Anne O'Hagan

“ For once they were idly enjoying the fruits of toil; there was in the air, if not a languor, at least a relaxation.
“There's one queer thing about your stories, David,” said Jessica at last, breaking the half-dreamy quiet into which they had fallen.
“What's that?”
“There isn't a sentimental one in the dozen.”
David reflected.
“That's so. Well, sentiment doesn't flourish about the capital.”
“I'm not sure it's that,” she argued. “I think sentiment doesn't flourish about you, David. You're a most unromantic person.”
She had uttered the words in a spirit of idle teasing. ”

“ But, Jessica, how inconsistent you are! You're always hating it, always looking forward to the time when I can give it up.”
“If I remember,” said Jessica, a little coldly, “you have always opposed my point of view. You're as inconsistent as I am. But it only means that I don't like to be called buzzards and things. It hurts my feelings. Is she as pretty as the Star said?”
“Miss Pyncheon? I don't know whether she'd ordinarily be called pretty or not. Of course, every woman in an affair of this kind is a raving beauty, if she only has the proper complement of limbs and features.” ”

“ But she knew him as an affectionate, kindly, clever, moderately ardent man, against whose unemotionalism her own intensities were receiving constant hurt. And here was a writer who knew the glamour of young dreams and the full, resistless sweep of noonday love, and had somewhere learned the tragedy of renunciation.
Like a flash of jagged lightning cutting through the gloom came the jealous illumination—the white-birch sort of girl. Of course! ”

“ Then he kissed her.
“Only when we are conscious of change in ourselves do we anticipate it in others,” replied Jessica didactically. She had merely meant to be sententious after the copybook fashion, but her words seemed suddenly of evil omen. She hurried on: “Have some tea?”. ”

“ She called herself a reasonable woman and she battled against the destructive impulses of her jealousy. She subdued the desire to summon him to a scene of explanation, of probing and recrimination, as she subdued the desire to cry aloud, to beat her head against the wall, to choke back sobs with cruel fingers against her throat instead of with determined self-control. ”

“ Jessica's intent eyes never left his face; his wandered from object to object in the little room. Now he looked at her.
“Yes,” she said. “But Ferguson wouldn't let you off?”
“It wasn't that.” His eyes shifted again. “But—he was going to send Knowles instead. You know what a ghoul Knowles is, how he'll dwell on every detail. Frankly, dear”—he dragged his vague tones and looked back to her—“I can't bear to think of the copy he'd make of Charlotte Pyncheon. It's such a horrible position for the child anyway.” ”

“ David was not without ardor, not without his outbursts of demand for tenderness; but even they, though she tried to persuade herself that they meant love and the passion of love, left her dissatisfied. In those infrequent moments it was primeval man that looked through his eyes toward primeval woman, not the soul of David Henley yearning for annihilation and life everlasting in the soul of Jessica Stewart.
“I'm a romantic fool,” she told herself angrily. “He does love me; he needs me ”

“ But she wanted a love which would fulfil every desire of an irrational woman; she wanted ardor, despair, passion, which would disdain trivial cleverness. She did not want to be sent to the theater with young Martyn. She wanted to be forbidden young Martyn's cheerful, harmless society.
“Novels,” Jessica told herself for at least the thousandth time since her engagement, “have been my undoing. They have given me false notions of love, false expectations of men, false views of everything. David does love me. He comes to me every free moment that he has ”

“ From another man these might have contented her; but in first love, the measure of its greatness is its infinite demand. Dimly she foresaw that the time might come when compromises and makeshifts might suffice her ”

“ He is devoted to you, fond of you, dependent on you. If something in that young girl's position or personality set vibrating an untouched chord in him—still, here is his daily life with you. By and by the chord will vibrate less and less ”

“ There'll be buzzing of flies anyway. I'll only be called down, perhaps called back, by the office for not knowing news when I see it.”
“Don't turn introspective, David,” said Jessica. “It isn't like you. You had better run on, hadn't you?”
“Yes, I'm going over on the midnight train, and I must go home first. By the way, the chief was talking of having a Sunday series on the immigrants before they immigrate, with you for the Chronicle's 'special commissioner.' Ferguson spoke of it at dinner to-night. I never regretted so much that our engagement wasn't out. ”

“ A foolish gentleman in Boston has desecrated the water side of Beacon Street by shooting down a highly respected citizen, and everyone is busily engaged in explaining that it was a misktake. You'll see the afternoon despatches. Ferguson insists upon sending me off to unravel the mystery—the murderer is expected to become emotionally garrulous at sight of me. ”

“ Take some man; I hate to have you out without adequate protection. Maybe Martyn can go.
“And remember that you are not to have that cold when I come back. Miss me—at least half as much as I shall you. ⁠ D.B.H.”
“I knew it,” said Jessica drearily to herself. “I knew it. I was sure that something would happen to spoil to-night.”
But after a minute's brooding she took herself to task for an unreasonable idiot, telephoned to the Van Rensselaer office for a connection with Mr. Martyn's studio on the top floor, and gaily inquired if his engagements would permit his taking her to the theater. Mr. ”