Phyllis of Philistia [53]
brackish. He loved her, and she loved him. That was more than all the laws and the profits of society to them. That was the beginning and the end of the whole matter--the origin of the sin (people called it a sin) and the exculpation of the sinners. There was nothing more to be said or thought about the matter. Those who loved would understand. Those who did not understand would condemn, and the existence of either class was of no earthly importance to himself or to Ella.
When he awoke on the Thursday morning the feeling of exultation of which he was conscious was not without a note of depression. So it had been when the object of his explorations in New Guinea had been attained, and he looked down at that exquisite thing--that dead splendor at his feet.
He wondered if the attainment of every great object which a man may have in life brings about a feeling of sadness that almost neutralizes the exultation. As he picked up his letters he had a fear that among them there might be one from Ella, telling him that she had come to the conclusion that she had written too hastily those lines which he had received on Tuesday--that, on consideration, she was unwilling to lose her soul for love of him.
No such letter, however, was among his correspondence. (Could it be possible that he was disappointed on account of this?) He received an intimation from Berlin of the conferring of an order upon him in recognition of his exploration of a territory in which Germany was so greatly interested. He received an intimation from Vienna that a gold medal had been voted to him by one of the learned societies in recognition of his contributions to biological science. He received an intimation from his publishers that they had just gone to press with another thousand (the twelfth) of his book, and he received thirteen cards of invitation to various functions to take place in from three to six weeks' time, but no line did he receive from Ella.
She was his forever and ever, whether her soul would be lost or saved in consequence.
He rather thought that it would be lost; but that did not matter. She was his forever and ever.
CHAPTER XVIII.
HERBERT COURTLAND IS A MAN WHO HAS LIVED WITH HONOR.
It was a long day.
Toward evening he recollected that he had to leave cards upon his host and hostess of the Monday previous, but it was past six o'clock when he found himself at the top of the steps of Mr. Ayrton's house. Before his ring had been responded to a victoria drove up with Phyllis, and in a moment she was on the step beside him.
She looked radiant in the costume which she was wearing. He thought he had never seen a lovelier girl--he was certain that he had never seen a better-dressed girl. (Mr. Courtland was not clever enough to know that it is only the beautiful girls who seem well dressed in the eyes of men.) There was a certain frankness in her face that made it very interesting--the frankness of a child who looks into the face of the world and wonders at its reticence. He felt her soft gray eyes resting upon his face, as she shook hands with him and begged him to go in and have tea with her. He felt strangely uneasy under her eyes this evening, and his self-possession failed him so far as to make it impossible for him to excuse himself. It did not occur to him to say that he could not drink tea with her on account of having an appointment which he could not break through without the most deplorable results. He felt himself led by her into one of her drawing rooms, and sitting with his back to the window while her frank eyes remained on his face, asking (so he thought) for the nearest approach to their frankness in response, that a man who has lived in the world of men dare offer to a maiden whose world is within herself.
"Oh, yes! I got the usual notification of the Order of the Bald Eagle," said he, in reply to her inquiry. "I shall wear it next my heart until I die. The newspapers announced the honor that had been done to me the same morning."
"You cannot keep anything out of the papers," said Phyllis.
When he awoke on the Thursday morning the feeling of exultation of which he was conscious was not without a note of depression. So it had been when the object of his explorations in New Guinea had been attained, and he looked down at that exquisite thing--that dead splendor at his feet.
He wondered if the attainment of every great object which a man may have in life brings about a feeling of sadness that almost neutralizes the exultation. As he picked up his letters he had a fear that among them there might be one from Ella, telling him that she had come to the conclusion that she had written too hastily those lines which he had received on Tuesday--that, on consideration, she was unwilling to lose her soul for love of him.
No such letter, however, was among his correspondence. (Could it be possible that he was disappointed on account of this?) He received an intimation from Berlin of the conferring of an order upon him in recognition of his exploration of a territory in which Germany was so greatly interested. He received an intimation from Vienna that a gold medal had been voted to him by one of the learned societies in recognition of his contributions to biological science. He received an intimation from his publishers that they had just gone to press with another thousand (the twelfth) of his book, and he received thirteen cards of invitation to various functions to take place in from three to six weeks' time, but no line did he receive from Ella.
She was his forever and ever, whether her soul would be lost or saved in consequence.
He rather thought that it would be lost; but that did not matter. She was his forever and ever.
CHAPTER XVIII.
HERBERT COURTLAND IS A MAN WHO HAS LIVED WITH HONOR.
It was a long day.
Toward evening he recollected that he had to leave cards upon his host and hostess of the Monday previous, but it was past six o'clock when he found himself at the top of the steps of Mr. Ayrton's house. Before his ring had been responded to a victoria drove up with Phyllis, and in a moment she was on the step beside him.
She looked radiant in the costume which she was wearing. He thought he had never seen a lovelier girl--he was certain that he had never seen a better-dressed girl. (Mr. Courtland was not clever enough to know that it is only the beautiful girls who seem well dressed in the eyes of men.) There was a certain frankness in her face that made it very interesting--the frankness of a child who looks into the face of the world and wonders at its reticence. He felt her soft gray eyes resting upon his face, as she shook hands with him and begged him to go in and have tea with her. He felt strangely uneasy under her eyes this evening, and his self-possession failed him so far as to make it impossible for him to excuse himself. It did not occur to him to say that he could not drink tea with her on account of having an appointment which he could not break through without the most deplorable results. He felt himself led by her into one of her drawing rooms, and sitting with his back to the window while her frank eyes remained on his face, asking (so he thought) for the nearest approach to their frankness in response, that a man who has lived in the world of men dare offer to a maiden whose world is within herself.
"Oh, yes! I got the usual notification of the Order of the Bald Eagle," said he, in reply to her inquiry. "I shall wear it next my heart until I die. The newspapers announced the honor that had been done to me the same morning."
"You cannot keep anything out of the papers," said Phyllis.