disinherit me. That’s the worst he could possibly do, and what difference would it make? You’re going to be one of the rich, rich, rich men, Jack — with ever so many millions more than you can possibly spend on onions and honey — like the wayward old man of Kilkenny, you know. Besides, papa will not be angry at all. He’ll simply dance with delight. I believe he’s secretly afraid that we’re cheating him, because we never speak of ever announcing our engagement. He thinks we’re revenging ourselves now, and each means to marry somebody else, and he’s in fits lest he should lose you for a son-in-law. Isn’t it fun?”
“Yes — your beloved father in fits, as you call it — and dancing with delight — it doesn’t lack the comic element. But it looks so simple now, just to go and tell him, and be done with it. Why haven’t we done it before?”
“Oh — we couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been safe until the will was settled. He was
really dreadfully nervous all that time. I never saw him in such a state before. It really wouldn’t have been safe. No — this is our first chance. We might have spoken a day or two ago, of course, but not much sooner.”
“No — we couldn’t,” said Ralston. “But I’m glad — oh, tremendously glad that it’s coming at last.”
“And then — Jack,” said Katharine, with some hesitation, “after we’ve spoken, you know — what are we going to do?”
“You and I? Why, get married, of course — I mean — as if we were getting married. There won’t be any people nor any cake, nor any gorgeous dress for you — poor dear! But we shall have to pretend, I suppose — go off with your mother and my mother, and as many more mothers as we can pick up, to make us perfectly respectable, and then we shall come back married, and choose a house to live in. That’s the first thing, you know. My mother will never hear of our living with her, now that there’s to be lots of money. She’s much too wise for that. Relations-in-law are just bones for husband and wife to fight over. But of course my mother will come very often.”
“And my mother,” said Katharine.
“Yes — your mother, too,” assented Ralston. “Naturally, they’ll both come. So long as they don’t live with us, we shan’t mind.”
“But you’re very fond of your mother, Jack, aren’t you?” asked Katharine.
“Of course I am. We’re more like brother and sister than anything else. You see, we’ve always been together so much.”
“And yet you’d rather not have her live with us?”
“Certainly not. And she wouldn’t wish to.”
“It’s strange,” said Katharine, thoughtfully. “I don’t think I should mind having my mother with us. She’d be such a comfort when you were down town, you know.”
Complete Works of F Marion Crawford Page 751