  THE day after Madeline’s engagement two letters were handed to her. One in Charlie’s handwriting, short and affectionate; full of the exuberance of the newly affianced, touchingly happy. The other one she opened, feeling somewhat moved, as she recognised the handwriting of Rupert Denison. To her utter astonishment she found it was four sheets of his exquisite little handwriting, and it began thus: “My dear, my very dear Madeline,—The last note I had from you—now nearly a month ago—came to me like a gift of silver roses. I did not answer it, but during the dark days in which I have not seen you, I have been learning to know myself. You wondered, perhaps, how I was occupied, why you did not hear from me again—at least I hope you did. (“I didn’t, for I knew only too well,” Madeline murmured to herself.) Now I have learnt to She started and went on reading. “Madeline, do you understand, all this time, though perhaps I hardly knew it myself, I loved you. I love you and shall never change. It is my instinct to adore the admirable, and I know now that you are the most adorable of creatures. No words can describe your wonderfulness, so I send you my heart instead. “I think, dear, our life together will be a very beautiful one. It will be a great joy to me to lead you into beautiful paths. How glad I shall be to see the bright look of your eyes, when you greet me after this letter! What a perfect companion you will be! Write at once. I have much more to say when we meet. When shall this be? Your ever devoted and idolising “Rupert. “P.S.—I propose not to make our engagement public quite yet, but to keep our happiness to ourselves for a few weeks, and be married towards the end of the summer. What do you say, my precious Madeline?” After sending a telegram to Rupert asking him to meet her at a picture gallery, for she could not bear asking him to call until everything was settled up, the bewildered girl rushed off to see Bertha. Bertha took in the situation at once. Madeline had only accepted Charlie in despair, thinking and believing that Rupert cared for another girl. It was madness, equally unfair to herself and to Charlie, to go on with the marriage now. Bertha quite agreed, though she grieved for the boy, and regretted how things had turned. … But, after all, Madeline cared for Rupert and she could not be expected to throw away her happiness now it was offered to her. Bertha advised complete frankness all round. The only thing at which she hesitated a little was Madeline’s intention of telling of her engagement to Rupert. She feared a little the effect on the complicated subtlety of that Fortunately no one as yet knew of the engagement except the very nearest relatives. Madeline’s mother would only regret bitterly that Madeline could not accept them both, it being very rare nowadays for two agreeable and eligible young men to propose to one girl in two days. Nigel was furious and had no patience with these choppings and changings, as he called them. Charlie took it bravely and wrote Madeline a very generous and noble letter, which touched her, but it did not alter her intention. She had just received it when she went to meet Rupert. The day which had dragged on with extraordinary excitement and with what seemed curious length had just declined in that hour between six and seven when the vitality seems to become somewhat lowered; when it is neither day nor evening, the stimulation of tea is over and one has not begun to dress for dinner. At this strange moment Madeline burst in again on Bertha and said: “Bertha, isn’t it terrible! I’ve told him everything and he refuses me. He’s sent me “Oh, what an irritating creature!” cried Bertha. “It’s just the sort of thing he would do. I’d better see him at once, Madeline.” “You can’t; he’s going to Venice to-night,” said Madeline, and burst into tears. |
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