A Literary Courtship/Chapter 18

by Anna Fuller

XVIII.

A Toast.

IT was a glorious Christmas morning and Pike's Peak was in his grandest mood, glittering white in the sunshine, with warm dark shadows in the deep ravines.

We stood, paying homage to the splendid old fellow, on our way to the breakfast-room, and I gave John's hand a good hard grip by way of apology for my somewhat incomplete congratulations of the night before.

"Isn't it glorious!" he said, with an air of including life in general in his encomium.

"You like Pike's Peak better than you did at first," I remarked.

"Like it? I adore it."

"All in three weeks," I murmured, ruefully.

"All in three weeks!"

His tone was positively jubilant, and I could not but admire him. A man who can keep up his spirits at such a time must have a lot of grit.

"Have you told her about the other Lilian?" I asked.

His face fell, and I fancied he was thinking of the twentieth edition. Only nineteen had yet appeared.

"No. I meant to, but it didn't come in naturally."

"You'll have to tell her before long, you know."

"Dick, I wonder how she will take it."

"Poh! she will be pleased as Punch, I warrant you. But I wish I might be there to see her surprise."

The two Lilians were to ride again that morning. John was polite but not urgent in inviting me to accompany them. But we were both bidden to dinner, and I felt that I could curb my impatience till then.

In the course of the morning, however, I paid my respects to Mrs. Ellerton, who seemed to be taking it very philosophically. Women have so much nerve in an emergency. To be sure, Mrs. Ellerton had come to like John very well, especially after she learned that his mother was a Van Deusenberg. As for me, it would not have reconciled me in the least degree if Miss Lamb's mother had been the Empress of Madagascar. I often wonder if women care as much about things as men do.

Just before we started out to dine at Mrs. Ellerton's John received a letter from the Sandersons. He opened it and read it with a grunt of satisfaction.

"What pleases you, Jack?" I asked.

"The twentieth edition," said he. "I always meant to tell when the twentieth edition was out."

"I do believe," said I, as we walked up the avenue, "I do believe that you are perfectly easy in your mind about the whole thing since you have gained your point."

"Perhaps you are right, Dick," said he. "I suddenly feel as though I had been a fool to worry about it. I am sure Miss Lamb will understand everything perfectly. I say, Dick, why didn't you tell me what a fool I was?"

"I didn't find you susceptible to hints in that direction, and one doesn't want to be brutal. But, look here, Jack. She may forgive you, but what will she think of me for making her write that letter?"

"Oh, she won't resent anything you have done!"

This was more consolatory than flattering.

"I should like to be by when the curtain goes up," I said, meekly overlooking the snub.

"Perhaps you may be. I don't mind if you give it a hoist yourself."

The two ladies met us in the hall just as they did the first evening we dined there. Miss Lamb had on a gown of some sort of lacy black stuff that was very becoming. She wore some roses, which, together with her brilliant face, lighted things up finely. I don't mean that her color was brilliant. It was more the look. I thought of the star John once compared it to. He evidently was not so far afield in that comparison as lovers usually are. Somehow I found myself with a very warm feeling toward Miss Lamb, in spite of my personal grievance, and I had a much easier time with my congratulations than I had anticipated.

I never saw a newly engaged couple carry it off better than did those two. They seemed to take it for granted in such a comfortable way, yet there was no mistaking them. Their state of mind, though unobtrusive, was clearly beatific. After all, one must be a monster of selfishness, not to rejoice in the happiness of one's best friend, however misguided he may be. Besides which, there was the Bengal tiger in the background. That was a justification such as few weddings have.

Once more John took Mrs. Ellerton in to dinner, and! Miss Lamb, and the similarity of the situation, together with the stupendous changes, made it really bewildering. Once more Mrs. Ellerton opened the subject of the mysterious author of Spoils, and this time her niece attempted no diversion.

"You must write to Miss Lamb soon," said the elder lady, beaming at her niece over a great dish of roses. "She will be so interested in everything."

Miss Lamb looked across at her aunt with a singular smile and said: "There is no use in writing to her, Aunt Bessie, I have reason to think she does not read my letters."

"Does not read your letters?" Aunt Bessie repeated, in an incredulous tone of voice, while John and I looked at each other. I don't know how he felt, but a cold shiver ran down my back. It is one thing to confess, and quite another thing to be found out.

John retained his self-possession and said: "The author of Spoils was resolved, long ago, to reveal his identity whenever the twentieth edition should be out. The twentieth edition was out yesterday."

"Then we may congratulate you now," said Miss Lamb, with a delicious turn of the head, and a brimming sort of smile. "I have long wanted to."

This time John flushed, and Mrs. Ellerton looked more mystified than ever.

"What is it all about, Lilian?" she asked." Are you in the secret?"

"Yes, Aunt Bessie. I have been in the secret for more than three weeks. Is it possible that you did not recognize Mr. Brunt's description that first evening? You said yourself that it was strangely unlike a middle-aged authoress."

The champagne had just been served, and without waiting for explanations I proposed a toast.

Within, the roses and the candle-light and the sparkling wine adorned the feast, but it was of Pike's Peak I was thinking,—of Pike's Peak wrapped in snow, towering big and benignant in the starlight, as we gaily drank to the health of "the two Lilians."

 

The end